There are a couple of things that I love about Chile.
First of all, there is the way that they treat their stray dogs. Stray dogs are often seen around the city; sitting on street corners, sleeping near cafes, crossing streets in pedestrian walkways, etc. But unlike in the States, these dogs do not appear to be malnurited or mangey. Instead, they often sport healthy looking hair and friendly countanences. This seems to be because instead of rounding up the puppies and bringing them to the pounds, stray dogs are taken care of. Chileans seem to take pride in feeding stray dogs. One of the central parks in Santiago is set up with serveral public dog houses and watering bowls. And it is not too shocking to see people on the street walking by dogs give them a pat on the head or words of appreciation. These are not stray dogs, the city's population has clearly adopted them collectively.
Second of all, they serve avocadoes on everything. I love fresh fruit and fresh vegetables. And Chile, with its California like climate (though flipped; cooler weather in the south, warmer weather in the north), is a prime place for agricultural treasures. All the fruit is delicious. The only problem comes when you discover an overripe apriot or bruised cherry, because unlike the States the fruit is allowed its natural demise. You just have to be careful to pick the best of the crop. Avocadoes are especially popular here. I have seen them on most of my sandwiches and salads, and have even seen them on the hot dogs (on some thing called an Italian hot dog, which is called so because it has avocados, tomatoes, and mayonnaise; the colors of the Italian flag). This phenomenon of perfect fruit extends to their "jugos naturales" or Natural Juice, which is usually some kind of slightly sweetened fruit that has been juiced or blended. The most common types being Pina (pineapple) and frambuesa (raspberry). I usually order frambuesa, but the domasco (apricot) might just be my favorite (unfortunately, I have only seen it in one restaurant in Valpariso).
Third of all, the best Vanilla Ice Cream in the World is produce and sold in Santiago, Chile in what is considered by some to be the best Ice Cream and Sorbet shop in Santiago, Chile called the Empirio del Rose. If you are ever in Santiago, this is the place to stop for Raspberry and Mint sorbet, Chocolate and Orange ice cream, and of course, Vanilla. Most Vanilla ice creams are plain and are what you have come to expect from ice cream, but the vanilla served here tastes as close to vanilla, cream, and sugar as you will ever get.
Fourth of all, the parks are breathtaking. From Cerrito Santa Lucia (a small hill in the middle of Santiago City with a castle in the middle and a tower from which you can see all of Santiago on a clear day) to the square in the middle of Vina del Mar. They take excellent care of the parks; it seems that every time you walk through a park there is someone there tending the plants or sidewalks.
Fifth of all, which I feel like I have to mention for my dad, there is never a long wait for a train when taking the metro (seriously, no more than like 3 minutes when transferring or after missing the first one). Added to that, the metro is pretty clean and people are pretty good at giving up their seats for people who need them more. A huge difference overall from the DC Metro system that I am used to.
Sixth, the views from the hills of Valparaiso (a city to the Northwest of Santiago near the coast) are breathtaking and the palms trees of Vina del Mar (North of Valparaiso, still on the beach) provide picturesque shade from the obvious sunlight that heats the sand of the beaches. While Valparaiso's coast is more of a shipping port, you can hop on a commuter train from the Bellavista stop to the Vina del Mar stop (like my mother and I did our last full day on the coast) and ten minutes on the train and you are in a beachy, tourist city with people in bikinis lying on the beach getting a tan.
PS please forgive all my misspellings of Spanish words. I can barely spell in English, let alone a second language.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Vacation
For the past week and and a half I have been back in the United States, enjoying a break from travelling alone in worlds unknown. Instead, I spent the weekends at home near DC with my parents cleaning out my bag and repacking for South America, and the week in New Orleans visiting my aunt and grandmother on my father's side.
My family is heading to South America for our annual winter holidays reunion. The only Christmas that we have ever spent apart was the year my grandfather passed away. Holidays in my immediate family are important for being together. Even the year my sister spent in Australia, we all headed down under to celebrate together.
Why Chile this Christmas? My brother is spending his first quarter of Junior year abroad in Chile. And while my family doesn't need an excuse to travel, we used this one anyways. So for the next 2 and half weeks I'm back with my family.
People often ask me where I got so brave to travel. The thing is, my family travels. It is part of what we do together. Just walking down the street of Chile we compare it to the places we've been together before or the places we've seen on our own.
Of course, the family reunion is not complete until my sister joins us in Peru next week, but we are anxiously awaiting her arrival!
My family is heading to South America for our annual winter holidays reunion. The only Christmas that we have ever spent apart was the year my grandfather passed away. Holidays in my immediate family are important for being together. Even the year my sister spent in Australia, we all headed down under to celebrate together.
Why Chile this Christmas? My brother is spending his first quarter of Junior year abroad in Chile. And while my family doesn't need an excuse to travel, we used this one anyways. So for the next 2 and half weeks I'm back with my family.
People often ask me where I got so brave to travel. The thing is, my family travels. It is part of what we do together. Just walking down the street of Chile we compare it to the places we've been together before or the places we've seen on our own.
Of course, the family reunion is not complete until my sister joins us in Peru next week, but we are anxiously awaiting her arrival!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Getting Lost
I think the best way to figure out how to get around a new city is to get lost.
Not the kind of lost where you are asking for directions, but the kind of lost where you know approximately where you are, if not what street you are on.
This forces you to explore a bit, get out of your comfort zone, and take in the city's architectural charms.
Just be sure that you don't do it after dark, cause when you get lost in the dark there aren't really any visual contexts to hang onto.
Let me tell you, getting lost in Galma Stan, the Old Town of Stockholm is especially fun as it is a little island that you could probably see all the streets of in a day.
Not the kind of lost where you are asking for directions, but the kind of lost where you know approximately where you are, if not what street you are on.
This forces you to explore a bit, get out of your comfort zone, and take in the city's architectural charms.
Just be sure that you don't do it after dark, cause when you get lost in the dark there aren't really any visual contexts to hang onto.
Let me tell you, getting lost in Galma Stan, the Old Town of Stockholm is especially fun as it is a little island that you could probably see all the streets of in a day.
Copenhagen to Stockholm
I have been know to oversimplify in my time....
Similarities
Lots of 7-Elevens
Lots of H&Ms
Bicycle Lanes
Royal Families
Royal Palaces that you can walk into
Candles on all the tables in restaurants and outside to indicate a "cozy" atmosphere
Nordic (or North Germanic to be more specific) Languages, though in Denmark it is Danish and in Sweden it is Swedish, obviously, you can still hear the similar words and pronunciations. I bet that if you knew one you could hold a fast-paced conversation with someone speaking the other.
History of Vikings and trade
Used to part of the Union of Kalmar, which was a political alliance between Sweden, Denmark and Norway.
Differences
Stockholm is more surrounded by water than Copenhagen. Stockholm consists of 14 islands that are linked together while Copenhagen juts out of the Zealand island of Denmark.
Royal Guard in Sweden consists of male and females and the units are not organized by height. In Denmark the Royal Guard is all male and the units consist of men of the same height (meaning when you visit the palace all the guards uniformity short, tall, or average).
Sweden was never occupied by the Nazi. While Copenhagen's monuments and building still remember the Nazi occupation, Sweden was able to remain neutral throughout World War II. In fact, over 7,000 Danish Jews were refugees from Denmark to Sweden during the war (out of the 8,000 Danish Jews that lived in Denmark at the time).
To be fair I shouldn't be making any comparisons between these two unique cities, but seeing as they share so much of the same history it is hard not to.
As I mentioned, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway belonged to the Union of Kalmar united under Queen Margaret originally from the 1300s until 1523. Then, Sweden breaks from the union. This is a problem because then the control over the Baltic is seemingly up for grabs.
To be quite honest, I'm still not sure of the whole story, because depending on what side of the Sound you are on the attitudes change.
Similarities
Lots of 7-Elevens
Lots of H&Ms
Bicycle Lanes
Royal Families
Royal Palaces that you can walk into
Candles on all the tables in restaurants and outside to indicate a "cozy" atmosphere
Nordic (or North Germanic to be more specific) Languages, though in Denmark it is Danish and in Sweden it is Swedish, obviously, you can still hear the similar words and pronunciations. I bet that if you knew one you could hold a fast-paced conversation with someone speaking the other.
History of Vikings and trade
Used to part of the Union of Kalmar, which was a political alliance between Sweden, Denmark and Norway.
Differences
Stockholm is more surrounded by water than Copenhagen. Stockholm consists of 14 islands that are linked together while Copenhagen juts out of the Zealand island of Denmark.
Royal Guard in Sweden consists of male and females and the units are not organized by height. In Denmark the Royal Guard is all male and the units consist of men of the same height (meaning when you visit the palace all the guards uniformity short, tall, or average).
Sweden was never occupied by the Nazi. While Copenhagen's monuments and building still remember the Nazi occupation, Sweden was able to remain neutral throughout World War II. In fact, over 7,000 Danish Jews were refugees from Denmark to Sweden during the war (out of the 8,000 Danish Jews that lived in Denmark at the time).
To be fair I shouldn't be making any comparisons between these two unique cities, but seeing as they share so much of the same history it is hard not to.
As I mentioned, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway belonged to the Union of Kalmar united under Queen Margaret originally from the 1300s until 1523. Then, Sweden breaks from the union. This is a problem because then the control over the Baltic is seemingly up for grabs.
While Denmark originally controlled land on both sides of the strait, in 1658, Charles X, the Swedish king claims the whole of the Swedish peninsula as theirs.
So Denmark and Sweden have a very interesting history, and Copenhagen and Stockholm, as the predominate seats of power have their share of history. To read more about it, and to understand how religion, royal families, and eventually Germany fits into the story: http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?groupid=561&HistoryID=aa59>rack=pthc
To be quite honest, I'm still not sure of the whole story, because depending on what side of the Sound you are on the attitudes change.
The Danish and... (Part II)
Speaking of their Royal family, let me tell you about...
...their hygge
I think part of the reason that the Royal family is so secure in going out in public is this idea of hygge. Hygge, in the literal translation to English means cozy, but to the Danish it means so much more. Hygge is a kind of community, a understanding that people in Denmark will take care of their families in communities. My tour guide argued that hygge was the reason that the Danish voted for the party that would raise taxes instead of the party that would lower them. They take pride in the fact that they pay for their community and that they take care of others.
This could also be why Denmark has been voted the happiest country for the past 8 years (another fact noted by my informed tour guide).
Hygge is symbolized all over Denmark by candles that sit in windows, on restaurant tables, and outside cafes on the cold winter streets. The candles are "cozy."
Speaking of their hygge, let me tell you about...
...their shoe-less feet
Part of hygge means that the Danish are very into hospitality, but let me tell you, when you go into a Danish person's house you will probably be asked to take off your shoes.
It is tradition.
Plus it keeps the floors clean.
Speaking of their shoe-less feet, let me tell you about...
...their public transportation system
Their transportation system is also clean, and extensive, and technologically advanced, and used by many Danish people instead of cars.
Speaking of their public transportation system, let me tell you about...
...their bicycles
And if they aren't using public transportation or cars, they are biking. Which is easy to do in Denmark because they have their own road, and traffic lights. Usually set between the road and the pedestrian walkways lie the bicycle paths, which are very sophisticated. They even have double lanes in some areas for the people on their bikes turning left.
You haven't been to Denmark if you haven't gotten on a bike. Note to self: we are back to driving on the right side of the road. Get used to it.
Speaking of their bicycles, let me tell you about...
...their museums
The one and only time I was on a bike in Denmark I was headed to a museum. While most museums in Copenhagen have a fee, if you are on a budget, I would recommend stopping by the National Musuem (http://www.natmus.dk/sw20374.asp) to see perfectly preserved viking corpses and runestones or The Danish National Gallery (http://www.copenhagenet.dk/CPH-Map/CPH-Gallery.asp) to see centuries of Danish Art (and the history that goes along with it).
Speaking of their museums, let me tell you about...
...their pastries
I'm sorry, but my mind always seems to go to the food. After a bike ride to the museum, and a couple of hours studying the paintings, a snack is much appreciated. And you know what they say: When in Denmark!
...their hygge
I think part of the reason that the Royal family is so secure in going out in public is this idea of hygge. Hygge, in the literal translation to English means cozy, but to the Danish it means so much more. Hygge is a kind of community, a understanding that people in Denmark will take care of their families in communities. My tour guide argued that hygge was the reason that the Danish voted for the party that would raise taxes instead of the party that would lower them. They take pride in the fact that they pay for their community and that they take care of others.
This could also be why Denmark has been voted the happiest country for the past 8 years (another fact noted by my informed tour guide).
Hygge is symbolized all over Denmark by candles that sit in windows, on restaurant tables, and outside cafes on the cold winter streets. The candles are "cozy."
Speaking of their hygge, let me tell you about...
...their shoe-less feet
Part of hygge means that the Danish are very into hospitality, but let me tell you, when you go into a Danish person's house you will probably be asked to take off your shoes.
It is tradition.
Plus it keeps the floors clean.
Speaking of their shoe-less feet, let me tell you about...
...their public transportation system
Their transportation system is also clean, and extensive, and technologically advanced, and used by many Danish people instead of cars.
Speaking of their public transportation system, let me tell you about...
...their bicycles
And if they aren't using public transportation or cars, they are biking. Which is easy to do in Denmark because they have their own road, and traffic lights. Usually set between the road and the pedestrian walkways lie the bicycle paths, which are very sophisticated. They even have double lanes in some areas for the people on their bikes turning left.
You haven't been to Denmark if you haven't gotten on a bike. Note to self: we are back to driving on the right side of the road. Get used to it.
Speaking of their bicycles, let me tell you about...
...their museums
The one and only time I was on a bike in Denmark I was headed to a museum. While most museums in Copenhagen have a fee, if you are on a budget, I would recommend stopping by the National Musuem (http://www.natmus.dk/sw20374.asp) to see perfectly preserved viking corpses and runestones or The Danish National Gallery (http://www.copenhagenet.dk/CPH-Map/CPH-Gallery.asp) to see centuries of Danish Art (and the history that goes along with it).
Speaking of their museums, let me tell you about...
...their pastries
I'm sorry, but my mind always seems to go to the food. After a bike ride to the museum, and a couple of hours studying the paintings, a snack is much appreciated. And you know what they say: When in Denmark!
Saturday, November 26, 2011
The Danish and...
Danish people and...
...their pastries
Of course, the first thing you think of when you think Denmark is Danishes. And I don't mean the people, I mean the delicious breakfast pastries that usual manifest themselves with custard, jam, and frosting (And if this in not your first thought when thinking about Denmark, then you obviously don't think with your stomach like I am wont to do).
I admit, from the beginning, I was determined to try as many pastries as possible in the 5 days I was in Copenhagen. And while my first day started slowly, by the end of the trip I was planning pastry runs before I left the house.
The best Danish I had was filled with raspberry jam, and I purchased it (along with a chocolate pastry) on the Norreport Street that leads from the center of the city towards the neighborhood where I was staying. Technically the coffee shop where, Truc (a friend from college) and I stopped was not in Central Copenhagen, but nonetheless, the pastry was the most memorable).
Bakeries in Copenhagen are marked by a golden pretzel topped by a golden crown. Find this sign and you have found the perfect place for Danishes.
Speaking of their pastries, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their 7-Eleven's
But specialty bakeries are not the only place that you can find good pastries.
I found, one morning while running to a sightseeing tour, that the 7-Eleven's perched on nearly every street corner of Copenhagen offer 2 pastries for 10 Kronor. Because most pastries cost around 15 Kronor for one, this seemed to me a good deal. Plus, I was going to miss the tour.
Surprising, even the 7-Eleven's in Copenhagen seem to produce good pastries. They were fresh from the oven (though no telling how long ago they were first baked), and the abundance of 7-Eleven's around the city (that are of course opened 24/7) makes these pastries a cheap, convenient snack.
Speaking of 7-Eleven's, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their Baresso Coffee
Another popular chain in Denmark (or at least Copenhagen) is Baresso Coffee.
Denmark's version of Starbucks, this store is seen quite often to one walking around Copenhagen (though never quite as often as the 7-Eleven's are seen). Opened by a Danish man who lived in Italy for 20 years, the story goes that he returned and was unable to find a decent cup of coffee.
Like all brilliant men who cannot find coffee to their specifications, he decided to create his own chain, and Denmark produced its major coffee chain.
While I cannot speak to their pastries, they do serve a good cup of coffee, if you are willing to part with upwards of $5 for a simple regular coffee.
