hi there. it is my day off, this day of our Lord, March 30th, 2010. It is alternating between sleet and rain outside with high winds and its pretty miserable. Apparently a snowstorm is smashing its way through Britain, but we're a bit too close to the water to get full-on snow here. Though we awoke this morning to snow atop the mountains outside, which was a special surprise for me, the dweller of mild climates. This weekend Lorna and Billy went to England for a family gathering and Mirjam and I had the house to ourselves (along with the boys and the animals). We held it down pretty well. Mirjam had command of the garden, and I looked after the restaurant. I had two couples in on Friday and Saturday and I served them all by myself, I was quite proud. Beyond that, Sam, Mirjam, Elly and myself had a slammin' dance party in the restaurant, and trucked to Dingle Saturday night and experienced how the youth of Ireland get tanked on the weekend. It's basically exactly the same as in America but they talk differently. The girls definitely dress in an equally slutty manner, and men, young and old, shamelessly hit on any woman in the vicinity. They're a bit more predictable and slighty less self-aware here, however.
Sunday morning I experienced my second Guinness hangover, the first being on St. Patrick's Day, and it was equally rough. I've elected to limit myself to one pint from now on.
Sadly, Mirjam left yesterday to return to school in Germany. I was a bit sad, especially with the onset of the crappy weather, and so on. Sam came over, however, and I introduced him to chatroulette. It was awesome. A new wwoofer came, also from Germany, her name is Franziska. We are getting along well. L & B got back last night just as it started snowing at the airport. Sam and Franziska and I hung around in the kitchen with some wine. His girlfriend Marketa comes from Prague this weekend and she'll be here until I leave. It will be fun to have some more young people in the mix.
I am now going to eat some polenta with red pepper & apricot salsa. Adios.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
stuff lately
Since i last wrote, i went to salsa night at the Granary in killarney. it was surprisingly posh, even hip. everyone was well-dressed and attractive. the salsa was shockingly legit, there was a teacher from sierra leone leading everyone in 'zouk', followed by a conga lesson. i was in a full sweat by the end. so much for doubting latin dance in rural ireland, they definitely don't screw around when it comes to dance.
what was not legit or expected in any way was a secret "performance", written on the event poster in extremely small letters, "salsa/ burlesque show at midnight". i failed to notice this detail prior to my arrival, so when two women came onstage, one dressed in drag, and proceeded to undress one another to the music, i was, to be frank, confused. Even more baffled was i when the one in drag left, and the other woman stayed, only to continue removing articles of clothing until all that covered her breasts were two sparkly tassels and some feathery wings. Mirjam, my non-Irish cohort, and i looked on in befuddled awe. Nothing could really explain what was going on.
Following this starkly odd performance, everyone was back to normal without a blink. The dj had no hesitation throwing on a latin Rihanna remix as if nothing had happened. This calm continued, until a second announcement came. "The second part of our performance is about to begin!" Again, I was uninformed. This time, however, Mirjam had retired to the downstairs bar with the "normal music" and "normal pubgoers", and I had to face this one alone. This second storm was significantly more jarring. The feather-breasted woman returned to the stage, this time with greater fervor and spunk. She was dressed in a horse-riding outfit, which was expressly removed, of course, to reveal a black corset and a curious metallic chastity belt, which became the focus of a 20s-style silent comedy act. She began to attempt to pry off the chastity belt, a decorative triangular plate of solid metal, with various tools. The first was a hammer, which, after a few forceful bangs, didnt seem to satisfy. A larger hammer appeared, which again, after some painful-looking slams into the pelvic region, also failed to do the trick. This obviously called for heavier artillery, and the next step up was, of course, a blade grinder. As a power tool, it required being plugged in to a power strip behind her, as well as the use of protective goggles and gloves. Before we could really process what was going on, sparks of light shot erratically from her groin, showering the audience. Along with the deafening whine of metal grinding against metal, and many audience members having to physically move away to avoid being burned or injured, it was undeniably erotic.
