Arina Comes to Dublin.

Two Years. Two years it had been since I saw my favourite Dutch friend Arina. The last time had been January 2012 in London to celebrate our Capricorn birthdays and to send me off on my one-way ticket to Australia. Two years was too long to be separated from someone I lived with for a year. We spent nearly every day doing nearly everything together. After only knowing each other for 3 weeks, we went galavanting across Northern Greece for two weeks; taking every mode of transportation to get there only forced us to get to know each other. The year wouldn't have been the same without her has my roommate, and after only a short plane ride, it was hard to understand how we had spent 2 years apart.

We had discussed all sorts of possibilities of what do to in Ireland: from going up to Donegal to a bus trip to the Cliffs of Moher to the Butter Factory in Cork, but we ended up just staying in Dublin. Catching up was the priority, sightseeing a bonus. I really wanted, and needed, to be around the girl who always has a smile on her face, who has a million ideas, who together we think we could save the world, who took a huge leap to start her own company doing what she loves, who laughs, who lives confidently and fearlessly, and who knows me so well. I felt as though I needed her to visit to inspire me again. I missed the long in-depth conversations we had about absolutely everything and anything. When apart, we talk frequently over various forms of social media communication and emails, but it's just not the same.

The first question one asks is, what do you want to eat in Ireland? And what does a Dutch person think of when she thinks of Irish food? Oysters. Wild, local Atlantic Oysters. So on a cold January day, when all of our unplanned plans blew out the window, we found ourselves on the Dart to Howth. Google had incorrectly informed us that there was a farmers market on that day, but when we inquired about it in one of the open shops next to the empty market space, he told us about some of the other highlights Howth has to offer. We walked up Church Street, a narrow steep road that led us through the quiet old village. As we walked around or back down we found a set of craggy steps that invited us to the Radio Tower, or well technically, Ye Olde Hurdy-Gurdy Museum of Vintage Radio. Much to Arina's disappointment, it was closed due to the off season, but we were able to enjoy the hill top views overlooking Howth's piers stretching into the shivering Irish sea. The sight of the sea in front of us and breathing in the fresh air made us hungry for what we came for: Irish oysters and a pint of the good stuff - a classic Irish combination.

We headed back down to the West Pier, home to Beshoff's, Wrights of Howth, and a load of other seafood restaurants offering fresh catches of the day and sea views. We each had an iced platter of 6 Clarendbridge oysters and a cool Guinness. Clarenbridge oysters come from Dunbulcan Bay in South Galway. They are native Irish oysters also known as European Flat oysters which have their own festival in the town of Clarenbridge at the start of every oyster season (September). We sniffed, sipped, slurped, chewed and swallowed whole, sprinkled lemon and dashed tabasco on our oysters. Sitting on high stools catching up on life over good food was exactly what we were looking for.



Our appetites quenched with aphrodisiacs we tipsily went back to Dublin to meet up with Rory at the Porterhouse on Grafton Street to sample some craft beers and what else? Another round of oysters. They were nowhere near as fresh as Beshoffs. More slimy than succulent. Ugly to the point that the quote, "He was a brave man who ate the first oyster" reverberated too true in our heads.

When we were reunited in Ireland, the list of things she needed to see and do here grew. Ireland has so much to offer - not only beautiful destinations but a whole island of food to explore. It has its own language she didn't even know existed. Ireland is also known for its people and as happy as were were together, we spent most of the time properly catching up - she will just have to come back to see, taste, and meet more of the country. 

Summer in Ireland

A Story of Irish Hospitality.