Speaking of Baresso Coffee, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their prices
Going to the supermarket in Denmark is not too expensive, but go out to a restaurant and the prices might surprise you.
Needless to say, Denmark dining is expensive.
The only thing that you can by for a meal that is not too expensive comes from a kebob restaurant. What Mexican food is to the United States, Middle Eastern food is to Denmark. You can find many kebob and durum restaurants in the ethnic suburb of the city, as well as many food trucks that sell durums to people within the city. They are about as common as hot dog stands.
So if you want a good, filling meal, at a decent price in Denmark, head towards the nearest sign with the word "kebob."
Speaking of their prices, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their free tours
But like many cities, their is always something to do in Copenhagen that won't cost you a dime (or a Kronor).
The tour I went to in Dublin (Sandeman's New Dublin Tour) also offered a 3 hour tour of Copenhagen (Sandeman's New Copenhagen Tour) which was enjoyable 3 hours. I saw the Royal Palace, the Royal Chapel, the oldest street in Copenhagen, the location of the beginning of the First Great Fire of Copenhagen (there were four Great Fires) the current City Hall, the past City Hall, the place where they executed people, the location of the attic where Hans Christian Anderson lived, the former Opera House, the Nazi headquarters during the German occupation, the channel, the current Opera House, and the Royal Guards (not precisely in that order).
Again, I recommend the Sandeman's tour if you are ever in Dublin or Copenhagen, or the other 12 cities that they provided free walking tours in. I just have one favor: if you are ever in Copenhagen and take the tour, and your guide's name is Gareth, tip him extra for me? I only had a 100 Kronor note in my pocket and was not able to get change to give to him.
Speaking of their free tours, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their amusement parks
But while their are some amusements that are free, others are not.
As we all know, amusement parks are notoriously expensive. Lucky for me, Hope let me borrow her season pass to Tivoli (the world's second oldest amusement park and Disney's inspiration for Disneyland).
While I didn't go on any rides the experience of sipping hot chocolate with whipped cream in the Christmas market is not to be missed. The entire park is lit up with Christmas lights that would put even the most ambitious homeowner to shame. And the hot chocolate was quite good, too. I have heard that the best way to have it is with rum.
Speaking of their amusement parks, let me tell you about...
...their Mermaids
Tivoli might not exploit the story of the Little Mermaid like Disney did, but the city of Copenhagen did erect a statue of the mermaid on the east coast of the city.
Not much to say about this except that it seems like many Danish people consider this memorial to be one of the most disappointing tourist attractions in the world.
I cannot disagree.
Speaking of their Mermaids, let me tell you about...
...their idols
We all know that the Disney version of the Little Mermaid was written by Hans Christian Anderson, who also brought us children stories like the Emperor's New Clothes and the Ugly Duckling. What many people don't know is that the Little Mermaid is actually a very, very, very sad story that makes me want to never fall in love.
But, alas, Hans Christian Anderson is one of Denmark's most notable idols. And let me tell you they take great pleasure in reminding any tourist that he is indeed from their great city. He was, of course, the one to declare that "to travel is to live," so I suppose I'll forgive the original mermaid story.
Speaking of their idols, let me tell you about...
...their opera
So when H.C. Anderson first came to Copenhagen he wanted to be a choir boy in the Royal Opera Theatre, so he rented the attic space in the hotel across the street and bugged the Choir Master to let him sing. Eventually, this led to Anderson's involvement with the theater, where he eventually became a writer.
And let me tell you that their original Opera House is beautiful, though under renovation.
They currently have a new Opera House, brought to Denmark by the Moller foundation (The people who own Maersk. Unfortunately, the Danish people seem to be split on whether or not they like this addition to the city harbor.
Speaking of their opera, let me tell you about...
...their Royal family
The royal apartments are a stone throw away from the Copenhagen Opera House. And you can go right into the area. In fact, there is a museum located in the basement of one of the four houses where the royal family lives, so tourist are in and out all the time.
Spottings of the Royal family are common place, as members tend to leave their apartments frequently and venture out of the compound.
The Danish are very proud of their new princess (originally an Australian citizen) as the story is quite a fairy-tale romance. Two people meet in a bar, they fall in love, he proposes, she accepts, he tells her he's the crown prince, she gives up her citizenship, and they live happily ever after.
...their pastries
Of course, the first thing you think of when you think Denmark is Danishes. And I don't mean the people, I mean the delicious breakfast pastries that usual manifest themselves with custard, jam, and frosting (And if this in not your first thought when thinking about Denmark, then you obviously don't think with your stomach like I am wont to do).
I admit, from the beginning, I was determined to try as many pastries as possible in the 5 days I was in Copenhagen. And while my first day started slowly, by the end of the trip I was planning pastry runs before I left the house.
The best Danish I had was filled with raspberry jam, and I purchased it (along with a chocolate pastry) on the Norreport Street that leads from the center of the city towards the neighborhood where I was staying. Technically the coffee shop where, Truc (a friend from college) and I stopped was not in Central Copenhagen, but nonetheless, the pastry was the most memorable).
Bakeries in Copenhagen are marked by a golden pretzel topped by a golden crown. Find this sign and you have found the perfect place for Danishes.
Speaking of their pastries, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their 7-Eleven's
But specialty bakeries are not the only place that you can find good pastries.
I found, one morning while running to a sightseeing tour, that the 7-Eleven's perched on nearly every street corner of Copenhagen offer 2 pastries for 10 Kronor. Because most pastries cost around 15 Kronor for one, this seemed to me a good deal. Plus, I was going to miss the tour.
Surprising, even the 7-Eleven's in Copenhagen seem to produce good pastries. They were fresh from the oven (though no telling how long ago they were first baked), and the abundance of 7-Eleven's around the city (that are of course opened 24/7) makes these pastries a cheap, convenient snack.
Speaking of 7-Eleven's, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their Baresso Coffee
Another popular chain in Denmark (or at least Copenhagen) is Baresso Coffee.
Denmark's version of Starbucks, this store is seen quite often to one walking around Copenhagen (though never quite as often as the 7-Eleven's are seen). Opened by a Danish man who lived in Italy for 20 years, the story goes that he returned and was unable to find a decent cup of coffee.
Like all brilliant men who cannot find coffee to their specifications, he decided to create his own chain, and Denmark produced its major coffee chain.
While I cannot speak to their pastries, they do serve a good cup of coffee, if you are willing to part with upwards of $5 for a simple regular coffee.
Speaking of Baresso Coffee, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their prices
Going to the supermarket in Denmark is not too expensive, but go out to a restaurant and the prices might surprise you.
Needless to say, Denmark dining is expensive.
The only thing that you can by for a meal that is not too expensive comes from a kebob restaurant. What Mexican food is to the United States, Middle Eastern food is to Denmark. You can find many kebob and durum restaurants in the ethnic suburb of the city, as well as many food trucks that sell durums to people within the city. They are about as common as hot dog stands.
So if you want a good, filling meal, at a decent price in Denmark, head towards the nearest sign with the word "kebob."
Speaking of their prices, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their free tours
But like many cities, their is always something to do in Copenhagen that won't cost you a dime (or a Kronor).
The tour I went to in Dublin (Sandeman's New Dublin Tour) also offered a 3 hour tour of Copenhagen (Sandeman's New Copenhagen Tour) which was enjoyable 3 hours. I saw the Royal Palace, the Royal Chapel, the oldest street in Copenhagen, the location of the beginning of the First Great Fire of Copenhagen (there were four Great Fires) the current City Hall, the past City Hall, the place where they executed people, the location of the attic where Hans Christian Anderson lived, the former Opera House, the Nazi headquarters during the German occupation, the channel, the current Opera House, and the Royal Guards (not precisely in that order).
Again, I recommend the Sandeman's tour if you are ever in Dublin or Copenhagen, or the other 12 cities that they provided free walking tours in. I just have one favor: if you are ever in Copenhagen and take the tour, and your guide's name is Gareth, tip him extra for me? I only had a 100 Kronor note in my pocket and was not able to get change to give to him.
Speaking of their free tours, let me tell you about Danish people and...
...their amusement parks
But while their are some amusements that are free, others are not.
As we all know, amusement parks are notoriously expensive. Lucky for me, Hope let me borrow her season pass to Tivoli (the world's second oldest amusement park and Disney's inspiration for Disneyland).
While I didn't go on any rides the experience of sipping hot chocolate with whipped cream in the Christmas market is not to be missed. The entire park is lit up with Christmas lights that would put even the most ambitious homeowner to shame. And the hot chocolate was quite good, too. I have heard that the best way to have it is with rum.
Speaking of their amusement parks, let me tell you about...
...their Mermaids
Tivoli might not exploit the story of the Little Mermaid like Disney did, but the city of Copenhagen did erect a statue of the mermaid on the east coast of the city.
Not much to say about this except that it seems like many Danish people consider this memorial to be one of the most disappointing tourist attractions in the world.
I cannot disagree.
Speaking of their Mermaids, let me tell you about...
...their idols
We all know that the Disney version of the Little Mermaid was written by Hans Christian Anderson, who also brought us children stories like the Emperor's New Clothes and the Ugly Duckling. What many people don't know is that the Little Mermaid is actually a very, very, very sad story that makes me want to never fall in love.
But, alas, Hans Christian Anderson is one of Denmark's most notable idols. And let me tell you they take great pleasure in reminding any tourist that he is indeed from their great city. He was, of course, the one to declare that "to travel is to live," so I suppose I'll forgive the original mermaid story.
Speaking of their idols, let me tell you about...
...their opera
So when H.C. Anderson first came to Copenhagen he wanted to be a choir boy in the Royal Opera Theatre, so he rented the attic space in the hotel across the street and bugged the Choir Master to let him sing. Eventually, this led to Anderson's involvement with the theater, where he eventually became a writer.
And let me tell you that their original Opera House is beautiful, though under renovation.
They currently have a new Opera House, brought to Denmark by the Moller foundation (The people who own Maersk. Unfortunately, the Danish people seem to be split on whether or not they like this addition to the city harbor.
Speaking of their opera, let me tell you about...
...their Royal family
The royal apartments are a stone throw away from the Copenhagen Opera House. And you can go right into the area. In fact, there is a museum located in the basement of one of the four houses where the royal family lives, so tourist are in and out all the time.
Spottings of the Royal family are common place, as members tend to leave their apartments frequently and venture out of the compound.
The Danish are very proud of their new princess (originally an Australian citizen) as the story is quite a fairy-tale romance. Two people meet in a bar, they fall in love, he proposes, she accepts, he tells her he's the crown prince, she gives up her citizenship, and they live happily ever after.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thanksgiving
Spending Thanksgiving alone. The price of freedom costs more than just money.
I feel like the first Thanksgiving after college is a symbolic holiday. Many of my friends are striking out on their own for the first time this holiday. Instead of going back to their parents' houses they are planning the big meal and inviting new co-workers and friends over to their apartments.
Funny thing is, I don't miss that. Though I am often reminded that I have been giving up that precious first year on my own, I figure I'll have it next year.
Or not, because what I really miss is dinner with my family and friends. And if I'm in the States next year, you can bet I'll be pooling my money to head back home for that one night.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
København
My first impression of Copenhagen is that it is expensive. While 1 dollar is about 5 and a half kroner, it takes about 28 kroner to buy a regular cup of coffee (over 5 dollars).
Ireland to Denmark
Won a bull riding contest in Ireland my last night (mechanical bull).
Slept two hours.
Missed the bus to the airport when I forgot my passport.
Caught the bus at the next stop.
Slept on the plane to Copenhagen.
Took the Metro and got Kroner (Danish currency).
Bus to Hope's apartment.
Buzzer was broken.
Knocked on the door's of all the apartments in Hope's building.
Finally found Hope.
Pasta with really good garlic tomato sauce made by Hope.
Catching up.
Laundry.
Sleep.
Slept two hours.
Missed the bus to the airport when I forgot my passport.
Caught the bus at the next stop.
Slept on the plane to Copenhagen.
Took the Metro and got Kroner (Danish currency).
Bus to Hope's apartment.
Buzzer was broken.
Knocked on the door's of all the apartments in Hope's building.
Finally found Hope.
Pasta with really good garlic tomato sauce made by Hope.
Catching up.
Laundry.
Sleep.
Friday, November 18, 2011
The Claddagh
Girls from all over the world flock to the tourist and gifts shops of Ireland to buy their copies of the Claddagh Ring. The ring, which represents friendship, love, and loyalty through two hands (friendship) holding a heart (love) that wears a crown (loyalty), is one of the major items in stock for any tourist shop in Ireland, especially the ones near Claddagh, Co. Galway.
Funny enough, if any of these tourist took some time to talk to a local or a decendent of the Irish Diaspora about the Claddagh they might be more wary about their purchase.
The story goes that a man from Claddagh made the first ring to give to his love when he left their town. He gave it to her as a symbol of their love.
Now, depending on where and how a woman wears the ring she discloses the status of her heart. Worn on the right middle finger with the heart pointed inwards, the lady indicates that her heart in unavailable. Worn on the same finger with the heart pointed out, she indicates that love is a possibility. Worn on the ring finger of her left hand, she indicates that her heart is taken (and that she is most likely engaged or married).
It is a very nice thought, and even I was enchancted by the romantic stories and considered buying one, until I heard that to purchase the Claddagh Ring for oneself is considered bad luck in love. The only way to really recieve the ring is either from a first love or from a elder female member of your family.
All these girls head to the tourist shops to buy into the romance of Ireland, and the venders never mention the implications of buying the Claddagh Ring.
Funny enough, if any of these tourist took some time to talk to a local or a decendent of the Irish Diaspora about the Claddagh they might be more wary about their purchase.
The story goes that a man from Claddagh made the first ring to give to his love when he left their town. He gave it to her as a symbol of their love.
Now, depending on where and how a woman wears the ring she discloses the status of her heart. Worn on the right middle finger with the heart pointed inwards, the lady indicates that her heart in unavailable. Worn on the same finger with the heart pointed out, she indicates that love is a possibility. Worn on the ring finger of her left hand, she indicates that her heart is taken (and that she is most likely engaged or married).
It is a very nice thought, and even I was enchancted by the romantic stories and considered buying one, until I heard that to purchase the Claddagh Ring for oneself is considered bad luck in love. The only way to really recieve the ring is either from a first love or from a elder female member of your family.
All these girls head to the tourist shops to buy into the romance of Ireland, and the venders never mention the implications of buying the Claddagh Ring.
Leaving Aran Islands for Dublin
The morning of the 16th, I finished packing up my bags, ate breakfast, cleaned my room, and headed towards the pier. It was a foggy morning and even though it was after 8 the sun was not yet visible. I got on the ferry and started my journey to Dublin.
The Aran Islands had changed in the couple of weeks that I've been there. The weather is cooling and getting wetter, and the seals have come into the coves. It is a pleasure to sit on the rocks on the beach and watch the seal worm their way into the water and float together. But all holidays must come to an end.
I slept through most of the bus ride from Galway City to Dublin. It was a dreary day and I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before because I tend to leave packing to the last minute.
Dublin was just as I remembered it from the first day I was in Ireland almost 9 weeks ago. It is hard to believe that I've been here that long as the time has certainly flown. My hostel for the days I was here was located on the river Liffy, which basically runs through the center of the city. Once I made it here, I took the rest of the day easy.
I woke up on the 17th feeling refreshed and decided the thing to do, before heading out to any specific location, was take a free walking tour of the city (I recommend Sandeman's Free New Europe Dublin Tour to anyone spending a day or two in Dublin). Afterwards, some of us from the tour decided to head out for lunch. I had fish and chips with Dineen from Australia. We completely lost track of the time and when we had finished talking politics and cultures the sun had set.
We walked back towards our respective hostels together and then parted at O'Connell bridge, the main bridge in Dublin which is know for being thicker than it is long.
That night I headed out for a pub crawl (organized by Sandeman's and also recommended). It was fun and I met a lot of great people from around the world. I headed back to my hostel early.
Nothing too interesting, but that catches you up on my adventures thus far. Headed back to Wicklow this afternoon (back to the family farm I was on before) before I head out for Copenhagen on Monday! I'm very sad (cause I'm going to miss Ireland) and excited!
The Aran Islands had changed in the couple of weeks that I've been there. The weather is cooling and getting wetter, and the seals have come into the coves. It is a pleasure to sit on the rocks on the beach and watch the seal worm their way into the water and float together. But all holidays must come to an end.