I think my jaw was open for a full 60 seconds. After our daring performer was done, and we had all had a good laugh, a nervous chortle or some newfound facial wounds, she jovially trotted off stage, a rolling backpack housing her tools and discarded clothing. I medicated with a gin & tonic as salsa music blasted on once again. Carefree, unfettered partygoers samba-ed their way back on stage, partners in tow, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.
I made a point of approaching her later, just to get a feel for what she was like in real life, as she evidently bore a freaky, if not twisted, side. She seemed sweet and normal. I asked whether she'd be coming to one of Lorna's dance classes at the restaurant, as I'd heard they were friends, and she replied, with quiet Irish inflection, "Well, I've got two small children at home, so probably not, it's a bit far."
Right. You basically just sawed off your ladybits with a steel grinder; meanwhile, your two small children are sleeping like kittens at home. How did I not realize?
As far as the rest of my time thus far, the weather here has either been both absolutely beautiful or incredibly dismal. I don't really mind either. Mirjam and I have become good pals, eating all of our meals together in the kitchen and pruning the garden together in the afternoon. We were honorary guests at one of Lorna's bellydancing class yesterday morning. It illuminated the lack of mobility in my hips and the range of mobility in Lorna's. (She's 56).
Last night we saw some incredible live music at a pub in Dingle. It was two guys, one on guitar (I think he said his name was Donough Hennessy) and the other on flute and bagpipes. It was mind-blowing, I wish I could have recorded it. It was the most authentically Irish experience I'd had yet, the pub was drenched in old Irish schwag, the musicians playing Irish music as if they'd known it since the womb. Yet sadly, and ironically, the joint was packed with Americans. We had people from Idaho, California, Colorado, Minnesota, even Texas. It was blasphemous. I wanted to quiet them all down, bring everybody into a corner and tell them to shut up about broadening our horizons for a minute and just act Irish, for God's sake, don't ruin it. The music was so good it could have brought tears to my eyes, the setting was so right, the players were so good with their instruments...if it weren't for the intermittent spurts of "so, where in Frisco ya from? Me and my wife here, we've been in Idaho fer, oh, I dunno, thirty-five years now...Whatcha drinkin'? Oh Guinness, yeah, that's a good one, Susan, you want a Guinness? This girl here's from California and she's drinkin' a Guinness...another Kahlua? Whatever you say, hun."
I've got a pear tart in the oven that I made from scratch. I'm basically an artisan baker now. This place is bleeding right into me. If you need me I'll be havin' a hot whisky over at the family mobile home down the road. It's where the young kids tend to party around here.
what was not legit or expected in any way was a secret "performance", written on the event poster in extremely small letters, "salsa/ burlesque show at midnight". i failed to notice this detail prior to my arrival, so when two women came onstage, one dressed in drag, and proceeded to undress one another to the music, i was, to be frank, confused. Even more baffled was i when the one in drag left, and the other woman stayed, only to continue removing articles of clothing until all that covered her breasts were two sparkly tassels and some feathery wings. Mirjam, my non-Irish cohort, and i looked on in befuddled awe. Nothing could really explain what was going on.
Following this starkly odd performance, everyone was back to normal without a blink. The dj had no hesitation throwing on a latin Rihanna remix as if nothing had happened. This calm continued, until a second announcement came. "The second part of our performance is about to begin!" Again, I was uninformed. This time, however, Mirjam had retired to the downstairs bar with the "normal music" and "normal pubgoers", and I had to face this one alone. This second storm was significantly more jarring. The feather-breasted woman returned to the stage, this time with greater fervor and spunk. She was dressed in a horse-riding outfit, which was expressly removed, of course, to reveal a black corset and a curious metallic chastity belt, which became the focus of a 20s-style silent comedy act. She began to attempt to pry off the chastity belt, a decorative triangular plate of solid metal, with various tools. The first was a hammer, which, after a few forceful bangs, didnt seem to satisfy. A larger hammer appeared, which again, after some painful-looking slams into the pelvic region, also failed to do the trick. This obviously called for heavier artillery, and the next step up was, of course, a blade grinder. As a power tool, it required being plugged in to a power strip behind her, as well as the use of protective goggles and gloves. Before we could really process what was going on, sparks of light shot erratically from her groin, showering the audience. Along with the deafening whine of metal grinding against metal, and many audience members having to physically move away to avoid being burned or injured, it was undeniably erotic.