The holidays were over, the family had left, and it was time to come to terms with the realization that procrastination could no longer be pardonable for thinking that all job applications would get lost in the employers' hectic holiday hustle and bustle. After weeks of writing to job openings I was over- and under-qualified for, and blindly writing to companies I would potentially like to work for, but offered no current job openings, I had made no progress. I had received no responses except for one that replied the position had been filled and the posting should have been taken down, and another one that was an automated reply stating that they received too many inquiries and a prospective email will not be replied to (if that even counts as a response.) The hopes that my furiously passionate cover letter and worldy CV might catch their attention enough to write back (I was desperate for anything) was all too soon becoming disheartening. Nobody in Dublin or London wanted to hire me. 
Usually my companion at my side, I had taken to leaving my phone in my bedroom; perhaps discouraged that neither employers nor friends had been calling me. However, with a quick glance at the phone one day, before I knew it, I had three interviews lined up. A phone interview with a company in London, an onsite interview in London, and another one in Dublin. I strategically organised it so I could go to the one in Dublin, catch a flight to London, have the interview there and be there if the phone interview promised an onsite second interview (it didn't) and then I could stay in London indefinitely for any other interviews that might come through after the masses of employers I wrote to finally got around to liking me - I was sure of it (they didn't). 
Everything was slowly coming together. As comfortable as I was in Donegal, hanging out with old friends and new flings, it was time to get a move on and head to the big city. Shoulder bag packed (I'm a light traveler) I headed to Dublin on the John McGinley and was set to meet up and stay with my friend who I had met in Perth, my first friend, and who was now back living in Dublin. I texted him when the bus was meant to arrive in. I texted him when the bus was late. I texted him as we neared the city. I texted him when I arrived. No response.  I called when I got off the bus. No answer. Optimistic me thought maybe he's working late. Maybe his phone died. I wandered around the city in the dark, quite comfortable with knowing the neighbourhoods well and thinking I still had a place to stay for the night and a friend to catch up with. Until it got unreasonabley late. I had headed towards the cobblestone streets of Temple Bar, knowing the bars would still be buzzing any time of the day or night, hoping to find a seat to rest my weary feet, tired from aimlessly wandering the city. I knew Temple Bar-bar (as I call it) always had live music and an enthusiastic crowd so I headed in there for some company and a pint. I sat down at a unheard-of free seat at the bar, utterly defeated. The bartender, a young blonde haired guy noticed my air of frustration as I collapsed into the bar stool with a heavy, discouraged sigh. I ordered a pint of Bulmers and asked if the bar had free wi fi. The brimming bar boasted a deafening multitude of international accents, but he stopped to pay attention to me. He listened as I explained my homeless situation and unresponsive friend, then offered his iPhone to me so I could check to see if my friend had contacted me via some form of social media, in case his textless and unresponsive phone had died. 
"You'll have to go outside the bar though because there's terrible reception in here," the bartender said as he handed his phone to me across the bar. I tentatively accepted it, thanking him as I put a coaster over my pint and walked out the door; a complete stranger leaving him with an unpaid pint and walking away with is iPhone. As I walked outside into the cool night air, I couldn't believe he had trusted me to walk out of his sight with his phone. I could believe that there was no online-word from my so-called friend.
Smiling as I walked back into the bar, I said, "You know I could have used that story before and ran off with your phone."
"I know, I thought about that the second you disappeared out the door, but for some reason, I trusted you. Any word from your friend?"
"No..."
"Don't worry, something will work out, it'll be ok."
His words, although empty of action towards my situation, hinted at an unknown consolation. I nodded as I sipped my cider and wondered what the latest check in for a hostel was; it was nearly midnight. I fretfully mulled over my financial situation and how much a last minute room was going to set me back before my trip.
I kept checking my phone, as you do, even though it was right in front of me, one eye always on it, no lights had flashed on, no noise had beeped, but continued to check it...just in case. And as I did this, the bartender continued to keep me company whenever he could, reassuring me that I'd have somewhere to stay, and somehow managing to always keep my pint of Bulmers refilled and full without anyone noticing it, and without me paying a euro. 
As the lights to the bar came on at the end of the night and the bouncers tried to usher everyone out, the bartender told your one I was alright and by that time had invited me to stay on his couch. After his friendliness throughout the night and his trust of giving me his iPhone, along with the fact that I had no other option, I accepted the kind offer. His friends were coming back with a couple bottles and after a year of traveling around on my own in Australia, I figured this was no different than couch-surfing. The year abroad had taught me to trust myself and my instincts, and there was nothing foreboding about this situation. 
The next morning, as I left for my interview, he gave me a set of keys to come and go from his house as I pleased. Seriously? 
The generous, trusty Irish hospitality must have rubbed off some good luck as I was offered a job with the Dublin interview that day. It wouldn't be a career move, but a move to Dublin and out of Donegal. I almost didn't want to continue with the trip to London, and although it wasn't a complete waste of time as I was able to catch up with old friends and visit the beloved city again, it resulted in two more unresponsive friend experiences. For the second and third time all in that week, I had made plans to meet up with friends in situations where I was relying on them for an offered place to stay, and again, I was left quite literally in the dark, in absolute communicationless silence.  After a year of traveling around Australia where many days I woke up not knowing where I'd sleep that night, I had grown confident to know that something would always work out, but those three incidents that week, which were barely acknowledged let alone apologised for, nearly extinguished all hope or trust I had in people until I remembered the stranger who offered me the utmost friendly hospitality.

'Tis the Season in Sydney.