I slept through most of the bus ride from Galway City to Dublin. It was a dreary day and I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before because I tend to leave packing to the last minute.
Dublin was just as I remembered it from the first day I was in Ireland almost 9 weeks ago. It is hard to believe that I've been here that long as the time has certainly flown. My hostel for the days I was here was located on the river Liffy, which basically runs through the center of the city. Once I made it here, I took the rest of the day easy.
I woke up on the 17th feeling refreshed and decided the thing to do, before heading out to any specific location, was take a free walking tour of the city (I recommend Sandeman's Free New Europe Dublin Tour to anyone spending a day or two in Dublin). Afterwards, some of us from the tour decided to head out for lunch. I had fish and chips with Dineen from Australia. We completely lost track of the time and when we had finished talking politics and cultures the sun had set.
We walked back towards our respective hostels together and then parted at O'Connell bridge, the main bridge in Dublin which is know for being thicker than it is long.
That night I headed out for a pub crawl (organized by Sandeman's and also recommended). It was fun and I met a lot of great people from around the world. I headed back to my hostel early.
Nothing too interesting, but that catches you up on my adventures thus far. Headed back to Wicklow this afternoon (back to the family farm I was on before) before I head out for Copenhagen on Monday! I'm very sad (cause I'm going to miss Ireland) and excited!
Monday, November 14, 2011
The Stairs
There is one place in the hostel where the Wifi internet, and that is right near the front door and on the steps leading up to the rooms. Every time that I want to check to see if the family is on Skype, or check my email, or update my status on Facebook or my blog I have to take my computer out on the stairs.
Every once in a while, a person will trudge up or down the stairs and I'll have to move my legs out of their way. Or the door at the base of the stairs that leads to the outside will swing open and a gust of cold autumn air will rush up the stairs and I'll make a quick escape to my room for a long sleeved shirt. Or the music from Marco's room, which sits in the corner of the lobby behind the Reception desk, will drift up to my perch and I'll either scramble for my headphones (if its some of his obscure Italian rock) or start singing along (to the Lion King soundtrack).
Marco called it my favorite spot, probably because it is the only place in the main part of the hostel where I'll sit for any length of time. Of course, I'll sit in the kitchen and the common room, but they are in a different building and they have absolutely sh-t internet access (excuse my censored French).
So at least once a day, I pull out my netbook to research Sweden or look at photos of Strand, my brother, in Chile, and sit on the landing of the dark blue carpeted stairs. The seat is uncomfortable, but it digitally connects me.
Every once in a while, a person will trudge up or down the stairs and I'll have to move my legs out of their way. Or the door at the base of the stairs that leads to the outside will swing open and a gust of cold autumn air will rush up the stairs and I'll make a quick escape to my room for a long sleeved shirt. Or the music from Marco's room, which sits in the corner of the lobby behind the Reception desk, will drift up to my perch and I'll either scramble for my headphones (if its some of his obscure Italian rock) or start singing along (to the Lion King soundtrack).
Marco called it my favorite spot, probably because it is the only place in the main part of the hostel where I'll sit for any length of time. Of course, I'll sit in the kitchen and the common room, but they are in a different building and they have absolutely sh-t internet access (excuse my censored French).
So at least once a day, I pull out my netbook to research Sweden or look at photos of Strand, my brother, in Chile, and sit on the landing of the dark blue carpeted stairs. The seat is uncomfortable, but it digitally connects me.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Road Not Taken
In Robert Frost's well-known poem, "The Road Not Taken" the author describes a walker faced with the decision when two paths fork into the unknown. Knowing that he only has the inclination to take one path and not two, the walker decides to take "the road less traveled by" and leave the other for an unlikely second walk.
Unlike Frost, I try not to accept that I can only go down one path (and I mean this literally, not figuratively). The paths in Ireland fork quite frequently, especially on the Aran Islands, and I have been making a valiant attempt over these past few weeks to travel down each road.
I hate choosing one thing over another. This could be why my last semester of college was so busy, instead of picking dance or photography, kickboxing or boxing, philosophy or sociology, I took them all. I think I get this trait from my dad.
He's what most people would conservatively call a worrier (and I say this with love). Take either my dad or I into a shop to buy one specific item, and given the complexity of the object, the purchase could reasonably be made hours later after visiting another store for comparison and interrogating a customer service representative. Take both me and my dad to a store, like a couple of days before I left for London when I decided I needed a new netbook because the old one was too slow, and you only really get a purchase after internet research, three separate stores, conversations with 4 sales reps, 5 hours, and a whole lot of: "You decide, Dad," "No, Elaine, you decide, this is your computer," "But, Dad, I don't want to make the decision."
The thing is, to make a satisfying choice, you really have to be fully informed about what you are giving up.
I tell you this because this approach has defined my walks around Inishmaan. While one would assume that the pathways covering a 9 mile water locked island would be significantly limited, it seems to me that each path around the island forks at least 5 times before you reach your intended destination. Which means, to me, that every walk that is supposed to take an hour or two, ends up being 3 or 4.
There is one main road in Inishmaan that beings in the middle at Kilronan Village and winds its way in two directions, towards the tip of the island and towards the base (though really the island lies almost east to west so which is the tip and which is the base, I can never be sure). The road to the west goes upward to the main chunk of the island were the Mesolithic attractions stand on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The road to the east heads towards what I consider a tower, but what is now simply a circle of stones built up from the ground from which you can view the end of the island and the next island over.
If you set out in the early afternoon towards the east, you might be lucky to come back towards Kilronan as the sun sets. Because we are so far north, the sun seems to rise and set in the same southern portion of the sky, never really hitting a point right above our heads. And as you head west during the sunset, you are not facing directly into the sun, so instead of observing the sunset, you watch as the village of Kilronan turns orange as the fading light from the sun hits the buildings just so. Then the angles of the roofs soften as the sky goes to a greyish-blue. If you time it right, then right as you enter Kilronan you have just enough time to find a suitable perch on the rocks along the beach, turn to the south, and watch the sun tuck itself in the hills for the night.
Every afternoon I decide which way to head into the island. But even if there is only one main road, there are many paths forking off. While the main road is paved, its out-shoots are grassy and they tend to wind themselves through stone walls held together by nothing more than gravity. You come upon ducks on their ponds, horses in their yards, cattle in adjoining yards, goats climbing over the walls, and pigs in their muddy little kingdoms.
While I do hope to travel each path at least once, some deserve extra attention as a walk down one in the morning air could be very different from one in the evening.
No matter where I go, however, the land is green. It is fall in Ireland, but still the land is green. I suppose this is because there are little to no trees on the island, so there is nothing to change color. If it weren't for the weather I would guess that it was summer in this little cove.
I don't want to make the wrong choice of path to follow. And if I don't see everything then I really won't know what I'm giving up. I want to see it all, so I'll continue to traverse every new path on the island until it is time to go back to the mainland.
Unlike Frost, I try not to accept that I can only go down one path (and I mean this literally, not figuratively). The paths in Ireland fork quite frequently, especially on the Aran Islands, and I have been making a valiant attempt over these past few weeks to travel down each road.
I hate choosing one thing over another. This could be why my last semester of college was so busy, instead of picking dance or photography, kickboxing or boxing, philosophy or sociology, I took them all. I think I get this trait from my dad.
He's what most people would conservatively call a worrier (and I say this with love). Take either my dad or I into a shop to buy one specific item, and given the complexity of the object, the purchase could reasonably be made hours later after visiting another store for comparison and interrogating a customer service representative. Take both me and my dad to a store, like a couple of days before I left for London when I decided I needed a new netbook because the old one was too slow, and you only really get a purchase after internet research, three separate stores, conversations with 4 sales reps, 5 hours, and a whole lot of: "You decide, Dad," "No, Elaine, you decide, this is your computer," "But, Dad, I don't want to make the decision."
The thing is, to make a satisfying choice, you really have to be fully informed about what you are giving up.
I tell you this because this approach has defined my walks around Inishmaan. While one would assume that the pathways covering a 9 mile water locked island would be significantly limited, it seems to me that each path around the island forks at least 5 times before you reach your intended destination. Which means, to me, that every walk that is supposed to take an hour or two, ends up being 3 or 4.
There is one main road in Inishmaan that beings in the middle at Kilronan Village and winds its way in two directions, towards the tip of the island and towards the base (though really the island lies almost east to west so which is the tip and which is the base, I can never be sure). The road to the west goes upward to the main chunk of the island were the Mesolithic attractions stand on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The road to the east heads towards what I consider a tower, but what is now simply a circle of stones built up from the ground from which you can view the end of the island and the next island over.
If you set out in the early afternoon towards the east, you might be lucky to come back towards Kilronan as the sun sets. Because we are so far north, the sun seems to rise and set in the same southern portion of the sky, never really hitting a point right above our heads. And as you head west during the sunset, you are not facing directly into the sun, so instead of observing the sunset, you watch as the village of Kilronan turns orange as the fading light from the sun hits the buildings just so. Then the angles of the roofs soften as the sky goes to a greyish-blue. If you time it right, then right as you enter Kilronan you have just enough time to find a suitable perch on the rocks along the beach, turn to the south, and watch the sun tuck itself in the hills for the night.
Every afternoon I decide which way to head into the island. But even if there is only one main road, there are many paths forking off. While the main road is paved, its out-shoots are grassy and they tend to wind themselves through stone walls held together by nothing more than gravity. You come upon ducks on their ponds, horses in their yards, cattle in adjoining yards, goats climbing over the walls, and pigs in their muddy little kingdoms.
While I do hope to travel each path at least once, some deserve extra attention as a walk down one in the morning air could be very different from one in the evening.
No matter where I go, however, the land is green. It is fall in Ireland, but still the land is green. I suppose this is because there are little to no trees on the island, so there is nothing to change color. If it weren't for the weather I would guess that it was summer in this little cove.
I don't want to make the wrong choice of path to follow. And if I don't see everything then I really won't know what I'm giving up. I want to see it all, so I'll continue to traverse every new path on the island until it is time to go back to the mainland.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Pictures
My first pictures are up!
View my new Facebook page and comment on the photos!
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Around-the-World-in-Days/239638059417642?sk=wall
View my new Facebook page and comment on the photos!
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Around-the-World-in-Days/239638059417642?sk=wall
Pajamas
Sometimes you spend the whole day in your pajamas just cause you can.
Sometimes you do it cause you have a migraine.
:(
Sometimes you do it cause you have a migraine.
:(
Friday, November 4, 2011
Rainbows
It is a good thing that I don't melt in the rain because it seems that every day it rains here, and usually just around the time that I'm headed out for a walk. And inevitably, at some point in the walk I'll look up to see a rainbow.
Rainbows are more vivid in Ireland.
I think it has finally sunk in what I've done by coming here. This is my life. For the first time I'm not second guessing my decisions; not thinking about whether I've chosen the wrong majors, the wrong college, the wrong courses, the wrong path in life. This is what I'm supposed to be doing right now.
Gazing at rainbows in Ireland.
So breathtakingly simple, right?
Rainbows are more vivid in Ireland.
I think it has finally sunk in what I've done by coming here. This is my life. For the first time I'm not second guessing my decisions; not thinking about whether I've chosen the wrong majors, the wrong college, the wrong courses, the wrong path in life. This is what I'm supposed to be doing right now.
Gazing at rainbows in Ireland.
So breathtakingly simple, right?
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Kilronan Hostel
The first person I met when arriving on the Aran Islands was Marco. Marco is my boss at the Kilronan Hostel in Kilronan, the biggest "town"/harbor in the Aran Islands. Marco is originally from Italy and though he speaks English pretty fluently, his speech is heavily accented and hard to understand.
The hostel itself is a two building establishment, one building that sits adjoining one of the town pubs and contains most of the dorm rooms (including the one where I am staying) and the Reception area. The other building holds the kitchen and the common room.
This were I will be working for the next week and half, helping Marco out for the last month of the 2011 season in exchange for room and board.
The hostel itself is a two building establishment, one building that sits adjoining one of the town pubs and contains most of the dorm rooms (including the one where I am staying) and the Reception area. The other building holds the kitchen and the common room.
This were I will be working for the next week and half, helping Marco out for the last month of the 2011 season in exchange for room and board.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Occupy Ireland
As anyone who is reading the news can see, the Occupy Movement has gone global. Campsites have popped up in two of the cities that I have been to, at Occupy Cork and Occupy Galway. In Galway, I met one of the female campers on a night when all the females were banned from the camp because there was going to be violence that night.
Added to the political scene in Ireland, Micheal D. has been elected President.
Added to the political scene in Ireland, Micheal D. has been elected President.
Welcome to the Aran Islands
So I didn't celebrate Halloween on Halloween night because Halloween night I was taking the ferry from Ros An Mhil (in Co. Galway) to the Aran Islands off the coast of Ireland. Known all over Ireland as a wonderful summer vacation spot, it also seems to be the destination for artists and surfers on weekends in late October or early November. I was headed to Inishmore (the biggest of the three islands).
I took the bus from Galway City to Ros An Mhil at about quarter pass six. The ride was about and hour and the sun that had been up when we left Galway had set by the time we reached the pier. The ride on the ferry was made in the dark, and the only indication that we were on the water was the turbulence. I will admit that I got a bit sea sick, and that my occupation talking to a native of the island was probably the only thing that kept me from losing my lunch (note to self: on the way back to the main land, take a seat in the back of the ferry where the waves are less noticeable).
The girl I met on the way over's name was Finnoula (though to be quite honest, this is a guess because I'm not so great at remembering the Irish pronunciations). Originally from the Islands, she now lives in Dublin where she teaches eleven-year-olds. While I was the one who began the conversation at the bus stop, she sought me out on the ferry to continue our conversation. I think she noticed my heavy bad was was being friendly to a fellow traveler.While she was not currently travelling (aside from coming home for the weekend) she mentioned that she had lived for a year in Australia (something that a lot of Irish do after graduating from University) with her boyfriend.
We talked about Australia, what it is like to travel at our age, her job in Dublin, Ireland, and the Aran Islands. She gave me some insights about being from the Islands. When we left the ferry she walked me close to my hostel and pointed me to the door. A friendly welcome is always appreciated and rarely forgotten!
I took the bus from Galway City to Ros An Mhil at about quarter pass six. The ride was about and hour and the sun that had been up when we left Galway had set by the time we reached the pier. The ride on the ferry was made in the dark, and the only indication that we were on the water was the turbulence. I will admit that I got a bit sea sick, and that my occupation talking to a native of the island was probably the only thing that kept me from losing my lunch (note to self: on the way back to the main land, take a seat in the back of the ferry where the waves are less noticeable).
The girl I met on the way over's name was Finnoula (though to be quite honest, this is a guess because I'm not so great at remembering the Irish pronunciations). Originally from the Islands, she now lives in Dublin where she teaches eleven-year-olds. While I was the one who began the conversation at the bus stop, she sought me out on the ferry to continue our conversation. I think she noticed my heavy bad was was being friendly to a fellow traveler.While she was not currently travelling (aside from coming home for the weekend) she mentioned that she had lived for a year in Australia (something that a lot of Irish do after graduating from University) with her boyfriend.
We talked about Australia, what it is like to travel at our age, her job in Dublin, Ireland, and the Aran Islands. She gave me some insights about being from the Islands. When we left the ferry she walked me close to my hostel and pointed me to the door. A friendly welcome is always appreciated and rarely forgotten!
HALLOWEEN
H-A-double L- O- W- double E- N, spells Halloween!
Did you know that the traditions of Halloween started in Ireland? Of course, it is a "celebration" of All Hallow's Eve, that began in Ireland around 100 AD. Traditionally, this day marked the ending of the summer in Celtic pagan holidays. It was thought that at this time of the year the spirit world and the universe we reside in were close together, which enabled the dead to return again to our realm. (http://www.ireland-information.com/articles/irishhalloweentraditions.htm)
The pumpkin and the costumes come from traditions that began in Ireland. The Jack-O'-Lantern is supposed to represent Jack the blacksmith, who made a deal with the Devil and was denied entry into the afterlife. He then asked the Devil for a light to light his way, which he was granted. The Irish first represented this with the turnip root, but when Irish Americans immigrated to the States, turnips were harder to come by then pumpkins, and pumpkins soon replaced them. The costumes were worn to trick the spirits into thinking that Druid wandering through the night were one of them. This way the Druid could avoid capture or hurt from the spirits. (http://www.ireland-information.com/articles/irishhalloweentraditions.htm)
Even though the traditions are based in in Ireland, some Irish hold some disdain for the Americanization of the holiday. Were costumes were traditionally homemade, once the holiday was Americanized, the holiday became yet another economic holiday.