I think my jaw was open for a full 60 seconds. After our daring performer was done, and we had all had a good laugh, a nervous chortle or some newfound facial wounds, she jovially trotted off stage, a rolling backpack housing her tools and discarded clothing. I medicated with a gin & tonic as salsa music blasted on once again. Carefree, unfettered partygoers samba-ed their way back on stage, partners in tow, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.
I made a point of approaching her later, just to get a feel for what she was like in real life, as she evidently bore a freaky, if not twisted, side. She seemed sweet and normal. I asked whether she'd be coming to one of Lorna's dance classes at the restaurant, as I'd heard they were friends, and she replied, with quiet Irish inflection, "Well, I've got two small children at home, so probably not, it's a bit far."
Right. You basically just sawed off your ladybits with a steel grinder; meanwhile, your two small children are sleeping like kittens at home. How did I not realize?
As far as the rest of my time thus far, the weather here has either been both absolutely beautiful or incredibly dismal. I don't really mind either. Mirjam and I have become good pals, eating all of our meals together in the kitchen and pruning the garden together in the afternoon. We were honorary guests at one of Lorna's bellydancing class yesterday morning. It illuminated the lack of mobility in my hips and the range of mobility in Lorna's. (She's 56).
Last night we saw some incredible live music at a pub in Dingle. It was two guys, one on guitar (I think he said his name was Donough Hennessy) and the other on flute and bagpipes. It was mind-blowing, I wish I could have recorded it. It was the most authentically Irish experience I'd had yet, the pub was drenched in old Irish schwag, the musicians playing Irish music as if they'd known it since the womb. Yet sadly, and ironically, the joint was packed with Americans. We had people from Idaho, California, Colorado, Minnesota, even Texas. It was blasphemous. I wanted to quiet them all down, bring everybody into a corner and tell them to shut up about broadening our horizons for a minute and just act Irish, for God's sake, don't ruin it. The music was so good it could have brought tears to my eyes, the setting was so right, the players were so good with their instruments...if it weren't for the intermittent spurts of "so, where in Frisco ya from? Me and my wife here, we've been in Idaho fer, oh, I dunno, thirty-five years now...Whatcha drinkin'? Oh Guinness, yeah, that's a good one, Susan, you want a Guinness? This girl here's from California and she's drinkin' a Guinness...another Kahlua? Whatever you say, hun."
I've got a pear tart in the oven that I made from scratch. I'm basically an artisan baker now. This place is bleeding right into me. If you need me I'll be havin' a hot whisky over at the family mobile home down the road. It's where the young kids tend to party around here.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
life at the phoenix
After the ridiculous events in Dublin (things that would only happen to me), I train-rode my way down to southwesten Ireland to begin my three-week stay at the Phoenix Restaurant and B&B. It's located just past a town called Castlemaine, located at the 'gateway to the Dingle Peninsula'. I arrived by bus in Castlemaine after spending three long, odd hours in the town of Tralee, where I had some bread (surprise!) and went to the internet cafe. I had written Lorna, the owner, the night before, saying I'd be arriving "tomorrow" which she misinterpreted as Friday, the 19th, which was the day after I got there. I wrote her in Tralee explaining that I was already in Kerry, and that I'd be in Castlemaine around 6:30pm, in about two hours. She evidently didn't get the email, as I arrived in Castlemaine to very windy, chilly weather as it was getting dark, and no sign of Lorna for at least 30 minutes. I went into the (only) pub and asked around, managed to get a phone number and change for the pay phone to call up the Phoenix. Small towns are really helpful that way. Lorna answered and sounded quite surprised to hear I was there already, but assured someone would be coming for me soon. I hung out in the pub (whose bartender looked about 16) and had a tea, while the men surrounding me worked through their 4th or 5th Guinness.