Sometimes promises have to be broken for something bigger; something more close to home. Sometimes you don't have a choice in agreeing to a promise. Sometimes when you hesitantly make a promise, you know in your heart of heart it's not going to happen. It wasn't feasible, possible, logistical, rational, defensible or even financially-responsible to stay in Australia for a promise. I couldn't bear to break it, I felt terrible, but I knew that I had to do it. Sometimes you have to make your own decisions, hopefully with good intentions, even if they hurt people knowing absolutely that that part is not part of the main objective. Even when it appears to be selfish, there's always another side to the story that might not be regarded, that could be for the greater good if you take the time to consider it. 

As it turned out, I wasn't flying out of Brisbane. When flying out of Brisbane I had to connect in Sydney anyways. And as it turned out, both my parents and I thought I would be returning to Sydney for Christmas so I had left a bag of things there I didn't need for traveling and they had mailed some Christmas presents for me. So, I had to go back no matter what. Because of my broken promise, I booked to spend two nights in Sydney to make up for it. But I don't think it was enough. Things were miscommunicated, plans were not met, and words were said. Instead, I spent most of my time wandering around Sydney as I had wanted to explore it on my own, with one last goodbye, and one last attempt of Christmas shopping before it would become Duty Free. All I could think of was going home, getting on the plane as fast as possible, seeing my parents and surprising Jess. As much as I didn't want to leave Australia, or say goodbye to the friends I had met, I just wanted to be home. 

And...

As hard as it is to leave this place, I am ready! 

Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012.

The end of 2011 ended with an entire month in Ireland (ok, 3 days in Northern Ireland). The start of 2012 started in Ireland. 2012 may or may not be the end of the world. That saying, 2012 may or may not be a good idea to go half way around the world.

Mum arrived 3 days after me. Dad and Jess arrived the Friday before Christmas. We celebrated Christmas Eve, Christmas Day on Sunday, charades & games, Christmas again on Tuesday with the cousins, holiday cocktail party, trivia night, 80's/90's night at Roonies, New Years Eve, my Birthday, New Years Dip, birthday dinner.

28. Let's not talk about it.

Now everyone is gone.

Three days later - weather permitting- I finally decide to leave the house. For over an hour and a half the sun graciously shone, not a spit of rain or hail stone descended from the January sky while I was outside. The wind, however, was as persistant as ever. In terms of getting some excercise, this means: run in one direction, powerwalk the other way back. The blowing sand stuck to my black yoga pants and Northface pullover, my un-straightened hair tangled in the wind, and my lungs embraced the crisp ocean air. Over the sand dunes, the golfers persevered and I wondered how they could muster up the strength to hit the tiny white ball into the forceful gale winds. It seemed utterly useless to me. But I turned around and looked out upon the thrashing waves breaking the sea, and thought, Killahoey sure does heal the soul. The wind is so loud that it creates a rushing silence so that you cannot focus on anything else, barely hearing your own thoughts. The only thing I could think (despite as many life-changing, world-realization type thoughts you think could be had) was how lucky I was and how special this place was. As I faced the oncoming winds heading home, I wondered if my kids (don't laugh Jess) would ever get to experience Dunfanaghy as it is or what it would be like in a few years. I wondered if I'd ever be able to express what this place means to me, to my family. Regardless of where we leave to, the rhythem of the ocean's waves will continue to constantly play their mesmerizing melody against the sand, still going on and on, minding it's own business, until we come back again. 

 As of today, there are 12 days until I arrive in Perth Australia, 11 days till I spend thirteen hours in the Singapore airport, 10 days until my flight takes off, 9 days until I'm in London and get to see Arina, which means 8 more full days here in Ireland. I miss my family tremendously. Even though they seem far away in America, my heart tightens when I think how much further away they will be, how far I will be halfway across the world. Literally.

Then I think about how much food is left here that I have to eat before I leave! I am not a waster of food. Which is a bad thing, because despite the hour and forty minutes I spent outside today, the only thing I have consumed are 2 cups of coffee, a couple vitamins, and some accompaning glasses of water. The amount of cheese in our fridge, my goodness you'd think I'd be the happiest person to be left with that much, but it is Beach Weather in Australia. The amount of cheese we've eaten here this past month would probably turn anyone vegan as an excuse for a cheese-detox. I LOVE CHEESE.

So as much as I miss my family, I have appreciated the two week detox. As much as I wish the wind didn't damage the Sky box, I read an entire 347 page book in one day. As much as I love this place, I can't wait for summertime in Australia!!

A Walk on a Windy Beach.

Did I mention how windy it was?

When in Ireland in December...

....the Irish may have a reputation, but you will seem drunk just walking down the street b/c the wind sideswipes you this way and that

....toes will tingle, slippers are necessary

.....the pellating rain against the windows at first sound like marbles chafing, keys jiggling,  or leaves crunching, but really as it intensifies, it sounds just like Connect Four pieces dropping on the roof. 

hail's a-knockin' at the front door

....you avoid peeing just b/c the seat is so cold


....the rain blows in one direction

....it rains on you even when the sun is shining andyou look up and there isn't a cloud in sight. 