For the holiday this year, I was in Galway. many people my age in Ireland head to Galway City for the Bank Holiday (a three-day weekend) to celebrate and party with there friends on the streets of Galway. This, I think is because Galway city has the reputation of being somewhat of a night city, as the University of Galway is right nearby and many of the students are in town a lot of the time. People come from Dublin and Cork to celebrate the holiday.
Stephanie, a employee at the Sleepzone where I was staying organized an unofficial holiday pub crawl complete with costumes and face paint. Even with my lack of costume options and limited budget, I was able to come up with a airplane stewardess costume (something I thought was appropriate to represent my travelling self). There was a group of people out on the pub crawl but I only socialized with a couple (Stephanie- originally from LA, but lived in Cork for 12 years, Morgan- from France, Jenny- another employee at Sleepzone, and a couple of others). It was fun, and now I'll always be able to say that I celebrated Halloween where it started, in the north of Ireland!
Did you know that the traditions of Halloween started in Ireland? Of course, it is a "celebration" of All Hallow's Eve, that began in Ireland around 100 AD. Traditionally, this day marked the ending of the summer in Celtic pagan holidays. It was thought that at this time of the year the spirit world and the universe we reside in were close together, which enabled the dead to return again to our realm. (http://www.ireland-information.com/articles/irishhalloweentraditions.htm)
The pumpkin and the costumes come from traditions that began in Ireland. The Jack-O'-Lantern is supposed to represent Jack the blacksmith, who made a deal with the Devil and was denied entry into the afterlife. He then asked the Devil for a light to light his way, which he was granted. The Irish first represented this with the turnip root, but when Irish Americans immigrated to the States, turnips were harder to come by then pumpkins, and pumpkins soon replaced them. The costumes were worn to trick the spirits into thinking that Druid wandering through the night were one of them. This way the Druid could avoid capture or hurt from the spirits. (http://www.ireland-information.com/articles/irishhalloweentraditions.htm)
Even though the traditions are based in in Ireland, some Irish hold some disdain for the Americanization of the holiday. Were costumes were traditionally homemade, once the holiday was Americanized, the holiday became yet another economic holiday.
For the holiday this year, I was in Galway. many people my age in Ireland head to Galway City for the Bank Holiday (a three-day weekend) to celebrate and party with there friends on the streets of Galway. This, I think is because Galway city has the reputation of being somewhat of a night city, as the University of Galway is right nearby and many of the students are in town a lot of the time. People come from Dublin and Cork to celebrate the holiday.
Stephanie, a employee at the Sleepzone where I was staying organized an unofficial holiday pub crawl complete with costumes and face paint. Even with my lack of costume options and limited budget, I was able to come up with a airplane stewardess costume (something I thought was appropriate to represent my travelling self). There was a group of people out on the pub crawl but I only socialized with a couple (Stephanie- originally from LA, but lived in Cork for 12 years, Morgan- from France, Jenny- another employee at Sleepzone, and a couple of others). It was fun, and now I'll always be able to say that I celebrated Halloween where it started, in the north of Ireland!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Galway City
I admit that when I arrived in Galway I made my way to the hostel (Sleepzone) and promptly plugged in and relaxed for the weekend. Every once in a while I would make an excursion to see the town, the Spanish Arch (built in the 1500s), the weekend flea market, or the grocery store. But mostly I stayed in the hostel talking to random people, reading, and doing a lot of surfing the internet. After a couple of weeks of little to no internet, I was feeling deprived.
The best thing about travelling in this day and age is the internet. Even though I'm a quarter way around the world, I was able to Skype with my parents. As much as I would appreciate a hug from them every now and again, hearing their voices is a comfort that never fails to soothe me.
I absolutely love that I have been able to travel, but every now and again it beings to get lonely. You don't stay in one place very long, and you are constantly meeting new people. And for my, the introvert, I am always a little out of my comfort zone. It is so good for me, but so exhausting.
So I'm taking this weekend to plug in (to my family, to the internet, to Facebook, to a good book), recharge, and start again on Monday when I travel to the Aran Islands off the coast of Co. Galway.
The best thing about travelling in this day and age is the internet. Even though I'm a quarter way around the world, I was able to Skype with my parents. As much as I would appreciate a hug from them every now and again, hearing their voices is a comfort that never fails to soothe me.
I absolutely love that I have been able to travel, but every now and again it beings to get lonely. You don't stay in one place very long, and you are constantly meeting new people. And for my, the introvert, I am always a little out of my comfort zone. It is so good for me, but so exhausting.
So I'm taking this weekend to plug in (to my family, to the internet, to Facebook, to a good book), recharge, and start again on Monday when I travel to the Aran Islands off the coast of Co. Galway.
Cobh
My last day in Cork City, on the recommendation of my hostel hostess, Tracey (Aaron Hostel, Cork City) I took the train from Cork City along the river for half an hour to Cobh, formally known as Queenstown, famously know as being the last Port of Call for the Titanic.
The second thing you notice after leaving the train, after the walls plastered with reproduction of old newspapers and posters proclaiming Queenstown as the last Port of Call for the Titanic and recalling the tragedy of events that occurred soon after she had left Ireland, is the massive cathedral that seems to float over the town.
Cobh, the town, is built on a steep hill, at the top of which the planners built a massive cathedral, so from the shore (where the town/land meets the water) it appears as though the cathedral's base is resting on the roofs of the houses and shops along the main street. Intrigued by this phenomenon, I proceeded to climb the backstreets of Cobh until I was able to gain entry to the front gates of the Cathedral guard.
Now, I would not considered myself a very religious person, but after 6 years of attending a religious school were I was not only required to attend services once a week in a cathedral, but also it was also mandatory to take classes on the building of said cathedral, I have a vast appreciation for the hard work and finances that go into building a religious monument. That being said, this beautiful cathedral in Cobh still had the ability to take my breath away.
I can be cynical about religious organizations, I admit, but when people believe so strongly that they pull strength from their beliefs to build temples that bring to mind mountains from nothing... well, I have to respect that.
The second thing you notice after leaving the train, after the walls plastered with reproduction of old newspapers and posters proclaiming Queenstown as the last Port of Call for the Titanic and recalling the tragedy of events that occurred soon after she had left Ireland, is the massive cathedral that seems to float over the town.
Cobh, the town, is built on a steep hill, at the top of which the planners built a massive cathedral, so from the shore (where the town/land meets the water) it appears as though the cathedral's base is resting on the roofs of the houses and shops along the main street. Intrigued by this phenomenon, I proceeded to climb the backstreets of Cobh until I was able to gain entry to the front gates of the Cathedral guard.
Now, I would not considered myself a very religious person, but after 6 years of attending a religious school were I was not only required to attend services once a week in a cathedral, but also it was also mandatory to take classes on the building of said cathedral, I have a vast appreciation for the hard work and finances that go into building a religious monument. That being said, this beautiful cathedral in Cobh still had the ability to take my breath away.
I can be cynical about religious organizations, I admit, but when people believe so strongly that they pull strength from their beliefs to build temples that bring to mind mountains from nothing... well, I have to respect that.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Cork
I really wanted to go to the west of Co. Cork while I was in Ireland (southwest of the country) because it is supposedly one of the prettiest areas of Ireland. But I was unable to find a host in the area at the time that I was able to be there. So instead I went to Cork City. Cork City is considered by some in Ireland to be the most internationally leaning city in Ireland. This is because it is located close to several international harbors and homes one of the international airports of Ireland. Just walking the streets you could see that people of many more racial backgrounds were represented in Cork.
I arrived in Cork on Thursday night and met some people at the hostel. After talking with them in the common room for awhile they invited me out for a drink at the pub. Since it was a walk away (easy and safe to get back on my own by catching a taxi), I agreed and we went. There were two girls from Canada (Sydney and Allie - studying in France), an Irish guy (Nyle - no "S"), an Aussie (Josh - typical Sydney surfer type), an American (Bibino - from Arizona), and Simon (quiet guy, never really got his story).
Usually when you go out with people you met in hostels it is a hit-or-miss situation. Hit, you love the people, you go to a great place, you are sad when the night ends (like my night in the Bath hostel). Miss, the people are ok yet more interested in drinking then talking, but the place you go to is a dud, and the music sucks. The night in Cork was a miss. Thankfully, the night ended sooner rather than later.
The thing is that the people at hostels are usually just the kind of people that you want to meet. Interesting travelers around your age from all parts of the world. And it's wonderful to meet them. But sometimes the situation is just a miss. Nothing goes wrong, but you find that your not exactly having fun either. And you wish you had stayed in bed for your Skype date with your family. Oh well.
I arrived in Cork on Thursday night and met some people at the hostel. After talking with them in the common room for awhile they invited me out for a drink at the pub. Since it was a walk away (easy and safe to get back on my own by catching a taxi), I agreed and we went. There were two girls from Canada (Sydney and Allie - studying in France), an Irish guy (Nyle - no "S"), an Aussie (Josh - typical Sydney surfer type), an American (Bibino - from Arizona), and Simon (quiet guy, never really got his story).
Usually when you go out with people you met in hostels it is a hit-or-miss situation. Hit, you love the people, you go to a great place, you are sad when the night ends (like my night in the Bath hostel). Miss, the people are ok yet more interested in drinking then talking, but the place you go to is a dud, and the music sucks. The night in Cork was a miss. Thankfully, the night ended sooner rather than later.
The thing is that the people at hostels are usually just the kind of people that you want to meet. Interesting travelers around your age from all parts of the world. And it's wonderful to meet them. But sometimes the situation is just a miss. Nothing goes wrong, but you find that your not exactly having fun either. And you wish you had stayed in bed for your Skype date with your family. Oh well.
All Posts for October
Last Days with Kate
My last two days with Kate were very busy. Besides the packing and cleaning (general getting ready to move on to the next place), we were busy. Friday I met Steve, a friend of Kate's, who is both a musician and an artist. He swims ocasionally (though it sounded like he did this sort of thing pretty often) in the Ocean off the coast of Wexford County. He said that not only was the rainy Friday the best sort of day to go swimming, but that September is the best month of all to swim in because the seaweed releases high levels of Iodine in late September, early October, which is good for preventing colds. I don't know if he was stirring the soup (and Irish expression for making trouble) or speaking the truth, but Kate, Steve, Chica, and I gathered our swimming gear and headed towards the ocean. All I have to say is that it was cold.
After swimming, we found some blackberries on the path leading back up to the car and on the road back to the Peninsula. We picked and ate them as we walked back to the car, and it wasn't long after we were driving down the road that Kate got the brilliant idea of making pancakes to eat with fresh blackberries. So she stopped the car in the middle of the road so the three of us could pick blackberries and gather them in a small plastic bag we found on the floor of the car.
On the way back to the house we stopped at the local fishmonger to get cod and salmon for dinner and to pick some pears. Back at the house, Kate made plate sized pancakes, which I proceeded to eat with fresh blackberries and raspberry jam.
Some friends of Kate's came over for dinner after Steve had left. A couple and their foster daughter ended up staying the night after we all had a bit of wine.
My last day at Kate's, I woke up and walked from the shed where I slept (where I usually slept in the loft "apartment") to the house, where I discovered the eight year old girl wandering the house while the grown-ups were still abed. In an attempt to distract her from bother the adults, I suggested we play board games. We ended up completing two puzzles before anyone else made an apperance for breakfast.
Later that day, I did most of the packing. I finished packing the next morning before I took Chica on our last walk. Kate and I packed up the car, and we set out for my next host in Co. Wicklow. We stopped for lunch at Sue's new house. Sue is a co-worker of Kate's who lives close to Gorey, a city where Kate works. We talked about her next door neighbors and the difference between a herd of liquid cows and a herd of cream cows (liquid cows produce milk all year round and the milk is usually used for drinking milk, cream cows produce milk during the season when they are also eating fresh grass and their milk is usually used for cheese or cream).
E-mail to My Family
Hey guys-
Just wanted to let you know I'm at the new place in Ireland, which is great. There is another WWOOFer here as well, which is nice. There won't be many blog posts this week as the internet is a bit spotty. So I'll write when I can and then post at the end of the week. Just wanted to let you know so you don't freak if you don't hear from me until next Saturday. On Saturday, I'm going back down to Wexford to babysit for a family I met while with Kate, so I at least know I'll have internet then. If you want to contact me, email and I will check periodically via my Kindle.
Love,
Elaine
At my New Host's
My new host is Katriona (pronounced Katrina to us Americans). She lives on a horse farm with her two daughters, Sarah and Laura. Her other daughter, Clara, has moved out of the house. They are a very welcoming family.
There is another WWOOFer staying here as well, named Abby. Abby and I are doing most of the horse care as the family went to England to celebrate Laura's 16th birthday.
10 Simple Steps to Learn How to Drive a Manual Car
1. Learn how to Drive Automatic when 16 years old.
2. Get your International Drivers License from AAA when you 22 and are planning a trip around the world.
3. Go to a random horse farm in Ireland, where most of the citizens drive manual cars. Be sure to go to a farm where one of the daughters owns a car that is manual and she doesn't mind if you learn on hers.
4. Meet another American working on the farm who drives a manual car at home, but who doesn't have an International Drivers License.
5. Have the host family abandon you and other American on the farm.
6. Create some need to go into town (for example: grocery shopping, phone card credit buying, etc.)
7. Have other American explain to you that she cannot drive into town because she does not have Internationl Drivers License.
8. Have other American offer to teach you so that you both aren't stranded in the middle of Ireland.
9. Be taught basics of manual driving by slightly nervous looking American who is not quite sure you are her best option for getting off the farm.
10. Practice on the roads of the farm for hours because you are petrified that when you drive into town you might hurt someone (Note: Always make sure that you are driving on the right side of the road [rather, the left side], because not doing so is a sure way to hurt someone).
11. (Optional) Find out that you are still stranded because the Irish car insurance system is really messed up.
Differences
The family we are staying with is back from England.
It's funny how you can connect with people completely different from you if you purposefully forget how different you are. I think that is part of the charm of WWOOFing, everyone comes in with different expetations of what they want to get out of it (WWOOFers and hosts alike), but they are open to the different people and cultures that they might be exposed to.
Sometimes you miss what you were used to back home, but mostly you are intrigued by the opportunity to become a different person and experience this other world.
The Pub
Drinking in the local Pub in the town of the highest altitude in Ireland with Sarah, Kara, and Abby. Does alcohol affect you faster at a higher elevation?
The Dogs
The family that I am staying with has three dogs: Toby, a mix between a blank and a blank whose favorite activity is planting his dirty front paws on my clean shirts first thing in the morning, Fly, a beautiful greyhound who must be kept on a lead at all times because if not she will take for the hills and not come back for hours, and Mini, a cute little black Whippet who thinks she is a cat. She insists on climbing into your lap for a pet.
I have taken to walking the dogs, not daily as with Chica (I miss Chica!) but every couple of days. Toby and Mini streak off into the fields surrounding the back lane that we walk down barking at horses and wild ducks, but Fly, who is restricted to the area around me by the lead, looks after them longingly, and then looks up to me with her large pleading eyes. I feel bad keeping her in check, but I know I would feel worse if I lost someone else's dog.
We usually walk up in the hills behind the house were you can look down over the town of Wicklow and see the Irish Sea in the distance. The hills, called mountains by the Irish, cradle the town, so it is almost as if I am looking through a valley.
One time I tried to make it to the top of these so called mountains. To get there you have to pass a gate marked as a wildlife area. Sarah told me to climb over these signs to get to the top, so I did. In Ireland, people don't seem to think twice about trespassing on the neighbor's fields. This was the same in Wexford, where Kate told me to feel free to ignore the fence to Tintern Abbey's walled garden which read "No Trespassing" in big letters. Kate said people went in all the time. I never did.
I was nervous all the way up to the top of the mountian that some Irish farmer would come after me, but I made it to the top without incident. On the way back, however, Toby disappeared and I lost the path. After a bit of bumbling through the hedges, getting scrapes that covered my legs from the knee down, and a reluctant reliance on Mini's keen, yet spacey, sense of direction we made it back to the main path, Toby, and the ranch house.
Horseback Riding
Sarah, Kara, Abby, and I hacked out (rode out) today for a ride in the hills. i rode Rachel, the sweetest, and laziest, pony around. But I was the self-acknowledged amatuer rider and it was only fair. I did discover, however, that somethings you never really unlearn, and those 5 odd summers of horseback riding where right there in my muscle memory (even for trotting).
After a good trot through the back roads of Ireland country we headed back to the ranch house for a good rasher? (the traditional breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, etc.) though I only ate eggs and toast.
The Horses
There are 15 horses on the farm that I am staying on, and each has a distinct personality. From Barney who refuses to be caught to Mabel who is a bit wary of women, each horse displays different habits. Sky is a grey male horse, who I think is my favorite, cause he is the sweetest. I seriously don't think he has a rotten bone in his body. He just wants to figure out what you want and do it.
The Travellers (weird spelling I know)
Elsewhere known as gypsies, the Travellers of Ireland are a group of people of ethnic Irish descent. They are a traditionally nomadic people with their own set of traditions and language.
I have asked Kate a couple of times whether there were social problems concerned with race in Ireland, and she indicated that there aren't really any prevelant racial minorities in Ireland, so most of the social problems come from differences in religions (Protestant and Catholic) or prejudices against the Travellers.
Travellers are typically a poorer subset of the Irish population and a study published in 2007 suggested that 50% of Travellers die before the age of 39 and 70% die before they are 59. European Parliament Committee of Enquiry found Travellers a a group to be facing more discrimination than other social groups. (If you want to know more check out the Irish Travellers Wikipedia page) A lot of people in Ireland refer to them as "knackers."
There is also a segment of Irish Travellers to be found in the United States, which I had never heard before. But ever since I have been in Ireland, I continue to hear good and bad stories about Travellers no matter where I go.
Hay/Straw
Hay is for feed, Straw is for bedding. Remember that.
Boswell
There is a major horse stud, called Boswell, right up the road from the farm I'm working on. And this Saturday and the past Saturday Abby and I went up to the other farm to work with Kim, who runs the horse backriding lessons for younger children. This meant a lot of tacking up horses (putting on their bridles and saddles) and leading unruly horses in walking, trotting, and jumping crossbeams.
It was interesting to see a bigger farm in Ireland as this place hosts serious horse competions. Laura, the daughter of my host, was actually was up there one Saturday to compete on Bobby O, one of the horses from my host family's stables. It was great fun to see a competion as well as an operation with a huge budget.
Mucking Out
You would think that mucking out (cleaning horse manure out of the stables) would be an unpleasant job) but plug into my iPod and I can clean a stall in little over ten minutes. Its hard work, and there have been plenty of nights where I have gone to bed with sore arms. But it also feels nice to go to bed feeling like you've accomplished something that took hard labor. No matter that you will have to go back out the next day and do it all again, cause in the end, everybody poops.
Abby
Abby is the other American staying at the horse farm. She's also from the United States, from Kentucky. It is weird, after kind of being on my own to have another American with me. I don't have to explain abscure cultural references and I don't have to always be asking "what do you mean by "Póg mo thóin?" FYI: it means "kiss my ass."
Abby knows a lot of things about a lot of stuff and is always sprouting off abscure facts. But now I know that 1 mile is 1.609 km. And that's always good to know.
Leaving Ashford
Am leaving Ashford today to head to Tipperary County in the middle of the country. Am actually really sad to be going. Although the family that I'm staying with is so different from the family that I grew up with, I have somehow found a niche with them. When I came, I was only planning on being here a week. I have been here for almost three. I'm going to miss them.
Tea
If you are going to set up house in Ireland, invest in tea. Even if you don't like it. 'Cause you will end up buying loads for visitors. I don't think I've hade this much tea ever. Sometimes I feel as if I'm going to float away on tea.
At my New New Host's
It feels weird that I haven't posted online in almost a month. Both Katriona and my new host have limited internet access and I would feel like I would be intruding on their resources if I put my computer needs above theirs. Especially since it is taxes season in Ireland. Or rather "personal assesment" time for self-employed people in Ireland.
It seems to me that most of the WWOOFing hosts are self-employed. All of mine have been at least partly self-employed.
Lynn, my new host, is a artist as well as a farmer. She makes beautiful baskets out of willow branches that she soaks for hours and then twists into creative baskets, shapes, and animals. Apparently, she is quite known in Ireland for her mastery of basket making techniques. I was lucky to catch her in her studio. Usually, Lynn lives on Bear? Isle in the very west of West Cork (which is the very west of the Co. Cork, located in the very southwest of Ireland). This week she is at her home in Co. Tipperary, located in the middle of the country. She is here because this is where her studio is located and she is currently working on a community project for the famous lace-making town of Kenmare. This week I will be acting as her assistant.
Lynn is originally from England, in Lanchester. She tells all these stories of growing up in the urban environment with her love of animals and Ireland. She finally moved to Ireland in 1996.
This weekend she held a willow weaving learning session for a women named Cara, who was from north of Dublin. Luckily for me, there was no work to be done in the gardens (it was pouring rain from Friday evening through Sunday) and very little to be done around so I got a free williow weaving seminar over the weekend.
I will be at Lynn's for about a week, and then the plan is to move onto Cork for a little while.
Jam Session
Lynn invited some neighbors and friends over for a good ol' Irish jam session in her kitchen. She played the tin whistle, Michael played the flute, Eddie played the guitar, and Julie sang and played the banjum?, the traditional Irish drums.
The music was so lively and beautiful. There are times when I feel like I have simply arrive in Ireland, and sitting in the warm kitchen lit by candles on the shelves listening to traditional Irish music until midnight was one of those times. You can't help but tap your feet and laugh at the jokes about Kerry men (Kerry being a county in Ireland. Lynn explained that in Europe people make jokes about Irishmen and in Ireland people make jokes about Kerry men. I believe they are the equivlant of dumb blonde jokes. For example: AKerry man named Paddy came upon his neighbor, Mich. Mich was sitting in a boat in the middle of his field. Paddy said to Mich, "Mich, are you daft?... If I could swim I would go over there and make bait out of you.")
I was invited to sing and did so nervously. But it was all good craic (Irish for fun, prounounced "crack", people here use the term so regularly that I find myself thinking it and saying it frequently).
When they left, I found myself invited to another Irish music session on Wednesday. If I'm still in the area I might have to go.
Kato
Kato is a young puppy who is a cross between a collie and a golden laberador. She's a lot fo fun, but also a huge responsiblity that I'm glad I don't have. She still gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and unlike a baby she can't just do in her diaper. While we are working with willow (Lynn is a basket maker who works primarily with willow) Kato plays around our ankles growling and snatching up the lose pieces of wood that fall. I have been able to help Lynn with training Kato to walk on a lead, which is actually harder than it sounds because you want the dog to walk with her head at your knee instead of pulling ahead or falling behind. But Kato has the attention span of a 5 month old pup, and she hasn't quite got the hang of it.
She's a bundle of energy until the late afternoon when she curls up on her bed and sleeps until dinner time.
Amelie
The first day that I was here at Lynn's her older dog went outside and almost immediately began yowling. When Lynn when outside to investigate she found that her dog had ran into a piece of steel sticking out of the ground. The dog had basically opened its shoulder so that the muscles and veins were exposed to the air.
Immediately, Lynn put the Amelie, the dog (collie and black lab), in the van and came to get me and the towel. On the way to the vet, I held the towel over the wound trying to stop the bleeding, and more importantly, trying to keep Amelie from worrying the opening with her mouth. It was a very stressful, yet exilerating experience.
The vet took one look at the wound and noted that it was in a very sensitive area. The vein that we were able to see right on the surface was Amelie's and if she had opened it with her tongue, Lynn and the vet would be having a much different conversation.
Amelie was immediately taken into the back, tranquilized, and stiched up. But we were not able to take her home until two days later.
Yesterday, we brought her home. She seemed a bit depressed as she was without Lynn for a couple of days and she was forced to wear a muzzle and a cone collar so that she wouldn't open the wound. Besides that, however, the opening was stiched cleanly shut and seems to be healing very well. Amelie is able to put weight on the leg to stand and walk. The only thing is that we have to watch her all the time to make sure that she doesn't open the wound when messing around with the collar and muzzle, if she does, she could mess with that vein there, and do more damage. So at all times, either Lynn or I am in the room with her, keeping an eye out.
The doctor says that every day that Amelie keeps the stiches closed is a day closer to her complete recovery.
Irish Hospitality
The only problem with Irish Hospitality is that if a visitor comes over while you are cooking dinner, and you don't have enough to feed him you can't eat in front of him without offering him some. And you can't rush him out the door. Even if he doesn't leave for about 3 hours. And then when he leaves it's 10 o'clock. I'm hungry.
Hosts
At first, I didn't think that I really meshed Lynn. There was nothing specific about her that I disliked, in fact by the end I came to like her. We just didn't seem to be kindered spirits. And I won't lie and say she was my favorite host or even a life-long friend, but after the week at her house I can say that I truly respected her. I learned a lot about art and the life of an artist from her. She was a women with a strong personality and a concrete sense of morality. Furthermore, she opened her home to me and fed me for a week, so I'll be thankful for that.
My last two days with Kate were very busy. Besides the packing and cleaning (general getting ready to move on to the next place), we were busy. Friday I met Steve, a friend of Kate's, who is both a musician and an artist. He swims ocasionally (though it sounded like he did this sort of thing pretty often) in the Ocean off the coast of Wexford County. He said that not only was the rainy Friday the best sort of day to go swimming, but that September is the best month of all to swim in because the seaweed releases high levels of Iodine in late September, early October, which is good for preventing colds. I don't know if he was stirring the soup (and Irish expression for making trouble) or speaking the truth, but Kate, Steve, Chica, and I gathered our swimming gear and headed towards the ocean. All I have to say is that it was cold.
After swimming, we found some blackberries on the path leading back up to the car and on the road back to the Peninsula. We picked and ate them as we walked back to the car, and it wasn't long after we were driving down the road that Kate got the brilliant idea of making pancakes to eat with fresh blackberries. So she stopped the car in the middle of the road so the three of us could pick blackberries and gather them in a small plastic bag we found on the floor of the car.
On the way back to the house we stopped at the local fishmonger to get cod and salmon for dinner and to pick some pears. Back at the house, Kate made plate sized pancakes, which I proceeded to eat with fresh blackberries and raspberry jam.
Some friends of Kate's came over for dinner after Steve had left. A couple and their foster daughter ended up staying the night after we all had a bit of wine.
My last day at Kate's, I woke up and walked from the shed where I slept (where I usually slept in the loft "apartment") to the house, where I discovered the eight year old girl wandering the house while the grown-ups were still abed. In an attempt to distract her from bother the adults, I suggested we play board games. We ended up completing two puzzles before anyone else made an apperance for breakfast.
Later that day, I did most of the packing. I finished packing the next morning before I took Chica on our last walk. Kate and I packed up the car, and we set out for my next host in Co. Wicklow. We stopped for lunch at Sue's new house. Sue is a co-worker of Kate's who lives close to Gorey, a city where Kate works. We talked about her next door neighbors and the difference between a herd of liquid cows and a herd of cream cows (liquid cows produce milk all year round and the milk is usually used for drinking milk, cream cows produce milk during the season when they are also eating fresh grass and their milk is usually used for cheese or cream).
E-mail to My Family
Hey guys-
Just wanted to let you know I'm at the new place in Ireland, which is great. There is another WWOOFer here as well, which is nice. There won't be many blog posts this week as the internet is a bit spotty. So I'll write when I can and then post at the end of the week. Just wanted to let you know so you don't freak if you don't hear from me until next Saturday. On Saturday, I'm going back down to Wexford to babysit for a family I met while with Kate, so I at least know I'll have internet then. If you want to contact me, email and I will check periodically via my Kindle.
Love,
Elaine
At my New Host's
My new host is Katriona (pronounced Katrina to us Americans). She lives on a horse farm with her two daughters, Sarah and Laura. Her other daughter, Clara, has moved out of the house. They are a very welcoming family.
There is another WWOOFer staying here as well, named Abby. Abby and I are doing most of the horse care as the family went to England to celebrate Laura's 16th birthday.
10 Simple Steps to Learn How to Drive a Manual Car
1. Learn how to Drive Automatic when 16 years old.
2. Get your International Drivers License from AAA when you 22 and are planning a trip around the world.
3. Go to a random horse farm in Ireland, where most of the citizens drive manual cars. Be sure to go to a farm where one of the daughters owns a car that is manual and she doesn't mind if you learn on hers.
4. Meet another American working on the farm who drives a manual car at home, but who doesn't have an International Drivers License.
5. Have the host family abandon you and other American on the farm.
6. Create some need to go into town (for example: grocery shopping, phone card credit buying, etc.)
7. Have other American explain to you that she cannot drive into town because she does not have Internationl Drivers License.
8. Have other American offer to teach you so that you both aren't stranded in the middle of Ireland.
9. Be taught basics of manual driving by slightly nervous looking American who is not quite sure you are her best option for getting off the farm.
10. Practice on the roads of the farm for hours because you are petrified that when you drive into town you might hurt someone (Note: Always make sure that you are driving on the right side of the road [rather, the left side], because not doing so is a sure way to hurt someone).
11. (Optional) Find out that you are still stranded because the Irish car insurance system is really messed up.
Differences
The family we are staying with is back from England.
It's funny how you can connect with people completely different from you if you purposefully forget how different you are. I think that is part of the charm of WWOOFing, everyone comes in with different expetations of what they want to get out of it (WWOOFers and hosts alike), but they are open to the different people and cultures that they might be exposed to.
Sometimes you miss what you were used to back home, but mostly you are intrigued by the opportunity to become a different person and experience this other world.
The Pub
Drinking in the local Pub in the town of the highest altitude in Ireland with Sarah, Kara, and Abby. Does alcohol affect you faster at a higher elevation?
The Dogs
The family that I am staying with has three dogs: Toby, a mix between a blank and a blank whose favorite activity is planting his dirty front paws on my clean shirts first thing in the morning, Fly, a beautiful greyhound who must be kept on a lead at all times because if not she will take for the hills and not come back for hours, and Mini, a cute little black Whippet who thinks she is a cat. She insists on climbing into your lap for a pet.
I have taken to walking the dogs, not daily as with Chica (I miss Chica!) but every couple of days. Toby and Mini streak off into the fields surrounding the back lane that we walk down barking at horses and wild ducks, but Fly, who is restricted to the area around me by the lead, looks after them longingly, and then looks up to me with her large pleading eyes. I feel bad keeping her in check, but I know I would feel worse if I lost someone else's dog.
We usually walk up in the hills behind the house were you can look down over the town of Wicklow and see the Irish Sea in the distance. The hills, called mountains by the Irish, cradle the town, so it is almost as if I am looking through a valley.
One time I tried to make it to the top of these so called mountains. To get there you have to pass a gate marked as a wildlife area. Sarah told me to climb over these signs to get to the top, so I did. In Ireland, people don't seem to think twice about trespassing on the neighbor's fields. This was the same in Wexford, where Kate told me to feel free to ignore the fence to Tintern Abbey's walled garden which read "No Trespassing" in big letters. Kate said people went in all the time. I never did.
I was nervous all the way up to the top of the mountian that some Irish farmer would come after me, but I made it to the top without incident. On the way back, however, Toby disappeared and I lost the path. After a bit of bumbling through the hedges, getting scrapes that covered my legs from the knee down, and a reluctant reliance on Mini's keen, yet spacey, sense of direction we made it back to the main path, Toby, and the ranch house.
Horseback Riding
Sarah, Kara, Abby, and I hacked out (rode out) today for a ride in the hills. i rode Rachel, the sweetest, and laziest, pony around. But I was the self-acknowledged amatuer rider and it was only fair. I did discover, however, that somethings you never really unlearn, and those 5 odd summers of horseback riding where right there in my muscle memory (even for trotting).
After a good trot through the back roads of Ireland country we headed back to the ranch house for a good rasher? (the traditional breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, etc.) though I only ate eggs and toast.
The Horses
There are 15 horses on the farm that I am staying on, and each has a distinct personality. From Barney who refuses to be caught to Mabel who is a bit wary of women, each horse displays different habits. Sky is a grey male horse, who I think is my favorite, cause he is the sweetest. I seriously don't think he has a rotten bone in his body. He just wants to figure out what you want and do it.
The Travellers (weird spelling I know)
Elsewhere known as gypsies, the Travellers of Ireland are a group of people of ethnic Irish descent. They are a traditionally nomadic people with their own set of traditions and language.
I have asked Kate a couple of times whether there were social problems concerned with race in Ireland, and she indicated that there aren't really any prevelant racial minorities in Ireland, so most of the social problems come from differences in religions (Protestant and Catholic) or prejudices against the Travellers.