....keeping the kettle always filled and constantly sipping a hot tea is one way to deliver warmth into the body

....looking outside looks the same as in the summer. 

August

December

.....rain falling down the chimney may evoke fears of drowning inside. 


....lessons in firemaking are crucial. small coals on the bottom. 

what it looks like when it works.

....it is pitch black before 5pm until after 9am

8:15am

an hour later...

....walking into the wind may seem like a workout, getting nowhere, but walking in the direction of the wind will get you anywhere immediately. 

.....a hot toddy may be the only way to warm yourself without heat, and feed yourself without a stove


......there's nothing cozier than reading a book on the couch, a blanket to snuggle in with the sounds of the wind whipping outside.

.....but crawling back into bed with the electric blanket on high is just sometimes the thing to do. 

....and you'll realize there's no where else in the world you'll want to be. well, for the holidays. 

The last weeks in America: a Recap

November 5: last Portsmouth Farmer's Market; a very cold, very quiet farewell. Christmas fair with Mum. Required pre-dinner drinks at Ri Ra, dinner at the One Hundred Club with John, Sheelagh, Frank and Judi.

November 12: last shift at Cava (I think? very possible I was cut, but it was the last day of Restaurant Week so probably not).

November 13: John and Sheelagh leave for NYC with two packed suitcases of mine. I'm left with a shoulder bag to last me for the week and to take to DC next weekend.

November 14-17: eat a lot of frozen soups and breads I had made with the leftover farmers market produce. Read a lot of travel essays.

November 15: Read an entire book in one day.

November 17: last night in Portsmouth. Drink with Judi at Mombo, adio's Tj's, Press Room, Ri Ra, etc....

November 18-20: weekend in DC.

Bucknell themed party with Blue and Orange drinks:

 Blue Moon, Mango Margaritas, Natty Lite's just because,   

 national monuments,

catch-phrase,

 outdoor  markets, smelly dogs, cute dogs, old college photos,

 bloody mary brunch,

 margaritas and birthday,

homemade hot apple cider, UNISG reminiscence, lots of catch up and laughter.

November 20: Trip to NYC. Hello John, Sheelagh & Jess!

November 21-December 1: pack and unpack, pack and unpack, pack and unpack { insert Arina comment } 

November 21: Post Office, Kaluystan's, homemade dinner

November 23: Farmers Market pre-indulgent feast shopping. Cocktail party at Jess's apt. Hello Chris and Beth!

November 24: Thanksgiving. 

Ess-a-bagel, the usual. 

Thanksgiving Day Parade then cooking.

thanksgiving going to her head...

Neil Diamond!! 

Mum after seeing her LOML

Dinner starts with Hibiscus Cava cocktails, homemade turkey liver pate, 

cheese plate with not-puffed-up-cheese-puffs, 

squash apple soup, farmer's market turkey, cranberry chutney, roasted garlic & maple syrup mashed sweet potatoes, roasted fingerling rosemary potatoes, braised greens with kalamata olives and feta, crispy brussel sprouts with garlic chips, broccoli with cheese sauce and crumbled cheetos, balsamic glazed cipollini onions, apple pie, pumpkin pie, crumbs cupcakes and 

Australian wine!

November 25: run in Central Park: my favorite NYC activity. The Australian Bar. 

 Le Souk Harem aka HOOKAH with John, Sheelagh, Chris & Beth

 - love it! 

Tiki drinks with fuzzy cocktail stirrers with family friends

November 26: Brunch at Les Halles, goodbye Chris and Beth,

 run down West Side Highway, old-catch up drinks, 

drinks and out and late night eats like a real New Yorker with Jess & Chloe

November 27: Little Owl brunch and Gottino drinks with Mum & Jess, 

football and farewell drinks for Kim, her required Shack Shake meal, and Eataly.

November 28: Tapas in the old neighborhood

November 29: old local fav Spotted Pig then the Highlands.

November 30: last night in America! 

Momofuku ramen with Mum, Cannibal beer, 

dinner with the fam at Artisanal (I love cheese)

then Pj Clarke's, of course.

December 1: last day in America! quick coffee down in FD, escaping Occupy WS, errands,

 2.5 hour lunch at BareBurger YUM ostrich meat, goodbye Dad and goodbye Mum. Airport. Pinterest laughs. Airplane food. 

Turbulence. More Turbulence. Deep breathes. Woman screaming. Survival, barely, an hour early b/c of the incredible winds.

GOODBYE AMERICA, HELLO IRELAND.