Travellers are typically a poorer subset of the Irish population and a study published in 2007 suggested that 50% of Travellers die before the age of 39 and 70% die before they are 59. European Parliament Committee of Enquiry found Travellers a a group to be facing more discrimination than other social groups. (If you want to know more check out the Irish Travellers Wikipedia page) A lot of people in Ireland refer to them as "knackers."
There is also a segment of Irish Travellers to be found in the United States, which I had never heard before. But ever since I have been in Ireland, I continue to hear good and bad stories about Travellers no matter where I go.
Hay/Straw
Hay is for feed, Straw is for bedding. Remember that.
Boswell
There is a major horse stud, called Boswell, right up the road from the farm I'm working on. And this Saturday and the past Saturday Abby and I went up to the other farm to work with Kim, who runs the horse backriding lessons for younger children. This meant a lot of tacking up horses (putting on their bridles and saddles) and leading unruly horses in walking, trotting, and jumping crossbeams.
It was interesting to see a bigger farm in Ireland as this place hosts serious horse competions. Laura, the daughter of my host, was actually was up there one Saturday to compete on Bobby O, one of the horses from my host family's stables. It was great fun to see a competion as well as an operation with a huge budget.
Mucking Out
You would think that mucking out (cleaning horse manure out of the stables) would be an unpleasant job) but plug into my iPod and I can clean a stall in little over ten minutes. Its hard work, and there have been plenty of nights where I have gone to bed with sore arms. But it also feels nice to go to bed feeling like you've accomplished something that took hard labor. No matter that you will have to go back out the next day and do it all again, cause in the end, everybody poops.
Abby
Abby is the other American staying at the horse farm. She's also from the United States, from Kentucky. It is weird, after kind of being on my own to have another American with me. I don't have to explain abscure cultural references and I don't have to always be asking "what do you mean by "Póg mo thóin?" FYI: it means "kiss my ass."
Abby knows a lot of things about a lot of stuff and is always sprouting off abscure facts. But now I know that 1 mile is 1.609 km. And that's always good to know.
Leaving Ashford
Am leaving Ashford today to head to Tipperary County in the middle of the country. Am actually really sad to be going. Although the family that I'm staying with is so different from the family that I grew up with, I have somehow found a niche with them. When I came, I was only planning on being here a week. I have been here for almost three. I'm going to miss them.
Tea
If you are going to set up house in Ireland, invest in tea. Even if you don't like it. 'Cause you will end up buying loads for visitors. I don't think I've hade this much tea ever. Sometimes I feel as if I'm going to float away on tea.
At my New New Host's
It feels weird that I haven't posted online in almost a month. Both Katriona and my new host have limited internet access and I would feel like I would be intruding on their resources if I put my computer needs above theirs. Especially since it is taxes season in Ireland. Or rather "personal assesment" time for self-employed people in Ireland.
It seems to me that most of the WWOOFing hosts are self-employed. All of mine have been at least partly self-employed.
Lynn, my new host, is a artist as well as a farmer. She makes beautiful baskets out of willow branches that she soaks for hours and then twists into creative baskets, shapes, and animals. Apparently, she is quite known in Ireland for her mastery of basket making techniques. I was lucky to catch her in her studio. Usually, Lynn lives on Bear? Isle in the very west of West Cork (which is the very west of the Co. Cork, located in the very southwest of Ireland). This week she is at her home in Co. Tipperary, located in the middle of the country. She is here because this is where her studio is located and she is currently working on a community project for the famous lace-making town of Kenmare. This week I will be acting as her assistant.
Lynn is originally from England, in Lanchester. She tells all these stories of growing up in the urban environment with her love of animals and Ireland. She finally moved to Ireland in 1996.
This weekend she held a willow weaving learning session for a women named Cara, who was from north of Dublin. Luckily for me, there was no work to be done in the gardens (it was pouring rain from Friday evening through Sunday) and very little to be done around so I got a free williow weaving seminar over the weekend.
I will be at Lynn's for about a week, and then the plan is to move onto Cork for a little while.
Jam Session
Lynn invited some neighbors and friends over for a good ol' Irish jam session in her kitchen. She played the tin whistle, Michael played the flute, Eddie played the guitar, and Julie sang and played the banjum?, the traditional Irish drums.
The music was so lively and beautiful. There are times when I feel like I have simply arrive in Ireland, and sitting in the warm kitchen lit by candles on the shelves listening to traditional Irish music until midnight was one of those times. You can't help but tap your feet and laugh at the jokes about Kerry men (Kerry being a county in Ireland. Lynn explained that in Europe people make jokes about Irishmen and in Ireland people make jokes about Kerry men. I believe they are the equivlant of dumb blonde jokes. For example: AKerry man named Paddy came upon his neighbor, Mich. Mich was sitting in a boat in the middle of his field. Paddy said to Mich, "Mich, are you daft?... If I could swim I would go over there and make bait out of you.")
I was invited to sing and did so nervously. But it was all good craic (Irish for fun, prounounced "crack", people here use the term so regularly that I find myself thinking it and saying it frequently).
When they left, I found myself invited to another Irish music session on Wednesday. If I'm still in the area I might have to go.
Kato
Kato is a young puppy who is a cross between a collie and a golden laberador. She's a lot fo fun, but also a huge responsiblity that I'm glad I don't have. She still gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and unlike a baby she can't just do in her diaper. While we are working with willow (Lynn is a basket maker who works primarily with willow) Kato plays around our ankles growling and snatching up the lose pieces of wood that fall. I have been able to help Lynn with training Kato to walk on a lead, which is actually harder than it sounds because you want the dog to walk with her head at your knee instead of pulling ahead or falling behind. But Kato has the attention span of a 5 month old pup, and she hasn't quite got the hang of it.
She's a bundle of energy until the late afternoon when she curls up on her bed and sleeps until dinner time.
Amelie
The first day that I was here at Lynn's her older dog went outside and almost immediately began yowling. When Lynn when outside to investigate she found that her dog had ran into a piece of steel sticking out of the ground. The dog had basically opened its shoulder so that the muscles and veins were exposed to the air.
Immediately, Lynn put the Amelie, the dog (collie and black lab), in the van and came to get me and the towel. On the way to the vet, I held the towel over the wound trying to stop the bleeding, and more importantly, trying to keep Amelie from worrying the opening with her mouth. It was a very stressful, yet exilerating experience.
The vet took one look at the wound and noted that it was in a very sensitive area. The vein that we were able to see right on the surface was Amelie's and if she had opened it with her tongue, Lynn and the vet would be having a much different conversation.
Amelie was immediately taken into the back, tranquilized, and stiched up. But we were not able to take her home until two days later.
Yesterday, we brought her home. She seemed a bit depressed as she was without Lynn for a couple of days and she was forced to wear a muzzle and a cone collar so that she wouldn't open the wound. Besides that, however, the opening was stiched cleanly shut and seems to be healing very well. Amelie is able to put weight on the leg to stand and walk. The only thing is that we have to watch her all the time to make sure that she doesn't open the wound when messing around with the collar and muzzle, if she does, she could mess with that vein there, and do more damage. So at all times, either Lynn or I am in the room with her, keeping an eye out.
The doctor says that every day that Amelie keeps the stiches closed is a day closer to her complete recovery.
Irish Hospitality
The only problem with Irish Hospitality is that if a visitor comes over while you are cooking dinner, and you don't have enough to feed him you can't eat in front of him without offering him some. And you can't rush him out the door. Even if he doesn't leave for about 3 hours. And then when he leaves it's 10 o'clock. I'm hungry.
Hosts
At first, I didn't think that I really meshed Lynn. There was nothing specific about her that I disliked, in fact by the end I came to like her. We just didn't seem to be kindered spirits. And I won't lie and say she was my favorite host or even a life-long friend, but after the week at her house I can say that I truly respected her. I learned a lot about art and the life of an artist from her. She was a women with a strong personality and a concrete sense of morality. Furthermore, she opened her home to me and fed me for a week, so I'll be thankful for that.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Irish Pub
Last night, Kate, Steven, and I went to the pub around the corner for a pint of Guinness. And when I say around the corner, I mean walking through the fields 20 minutes on back roads (though really we drove there and walked back).
I had my first pint of Guinness ever in a Irish bar, where older men congregated to talk about their days with the graying man behind the bar. Steven (Kate's new boarder), Kate, and I sat in the corner to drink the dark bitter beer (with a aftertaste similar to that of coffee) that Kate bought. (Pictures will follow as Kate was insistent that my first Guinness be documented)
I was outmatched when it came to drinking beer, as both Kate and Steven soon downed one pint and started on their seconds. But the memorable point of the evening was not having Kate tease me about being a lightweight, but rather the lively debate on philosophy and religion that was tossed back and forth between a man who was skeptical of evolution and a woman who doesn't trust organized religions (I do admit that at certain point I was afraid that one or the other might reach the tipping point to anger; fortunately, this did not occur).
In the end, it was a notable Irish experience, and I'm glad I waited to have my first pint of Guinness in here.
Sláinte! (To your health!)
I had my first pint of Guinness ever in a Irish bar, where older men congregated to talk about their days with the graying man behind the bar. Steven (Kate's new boarder), Kate, and I sat in the corner to drink the dark bitter beer (with a aftertaste similar to that of coffee) that Kate bought. (Pictures will follow as Kate was insistent that my first Guinness be documented)
I was outmatched when it came to drinking beer, as both Kate and Steven soon downed one pint and started on their seconds. But the memorable point of the evening was not having Kate tease me about being a lightweight, but rather the lively debate on philosophy and religion that was tossed back and forth between a man who was skeptical of evolution and a woman who doesn't trust organized religions (I do admit that at certain point I was afraid that one or the other might reach the tipping point to anger; fortunately, this did not occur).
In the end, it was a notable Irish experience, and I'm glad I waited to have my first pint of Guinness in here.
Sláinte! (To your health!)
Thursday, September 29, 2011
A thought
There is this moment where you reflexively reach for the camera. But something stops you--a heaviness in the chest, a tightening at the back of the throat, a tickle behind the eye--and you realise that any picture resulting from this moment could not hope to capture the elusive quality that makes it so... unique. A pixelated representation would only detract from the originality; would dull the memory that you would be seeking to remember.
So you breathe deeply, each breath deeper then the last, thinking that somehow if you only breathe deeply enough you might breathe in the moment--the view, the taste, the smell, the perfection that lives only in that moment.
And then, as quickly as it dawned upon you, it leaves you. The light leaves, the smells mute, you are pulled back to a reality where the sweatshirt on your back leaves you just a tad bit too warm.
And you can never go back.
No medium could ever capture what it was, so you are left with regret. And a calming bath of contentment comes from knowing that if you had tried to duplicate it you would have ruined it completely.
So you breathe deeply, each breath deeper then the last, thinking that somehow if you only breathe deeply enough you might breathe in the moment--the view, the taste, the smell, the perfection that lives only in that moment.
And then, as quickly as it dawned upon you, it leaves you. The light leaves, the smells mute, you are pulled back to a reality where the sweatshirt on your back leaves you just a tad bit too warm.
And you can never go back.
No medium could ever capture what it was, so you are left with regret. And a calming bath of contentment comes from knowing that if you had tried to duplicate it you would have ruined it completely.
In the Kitchen
A little tip for those Americans who are looking for another way to eat their pie without ice cream: here one of the ways to eat pie is with a dollop of Greek yogurt. Kate put a dollop of 10% Greek yogurt on a piece of pie, which I have actually found I enjoy more than the ice cream. It complements the apple pie without being too sweet.
I have been spending a lot of time in the kitchen as Kate's been busy at work (her other job in the city). Below are two of the recipes that I've been fooling around with. Warning, these are not professional recipes, so be cautious if you do attempt to try them out.
Variation on Fiona's Simple Lentil Shepard's Pie (Vegetarian)
Note: Fiona is one of the moms who visited Kate this past weekend, and I really liked her version of a vegetarian Shepard's pie. I tried to remake it and this is what I created.
(Serves 6)
1 cup lentils
1/2 can plum tomatoes in tomato juice (can is 15 oz.)
1 medium onion
1 cup vegetable stock (or one cube of vegetable stock dissolved in 1 cup boiling water)
8 medium potatoes
1/2 cup cream
tablespoon of butter
mild cheddar cheese (optional)
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).
Rinse lentils. Bring about 2 cups of water to boil and add lentils. Simmer for 20 minutes.
Add plum tomatoes, tomato juice, onion, and vegetable stock. Simmer until lentils and onions are tender and mixture is not too runny. Salt and pepper to taste. Spoon heated mixture into casserole dish.
Make mashed potatoes with potatoes, cream, and butter (Boil potatoes until tender. Mash with a little bit of water, cream, and butter. Salt to taste.) Smooth mashed potatoes over lentil mixture.
Add grated cheese to cover mashed potatoes. Bake for 15-25 minutes or until cheese is melted (or if you made it without cheese, until potatoes start to brown).
Simple Zucchini Tomato Cream Curry with Vegetable Rice and Feta Cheese
Note: This was really good made with fresh zucchini (called courgettes here in Ireland) which Kate and I got from the garden. The dairy here is also produced locally (there is a Wexford brand that boasts that you are never farther than 10km from the farm where your milk originated), so the cream was especially nice as well.
(Serves 1-2)
1 medium Zucchini
1/2 can of plum tomatoes in tomato juice (can is 15 oz.)
1/2 cup cream
mild curry spices/powder
1 cup brown rice
1 cup vegetable stock (or one cube of vegetable stock dissolved in 1 cup boiling water)
feta cheese
 |
| This is the garden where I got the zucchini. |
Saute sliced zucchini in olive oil. Add tomatoes and tomato juice. Simmer until zucchini are tender. Add cream and curry spices to taste.
Serve rice, covered with curry, topped with feta cheese.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Fresh Apple Pie
It's fall in Ireland. And that means that the leaves that were green when I arrived two and a half weeks ago are either a bright yellow or a dirt brown and they are starting to fall on the ground. The days are also getting damper, the morning dew lasts till about 9 am, when it becomes a drizzle. On a good day we get a couple of hours of sunshine in the early afternoon. They are saying that we might get some snow as soon as October.
But I don't mind this weather. Compared to the bleak winters of Ohio, this is a piece of pie.
Speaking of pie, I made one this afternoon. Ask anyone who has ever picked apples from apple trees knows, apples are harvested in the fall. And while there are many uses for these apples (cider, crisps, alcohol, etc.) my favorite still remains apple pie. I harvested the apples from Kate's trees a couple of days ago, and today I took a couple of hours to peel, cut, and sugar some apples for the pie. It was an interesting experiece as for the first time in my life I made an apple pie without a specific recipe. This is because not only is Kate's recipe book collection lacking, but she doesn't seem to have any measuring utensils.
This morning I pulled on a pair of Wellies over my socks to keep my toes dry on my walk with Chica. And tonight, when I get back from an afternoon walk to Tintern Abbey with her, I expect to enjoy a slice of apple pie and ice cream. Hope the weather is fine wherever you are, and if it's not, then I hope that your taking proper advantage of the weather to bake something nice.
But I don't mind this weather. Compared to the bleak winters of Ohio, this is a piece of pie.
Speaking of pie, I made one this afternoon. Ask anyone who has ever picked apples from apple trees knows, apples are harvested in the fall. And while there are many uses for these apples (cider, crisps, alcohol, etc.) my favorite still remains apple pie. I harvested the apples from Kate's trees a couple of days ago, and today I took a couple of hours to peel, cut, and sugar some apples for the pie. It was an interesting experiece as for the first time in my life I made an apple pie without a specific recipe. This is because not only is Kate's recipe book collection lacking, but she doesn't seem to have any measuring utensils.
This morning I pulled on a pair of Wellies over my socks to keep my toes dry on my walk with Chica. And tonight, when I get back from an afternoon walk to Tintern Abbey with her, I expect to enjoy a slice of apple pie and ice cream. Hope the weather is fine wherever you are, and if it's not, then I hope that your taking proper advantage of the weather to bake something nice.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Shaking up the Routine
It is weird to think that I've been in Ireland for over two weeks. Even through when I got here I never thought that it would become routine, I've found that my days on the farm has fallen in to a facsimile of a routine. It is time to shake up the routine, and find a new one.
This trip wasn't about finding routine, it was almost about avoiding it (at least in the form of a 9 to 5 job). I wasn't ready for routine, instead I wanted adventure. And though I'm a bit nervous about my new hosts in Ireland, I recognize that every time I change hosts I'm bound to be nervous (and as far as being wary of strangers when I stay in their houses, nervousness is good).
Tomorrow, I start packing my newly laundered clothes up in my backpack, adding the bits of things that I've picked up from my time in Co. Wexford.
This trip wasn't about finding routine, it was almost about avoiding it (at least in the form of a 9 to 5 job). I wasn't ready for routine, instead I wanted adventure. And though I'm a bit nervous about my new hosts in Ireland, I recognize that every time I change hosts I'm bound to be nervous (and as far as being wary of strangers when I stay in their houses, nervousness is good).
Tomorrow, I start packing my newly laundered clothes up in my backpack, adding the bits of things that I've picked up from my time in Co. Wexford.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Sigh
...of relief? ...at the silence?
All I know is that the kids are gone, my feet are propped up, and I have a cold beer in my hand... and a jar of Nutella that I am eating with my fingers.
Life, right now, is good.
All I know is that the kids are gone, my feet are propped up, and I have a cold beer in my hand... and a jar of Nutella that I am eating with my fingers.
Life, right now, is good.
Chica's Birthday Weekend
Up until a couple of months ago I hadn't babysat since I was 18. The last summer before college I spent babysitting a young boy in the neighborhood. But I stopped working that job before the summer was over because the stress of working, packing for college, seeing my mother move to Omaha, and saying good-bye to all my friends was a bit to much for my emotional health (this was also the summer that the vague "anxiety disorder" made itself known).
And although many of my friends in college took babysitting jobs to make a little extra money to fund late night hang outs (read: beer runs), I decided that I would rather work part-time for the school (in the Alumni office and in the school cafeteria, as well as notetaking with the Diabilities office for awhile).
To make a couple of extra bucks towards this trip over the summer, I worked as a nanny. For 4 weeks I worked 8:30 to 4:30 with two young boys, aged 18 months and 3 years. And for 2 and half weeks after that I worked part-time for 3 kids, ages 6, 11, and 15.
Let me tell you working with kids is no picnic (not that you parents out there aren't aware of this already) . It also makes me think about how far I've come from being a kid. Though I would hesitate to label myself "grown-up" (I still sneak cookies, refuse to clean my room, and wonder what I'm going to be when I "grow-up"), I would also like to think that I'm no longer a kid. And it is not just because I no longer have a bedtime (though it gets harder and harder to stay up pass midnight when I have to be up and outside working at 8).
And you might be saying to yourself, Interesting, but what does this have to do with Ireland or your trip, Elaine? (Well, maybe you aren't saying Interesting, but my train of thought started with the summer before college, so you'll just have to bear with me.)
For the past three days I have spent most of my time around Irish kids aged 3 to about 16. There were 17 of them over at Kate's house this weekend to celebrate Chica's brithday, because although Kate doesn't have children of her own, she is aunt or honorary aunt to countless kids. These kids ranged from the family of a young boy and twin girls who biked down the lane from the house across the fields for the afternoon yesterday to the 4 year old triplet boys who drove down from beyond Dublin (about 3 hours away) late Friday night and who are still here as I write this.
There are times when they drive me crazy, with their noise and crying and messes. And then there are other times when we build block towers as tall as they are, and I can't help but laugh as they knock them down. I alternate between thinking that kids are the best playmates in the world to wondering why anyone would ever have kids in the first place (though, Mom and Dad, I am eternally grateful that you decided to!).
The minor difference between the kids here and the kids at home are questions like "Are you from America? I've heard people talk like you on TV" and "Do you live close to the White House? Have you met the President?"
I think the major difference between the kids here this weekend and the kid I was is not their lilting accents (which might actually make them cuter then any kids I've met before), but their view on the world. I don't remember when I realized that there was a world beyond my little universe, but I think it came later in life. The kids here are exposed to American and Australian TV. And they are taught the histories of other countries in school (not the history of the UK, but that is a whole other blog post). And they go to Europe for school breaks. And some of their parents aren't Irish. And it is sort of understood that when they finish school they will look for a job in Australia, or England, or the States, because there aren't very many jobs here.
They know from a very early age that the world is much bigger than Ireland.
I first went out of the United States when I was 11. And then my view of the world expanded that much more. But these kids are not even 10, and their worlds are only slightly smaller than mine. At one point this weekend, I was called on by a child named Sara (age 11) to show her where Ethiopia was on a map. and I noticed a nine year old girl was reading a book on Frida Kahlo de Rivera. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't even care where Ethiopia was until I was in 8th grade, and was required by Human Geography to memorize the countries in Africa on a map. And I don't remember recognizing Frida until a library trip that same year.
So, Elaine, what is your conclusion and what does it have to do with Ireland and your trip?
My conclusion is that people in Ireland, not just kids, are aware of the world in a way that I only recently started to develop. And part of this trip is figuring out just what my perspective of the world is and my place in it. So maybe, with its broad perspectives on the world, Ireland was a good place to start.
And although many of my friends in college took babysitting jobs to make a little extra money to fund late night hang outs (read: beer runs), I decided that I would rather work part-time for the school (in the Alumni office and in the school cafeteria, as well as notetaking with the Diabilities office for awhile).
To make a couple of extra bucks towards this trip over the summer, I worked as a nanny. For 4 weeks I worked 8:30 to 4:30 with two young boys, aged 18 months and 3 years. And for 2 and half weeks after that I worked part-time for 3 kids, ages 6, 11, and 15.
Let me tell you working with kids is no picnic (not that you parents out there aren't aware of this already) . It also makes me think about how far I've come from being a kid. Though I would hesitate to label myself "grown-up" (I still sneak cookies, refuse to clean my room, and wonder what I'm going to be when I "grow-up"), I would also like to think that I'm no longer a kid. And it is not just because I no longer have a bedtime (though it gets harder and harder to stay up pass midnight when I have to be up and outside working at 8).
And you might be saying to yourself, Interesting, but what does this have to do with Ireland or your trip, Elaine? (Well, maybe you aren't saying Interesting, but my train of thought started with the summer before college, so you'll just have to bear with me.)
For the past three days I have spent most of my time around Irish kids aged 3 to about 16. There were 17 of them over at Kate's house this weekend to celebrate Chica's brithday, because although Kate doesn't have children of her own, she is aunt or honorary aunt to countless kids. These kids ranged from the family of a young boy and twin girls who biked down the lane from the house across the fields for the afternoon yesterday to the 4 year old triplet boys who drove down from beyond Dublin (about 3 hours away) late Friday night and who are still here as I write this.
There are times when they drive me crazy, with their noise and crying and messes. And then there are other times when we build block towers as tall as they are, and I can't help but laugh as they knock them down. I alternate between thinking that kids are the best playmates in the world to wondering why anyone would ever have kids in the first place (though, Mom and Dad, I am eternally grateful that you decided to!).
The minor difference between the kids here and the kids at home are questions like "Are you from America? I've heard people talk like you on TV" and "Do you live close to the White House? Have you met the President?"
I think the major difference between the kids here this weekend and the kid I was is not their lilting accents (which might actually make them cuter then any kids I've met before), but their view on the world. I don't remember when I realized that there was a world beyond my little universe, but I think it came later in life. The kids here are exposed to American and Australian TV. And they are taught the histories of other countries in school (not the history of the UK, but that is a whole other blog post). And they go to Europe for school breaks. And some of their parents aren't Irish. And it is sort of understood that when they finish school they will look for a job in Australia, or England, or the States, because there aren't very many jobs here.
They know from a very early age that the world is much bigger than Ireland.
I first went out of the United States when I was 11. And then my view of the world expanded that much more. But these kids are not even 10, and their worlds are only slightly smaller than mine. At one point this weekend, I was called on by a child named Sara (age 11) to show her where Ethiopia was on a map. and I noticed a nine year old girl was reading a book on Frida Kahlo de Rivera. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't even care where Ethiopia was until I was in 8th grade, and was required by Human Geography to memorize the countries in Africa on a map. And I don't remember recognizing Frida until a library trip that same year.
So, Elaine, what is your conclusion and what does it have to do with Ireland and your trip?
My conclusion is that people in Ireland, not just kids, are aware of the world in a way that I only recently started to develop. And part of this trip is figuring out just what my perspective of the world is and my place in it. So maybe, with its broad perspectives on the world, Ireland was a good place to start.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Roasted Beets
I have never really been a fan of beets. Though, to be quite truthful, I've only really had them pickled or raw. Kate introduced me to this way of preparing beets that renders them crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and a bit sweet overall. If you don't like beets, but have never tried them this way, I suggest you try it out.
Roasted Beets
Boil raw, unpeeled beets until they are the consistancy of pickled beets (fork goes in and out of them easily, they are easily cut, or when squeezed they feel like slightly overripe tomatoes). The water should be red (be careful when pouring it out, this is what some people used to dye their clothes redish-pink with).
Peel skin from beets and refrigerate.
When beets are cool, preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Remove beets from fridge and cut into slices which are about 1/8 to 1/4 inch wide, 1/2 inch across, and 1 inch tall. Mix with Olive Oil until beets are covered and then arrange the pieces on a baking sheet. Place in oven for 20 minutes.
Take beets from oven and mix them with a spoon. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Put tray back in oven for 10 minutes or until they are the desired consistancy (for crispier beets, put tray in for up to 20 minutes).
Eat warm beets over lettuce salad (I had one that was lettuce, tomatoes, parmigiano, green olives, hommus, and cucumbers, with olive oil and Rosso (red wine) vinegar, with the beets that was really very good).
Kate says that she really enjoys these beets in a salad of goat cheese, rocket lettuce, and some type of olive oil vinaigrette.
If you try it, let me know what you think!
Roasted Beets
Boil raw, unpeeled beets until they are the consistancy of pickled beets (fork goes in and out of them easily, they are easily cut, or when squeezed they feel like slightly overripe tomatoes). The water should be red (be careful when pouring it out, this is what some people used to dye their clothes redish-pink with).
Peel skin from beets and refrigerate.
When beets are cool, preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Remove beets from fridge and cut into slices which are about 1/8 to 1/4 inch wide, 1/2 inch across, and 1 inch tall. Mix with Olive Oil until beets are covered and then arrange the pieces on a baking sheet. Place in oven for 20 minutes.
Take beets from oven and mix them with a spoon. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Put tray back in oven for 10 minutes or until they are the desired consistancy (for crispier beets, put tray in for up to 20 minutes).
Eat warm beets over lettuce salad (I had one that was lettuce, tomatoes, parmigiano, green olives, hommus, and cucumbers, with olive oil and Rosso (red wine) vinegar, with the beets that was really very good).
Kate says that she really enjoys these beets in a salad of goat cheese, rocket lettuce, and some type of olive oil vinaigrette.
If you try it, let me know what you think!
Halfway through First Visit
It is Wednesday night, 10:02 pm here in Ireland. But back on the east coast of the United States it is 5:02 pm. Exactly two weeks ago today, I was near Central Park, excited about the adventure I was about to embark on.
You would have thought by now, some of the excitment would have worn of. Or that maybe I would be less nervous about the adventures I'm going to have. But no; I'm still excited, still nervous.
I'm about halfway through my time here with Kate (been here a week and a half) and in another week and a half I will probably be heading to Wicklow County, Ireland (about 40 minutes south of Dublin) were I will spend a month helping take care of competition and rescued horses on a family run farm.
I haven't been near a horse in about 5 years, since my summers away at camp, where I took horseback riding pretty seriously for a city girl. I'm excited to meet some new horses. And maybe ride one or two if the owners are amenable.
As much as I love it here at Kate's, I am ready to see more of Ireland.
You would have thought by now, some of the excitment would have worn of. Or that maybe I would be less nervous about the adventures I'm going to have. But no; I'm still excited, still nervous.
I'm about halfway through my time here with Kate (been here a week and a half) and in another week and a half I will probably be heading to Wicklow County, Ireland (about 40 minutes south of Dublin) were I will spend a month helping take care of competition and rescued horses on a family run farm.
I haven't been near a horse in about 5 years, since my summers away at camp, where I took horseback riding pretty seriously for a city girl. I'm excited to meet some new horses. And maybe ride one or two if the owners are amenable.
As much as I love it here at Kate's, I am ready to see more of Ireland.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Potatoes
Why has Ireland always been associated with potatoes?
Because the Great Famine of 1845 (ended 1852) was caused by a blight that turned a majority of the potato crops in Ireland into putrid waste in the ground. Before the Famine, potatoes were a staple crop that feed Ireland's poor as well as their livestock. When the blight decimated the potato crops, 1 million people died of famine and another 1 million immigrated out of Ireland.
Even though other parts of the world, especially Europe, were affected by the blight, no country experienced the devestation that Ireland did.
It is sad to think that the main food product associated with Ireland comes not from its abundance of it, but rather the dramatic dearth of it.
Digging through Kate's garden it is hard to imagine that there ever was a shortage of the pudgy, pinkish-brown tubers. They literally multiply in the ground (You can plant one and, like any other root, it spreads. As it spreads, one tuber becomes many.) Kneeling in the garden this afternoon, fingers shifting through the dirt mounds that had been built to protect the potatoes tubers from the cool atmoshphere, I was able to fill a medium-sized basket with the little suckers in less than five minutes.
Many of the potatoes here don't look like the ones you can find in the supermarkets back home. Every once in a while my hands grasped the brown, rounded shape of a Russet Potato that is familiar to me because it has been mass produced in the States. But most of the potatoes I found were small and pinkish. And looked more like huge, chubby fingers than potatoes. In fact, sometimes tubers grew out of the tops of other tubers forming three- or four- fingered hands.
Putting aside my reservations on eating hand-like objects, I carefully washed the potatoes and cut out any spoiled or rotted parts. Then I boiled them for over half and hour. When they were done, the fork slid into them with little resistance. I mashed them up with a bit of milk and butter for lunch.
Let me tell you, Helen (one of the neighbors) was right. I don't know if it was the working for my supper or the history of the potato that made me so appreciative or what, but there is nothing quite like a Irish potato.
Because the Great Famine of 1845 (ended 1852) was caused by a blight that turned a majority of the potato crops in Ireland into putrid waste in the ground. Before the Famine, potatoes were a staple crop that feed Ireland's poor as well as their livestock. When the blight decimated the potato crops, 1 million people died of famine and another 1 million immigrated out of Ireland.
Even though other parts of the world, especially Europe, were affected by the blight, no country experienced the devestation that Ireland did.
It is sad to think that the main food product associated with Ireland comes not from its abundance of it, but rather the dramatic dearth of it.
Digging through Kate's garden it is hard to imagine that there ever was a shortage of the pudgy, pinkish-brown tubers. They literally multiply in the ground (You can plant one and, like any other root, it spreads. As it spreads, one tuber becomes many.) Kneeling in the garden this afternoon, fingers shifting through the dirt mounds that had been built to protect the potatoes tubers from the cool atmoshphere, I was able to fill a medium-sized basket with the little suckers in less than five minutes.
Many of the potatoes here don't look like the ones you can find in the supermarkets back home. Every once in a while my hands grasped the brown, rounded shape of a Russet Potato that is familiar to me because it has been mass produced in the States. But most of the potatoes I found were small and pinkish. And looked more like huge, chubby fingers than potatoes. In fact, sometimes tubers grew out of the tops of other tubers forming three- or four- fingered hands.
Putting aside my reservations on eating hand-like objects, I carefully washed the potatoes and cut out any spoiled or rotted parts. Then I boiled them for over half and hour. When they were done, the fork slid into them with little resistance. I mashed them up with a bit of milk and butter for lunch.
Let me tell you, Helen (one of the neighbors) was right. I don't know if it was the working for my supper or the history of the potato that made me so appreciative or what, but there is nothing quite like a Irish potato.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Sick Day
I woke up yesterday morning thinking that it would be just another day in Wexford. I woke up and walked the dog. Fed her and the cat. Went out to the polytunnel to plant lettuce (yes, more lettuce).
Unfortunately, here is where the day took a turn. I got nauseous and threw up.
I spent the day in and out of bed, trying to avoid dehydration. Only thing I was able to keep down all day was weak tea and bread.
It's funny how every single time I get sick, I get homesick. No one takes care of you when you are sick like your mother or worries about you like your dad.
Good news is that when I woke up this morning it was like I had never been sick at all.
Unfortunately, here is where the day took a turn. I got nauseous and threw up.
I spent the day in and out of bed, trying to avoid dehydration. Only thing I was able to keep down all day was weak tea and bread.
It's funny how every single time I get sick, I get homesick. No one takes care of you when you are sick like your mother or worries about you like your dad.
Good news is that when I woke up this morning it was like I had never been sick at all.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Hook Head Lighthouse
Today, I took a trip to Hook Head Penisula. More specifically, today I rode my bike to Hook Head Lighthouse, the oldest operational lighthouse in the world.
You'll have to excuse my photo, I haven't quite figured out the whole taking pictures of myself in new places things. All my other photos show me blocking the lighthouse.
Like,
Oh, well.
The bike ride was intense. The wind was blowing, and the hills, though not steep, were long. 17.2 km from Tintern Abbey to Hook Head Lighthouse (almost 11 miles) and the same back. But the sun was shining and I couldn't resist.
Now, Hook Head Lighthouse is a tourist attraction. The first I've been to in Ireland. But unlike the tourist attractions in London, England or Washington, DC, most of the visitors seemed to be from the country we were in. They were just enjoying the view.
I did take the opportunity to be sappy and look out over the Atlantic Ocean towards home.
You can't see it, but over that horizon is the East Coast of the United States.
All in all, the day was a success because I got to see more of Ireland.
Tomorrow, I'll finish posting my pictures from my first week in Wexford!
You'll have to excuse my photo, I haven't quite figured out the whole taking pictures of myself in new places things. All my other photos show me blocking the lighthouse.
Like,
Oh, well.
The bike ride was intense. The wind was blowing, and the hills, though not steep, were long. 17.2 km from Tintern Abbey to Hook Head Lighthouse (almost 11 miles) and the same back. But the sun was shining and I couldn't resist.
Now, Hook Head Lighthouse is a tourist attraction. The first I've been to in Ireland. But unlike the tourist attractions in London, England or Washington, DC, most of the visitors seemed to be from the country we were in. They were just enjoying the view.
I did take the opportunity to be sappy and look out over the Atlantic Ocean towards home.
You can't see it, but over that horizon is the East Coast of the United States.
All in all, the day was a success because I got to see more of Ireland.
Tomorrow, I'll finish posting my pictures from my first week in Wexford!
Friday, September 16, 2011
A day...
Today I listened to "The Ballad of Billy the Kid," sung by Billy Joel, on repeat for about half a hour. It was that kind of day.
Woke up, it was raining. Made porridge (oatmeal) for breakfast. Went on a walk. Came home.
Went on a bike ride. Found out bike was broken. Walked bike home. Got other bike. Rode to corner store (which was about a 2 km away). Bought milk, yogurt, and butter. Came back home. Killed some slugs in the garden.
Baked bread. Really good bread. Without a recipe (cause I didn't have all the ingredients the recipes asked for) and without measuring cups (couldn't find them in Kate's kitchen). But the bread still came out really nice. Especially fresh from the oven. With raspberry jam.
Went on another walk. Listened to "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" for the second half of the hour walk. Decided today was a "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" on repeat kind of day.
Back to the house. Fed dog and cat. Ate more bread. Made pasta with pumpkin seed pesto and cheddar cheese. Drank milk that I bought at store. Got online.
My day in 6 paragraphs or less. So very riveting.
Oh... and for you entertainment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPRjvHB_nv0
Woke up, it was raining. Made porridge (oatmeal) for breakfast. Went on a walk. Came home.
Went on a bike ride. Found out bike was broken. Walked bike home. Got other bike. Rode to corner store (which was about a 2 km away). Bought milk, yogurt, and butter. Came back home. Killed some slugs in the garden.
Baked bread. Really good bread. Without a recipe (cause I didn't have all the ingredients the recipes asked for) and without measuring cups (couldn't find them in Kate's kitchen). But the bread still came out really nice. Especially fresh from the oven. With raspberry jam.
Went on another walk. Listened to "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" for the second half of the hour walk. Decided today was a "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" on repeat kind of day.
Back to the house. Fed dog and cat. Ate more bread. Made pasta with pumpkin seed pesto and cheddar cheese. Drank milk that I bought at store. Got online.
My day in 6 paragraphs or less. So very riveting.
Oh... and for you entertainment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPRjvHB_nv0
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Musings on a Country Life
I'm sitting here in Kate's living room typing away at my computer (well, my netbook), listening to Chica's heavy breathing from her position curled up on the floor. My parents were commenting earlier this week that I seem to really like Chica, which, I guess, is a bit of a surprise, as I have never really expressed any special interest in dogs before. Probably because my earliest memory of a dog is getting bitten in the park down the street from our house. But in Ireland, it seems like the dogs can actually be dogs. At home (well, in Arlington, at least), dogs always seem contrained by leashes or fences. Or they are small dogs whose only task is to lay in the lap of their owners.
Dogs in Ireland are very different (well, in this part of Ireland). They seem to be in control of their own days. Chica, though she allows me to take her on walks two times a day, is free to not only roam around the farm yard here, but make excursions onto other people's land without any supervision. For example, I met Bran, a bran-colored dog who lives down the lane, two days before I ever met his owner, because Bran has taken to visiting Chica during the day. In fact, Bran joined Chica and me on our walk this morning. Yet it wasn't until Kate had me take some salad (lettuce that I harvested yesterday and edible flowers) over to the neighbor (Barbara) this afternoon that I found out where Bran lived and who his owners were. (Note: given my limited knowledge of dogs, I would guess that Bran is some kind of Terrier breed, but he is about as big as Chica. He's probably a mutt.)
I suspect that it has more to do with urban versus rural than the United States versus Ireland. For example, there are quite a few dogs in the States that I know who were raised in the country, and they too seem to have a laid back attitude that is lacking from dogs who are in the city.
I can image having a dog (when I'm grown up, whenever that might mean) as long as it has plenty of land to explore. I know that I don't mind waking up at 6:30 in the morning if it means that I get to walk through the countryside with Chica before breakfast. And this is coming from the person who wouldn't wake up before noon any day if she could get away with it.
I like Chica, cause she's loyal and friendly and forgiving and a great listener (she has to put up with my singing as we walk). But part of her appeal is that she embodies the country life I have come to find is a sanctuary for me.
That is not to say that I won't get tired of the country life, but for now, it suits me just fine.
On the first or second day that I was here, Kate was talking about the difference between being lonely in the city and being alone in the country. And how you can be very lonely in the city surrounded by a lot of people who you don't connect with. Then you come to the country, and you find that perhaps there aren't that many people, but you talk (not just talk, but really talk) with a farm-owner and her dog, and suddenly you aren't lonely anymore.
I think it is this way because there is more opportunity to connect. In the city, people walk with their eyes cast down, or listening to their iPod, or talking on the phone. It is rare that people will say hello to a complete stranger. In the country, you smile at everyone you past, even if you've never seen them before. It's not impossible to connect with someone else in the city, but it is harder.
Don't get me wrong. I love the city. There is always something to do. Always something new to see. Most of my friends and family live in cities or in suburbs. But I definitely would not object to having a country retreat.
Dogs in Ireland are very different (well, in this part of Ireland). They seem to be in control of their own days. Chica, though she allows me to take her on walks two times a day, is free to not only roam around the farm yard here, but make excursions onto other people's land without any supervision. For example, I met Bran, a bran-colored dog who lives down the lane, two days before I ever met his owner, because Bran has taken to visiting Chica during the day. In fact, Bran joined Chica and me on our walk this morning. Yet it wasn't until Kate had me take some salad (lettuce that I harvested yesterday and edible flowers) over to the neighbor (Barbara) this afternoon that I found out where Bran lived and who his owners were. (Note: given my limited knowledge of dogs, I would guess that Bran is some kind of Terrier breed, but he is about as big as Chica. He's probably a mutt.)
I suspect that it has more to do with urban versus rural than the United States versus Ireland. For example, there are quite a few dogs in the States that I know who were raised in the country, and they too seem to have a laid back attitude that is lacking from dogs who are in the city.
I can image having a dog (when I'm grown up, whenever that might mean) as long as it has plenty of land to explore. I know that I don't mind waking up at 6:30 in the morning if it means that I get to walk through the countryside with Chica before breakfast. And this is coming from the person who wouldn't wake up before noon any day if she could get away with it.
I like Chica, cause she's loyal and friendly and forgiving and a great listener (she has to put up with my singing as we walk). But part of her appeal is that she embodies the country life I have come to find is a sanctuary for me.
That is not to say that I won't get tired of the country life, but for now, it suits me just fine.
On the first or second day that I was here, Kate was talking about the difference between being lonely in the city and being alone in the country. And how you can be very lonely in the city surrounded by a lot of people who you don't connect with. Then you come to the country, and you find that perhaps there aren't that many people, but you talk (not just talk, but really talk) with a farm-owner and her dog, and suddenly you aren't lonely anymore.
I think it is this way because there is more opportunity to connect. In the city, people walk with their eyes cast down, or listening to their iPod, or talking on the phone. It is rare that people will say hello to a complete stranger. In the country, you smile at everyone you past, even if you've never seen them before. It's not impossible to connect with someone else in the city, but it is harder.
Don't get me wrong. I love the city. There is always something to do. Always something new to see. Most of my friends and family live in cities or in suburbs. But I definitely would not object to having a country retreat.
Did you know...?
Did you know that pesto made with pumpkin seeds instead of pine nuts and cheese is an anti-parasitic food and good for the digestion (and it tastes good too)?
Did you know that the best time to harvest lettuce is in the morning when it is still a bit chilly outside and the nutrients in the leaves are at their peak?
Did you know that Ireland is currently facing a huge revolution concerning their educational system?
Did you know that if you plant potatoes spuds, they will produce more potatoes spuds as the plant requires more nutrients from the ground (they are roots after all)?
Did you know that the national and first official language of Ireland is Irish, but many native people don't speak it since the Union of Great Britian and Ireland introduced English?
Just a couple of the things I didn't know before.
Did you know that the best time to harvest lettuce is in the morning when it is still a bit chilly outside and the nutrients in the leaves are at their peak?
Did you know that Ireland is currently facing a huge revolution concerning their educational system?
Did you know that if you plant potatoes spuds, they will produce more potatoes spuds as the plant requires more nutrients from the ground (they are roots after all)?
Did you know that the national and first official language of Ireland is Irish, but many native people don't speak it since the Union of Great Britian and Ireland introduced English?
Just a couple of the things I didn't know before.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
First days in Wexford
Now that I've been in one place for more than a day, jetlag has seemed to catch up to me. Until now, I've been doing a pretty good job at outrunning it.
Wexford is lovely. It is located near Bannow Bay in the southeast of Ireland, about 2 hours away from Dublin (2 hours and forty minutes by bus). The weather here is about the same as Mid-October weather in DC, 57 degrees, windy, with the occasional showers. However, it stays sunny from the time I wake up in the morning (about 7:30) till about 8:30 at night. A walk here is invigorating no matter what time of day it occurs because of the clear skies and cool breeze.
My days are pretty loosely scheduled. I wake up, either have breakfast or walk the dog, Chica (female German Shepard) who I mentioned before. Then I usually work in the polytunnel, which is short of a rudely constructed green house made of wood and plastic. It tends to be warmer in the tunnel, which means the animals usually are curled up in the corner at some point during the morning. It also means that tomatoes, chilis, sunflowers, cucumbers, flowers, and lettuce can be grown in the cool Ireland fall. Yesterday, I spent a couple of hours watering the plants in the tunnel and gathering tomatoes. I really love tomatoes and was glad that I was able to eat some of them this afternoon for lunch. Then I replanted some lettuce, giving them more room to grow. Today, I was only required to water the tunnel, which means that I had the afternoon free to explore. After lunch, I headed out on a bike towards Hook Head light house on the very tip of the peninsula where I am staying. Unfortunately, the threat of rain turned me back before I reached my destination. I do have to say though that the drivers in Ireland are much nicer to bike riders than drivers in the United States. I think most drivers passing me waved, even though most of the time I wasn't quite sure what side of the road I should be biking on.
Tintern Abbey, a Abbey for monks built in 1200 AD, is located a walks length away from the house. The beautiful structure is well maintained for tourists and locals alike, and the grounds are covered in hiking trails. There is a beautiful old church ruin and graveyard set back from the main bridge to Tintern, which I suspect will become a favorite place of mine in the next couple of weeks. There is also a walled garden, Colclough (don't ask me how you pronounce that for I have no idea), which is currently closed for renovations. On our walk today, Chica and I walked there and back in about an hour.
Walking Chica is different from walking any dog near DC. In fact, I have yet to see a leash in Ireland. I simply walk to Chica, tell her we are going on a walk, and head off the property. She runs ahead to were the driveway meets the road, and waits (not so patiently) for me to catch up. Then when I catch up with her, she runs again. The only time I surpass her on this walk is when she stops to investigate the smells around us. When we disagree on the direction that the walk should take, I give a short whistle, and she deigns to humor me. Though it sounds as if Chica is a young dog, she only gives the appearence of this in the morning. By the evening, Chica moves a bit slower and tires easily.
The cat, on the other hand, barely acknowledges me, except for when I open the door to the warm house and he wants in.
I thought that when Oberlin went back into session that I would miss it. I find that I cannot even conceive of going back, and besides my friends, the only thing I miss is dedicated thinking which I get from having a conversation with anyone on my travels. Kate, my host, is a talkative woman who has firm beliefs on organized religion and American politics. Most of the people who I have met in the UK and Ireland are Obama fans (and not so fond of Bush).
I need to get up early in the morning to replant some more lettuce, so I will leave you now. Good night!
Wexford is lovely. It is located near Bannow Bay in the southeast of Ireland, about 2 hours away from Dublin (2 hours and forty minutes by bus). The weather here is about the same as Mid-October weather in DC, 57 degrees, windy, with the occasional showers. However, it stays sunny from the time I wake up in the morning (about 7:30) till about 8:30 at night. A walk here is invigorating no matter what time of day it occurs because of the clear skies and cool breeze.
My days are pretty loosely scheduled. I wake up, either have breakfast or walk the dog, Chica (female German Shepard) who I mentioned before. Then I usually work in the polytunnel, which is short of a rudely constructed green house made of wood and plastic. It tends to be warmer in the tunnel, which means the animals usually are curled up in the corner at some point during the morning. It also means that tomatoes, chilis, sunflowers, cucumbers, flowers, and lettuce can be grown in the cool Ireland fall. Yesterday, I spent a couple of hours watering the plants in the tunnel and gathering tomatoes. I really love tomatoes and was glad that I was able to eat some of them this afternoon for lunch. Then I replanted some lettuce, giving them more room to grow. Today, I was only required to water the tunnel, which means that I had the afternoon free to explore. After lunch, I headed out on a bike towards Hook Head light house on the very tip of the peninsula where I am staying. Unfortunately, the threat of rain turned me back before I reached my destination. I do have to say though that the drivers in Ireland are much nicer to bike riders than drivers in the United States. I think most drivers passing me waved, even though most of the time I wasn't quite sure what side of the road I should be biking on.
Tintern Abbey, a Abbey for monks built in 1200 AD, is located a walks length away from the house. The beautiful structure is well maintained for tourists and locals alike, and the grounds are covered in hiking trails. There is a beautiful old church ruin and graveyard set back from the main bridge to Tintern, which I suspect will become a favorite place of mine in the next couple of weeks. There is also a walled garden, Colclough (don't ask me how you pronounce that for I have no idea), which is currently closed for renovations. On our walk today, Chica and I walked there and back in about an hour.
Walking Chica is different from walking any dog near DC. In fact, I have yet to see a leash in Ireland. I simply walk to Chica, tell her we are going on a walk, and head off the property. She runs ahead to were the driveway meets the road, and waits (not so patiently) for me to catch up. Then when I catch up with her, she runs again. The only time I surpass her on this walk is when she stops to investigate the smells around us. When we disagree on the direction that the walk should take, I give a short whistle, and she deigns to humor me. Though it sounds as if Chica is a young dog, she only gives the appearence of this in the morning. By the evening, Chica moves a bit slower and tires easily.
The cat, on the other hand, barely acknowledges me, except for when I open the door to the warm house and he wants in.
I thought that when Oberlin went back into session that I would miss it. I find that I cannot even conceive of going back, and besides my friends, the only thing I miss is dedicated thinking which I get from having a conversation with anyone on my travels. Kate, my host, is a talkative woman who has firm beliefs on organized religion and American politics. Most of the people who I have met in the UK and Ireland are Obama fans (and not so fond of Bush).
I need to get up early in the morning to replant some more lettuce, so I will leave you now. Good night!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)