Finally, a mid-40s looking guy with curly hair came through the door, and came to greet me. This was Billy, Lorna's husband, and co-proprietor of the Phoenix. After a short ten minutes ride, we arrived at the house, greeted by a little Jack Russell puppy named Ellie (who I'm now in love with). The house is absolutely beautiful. Two story, all wooden post and beam style, with an industrial kitchen and restaurant built on. The house is surrounded by an expansive and beautiful garden with trees, flowers, and plants, as well as pottery and trinkets, statues, etc.
I'm sharing 'the chalet', or the guest house, with another girl named Mirjam from Germany. She's really sweet and easygoing, and happily caught me up to the way of life at the Phoenix. The guest house has the same warm, wooden feel, with a kitchen and a lofted bedroom with the most interestingly designed staircase - i will have to post a pic of it. Here, our tasks are plenty but undemanding, and we make our own schedule and work when we please, as long as we complete 5 hours a day with one day off per week. Thursday is cooking day, and Friday and Saturday are market days, when Lorna brings tons of food to sell at the farmer's markets in the nearest towns, Milltown and Dingle. On Friday and Saturday mornings we clean the kitchen, and each afternoon, we do work around the property, like clearing the garden, moving "earth" or rocks, tilling the soil, planting herbs, etc. depending on what needs to be done.
Lorna and Billy are very laid-back, artsy and well-read. Billy listens to the radio religiously each morning (Ireland's NPR I'm guessing) and so far has made a point to share with me what he's heard each day. There's a very colorful, homey, artistic feel to this place, it's comfortable and welcoming. There is a young spirit to it. It reminds me a little bit of family friends Jan & Jeff's old place in Burnet.
Today it's beautiful outside, sunny and about 55 degrees, after a long night of rain last night it is well-deserved. Lorna is a dance teacher in the local towns, and she's heading up a salsa dancing event at a pub in Killarney tonight, DJ included. Mirjam and I are planning to attend. I kind of can't wait to check out the crowd...Latin dance in a rural Irish town has to provide some aspect of humor.
This morning I went running along the narrow main road where the Phoenix sits. Despite almost being run over by a few speeding cars, I took in the scenery, which was beautiful. The area is surrounded by mountains that actually resemble extremely large hills, and there is what looks like a huge lake or river on the other side, met with more mountains. There are sheep and cows all along the road, in people's front yards, or scattered over the expanse of hilly countryside. They're so close I could touch them! (I'm so American.) It feels very rural.
The restaurant is awesome, it serves all organic vegetarian food, with some fish thrown in. The house staples are hummus and olives, lentil dahl (which I've been gorging on, it's amazing), salads, soups, and a kind of quinoa casserole baked with sun-dried tomatoes. Lorna really knows how to delight the veg palate. She has two sons, Kim and Kyle, who are 15 and 17 and live upstairs, while her other four-odd children are grown and live elsewhere. They are very kind, funny, and well-mannered. Lorna makes sure to feed them all the meat they want, as long as its local. (No shortage of that from what I saw today). There are two cats, Coyote and Bibs, who sleep together in a yin-yang formation in a basket at night. It's basically the cutest thing I've ever seen. There are two greenhouses on the property which house all the greens and herbs, like arugula (which they call rocket here), dandelion & mustard greens, basil, parsley, fennel, and chives. Yesterday I made a salad entirely out of these ingredients.
This is already an amazing learning opportunity for me. The lovely house and lifestyle Billy and Lorna have created here is much like what I'd like to have someday. There's a lot of richness here- it is very genuine and rewarding, it seems, and it still allows them some freedom and variability in their day-to-day experience. And kitties and puppies don't hurt.
Pictures to come, I promise. Thanks for reading this, those of you who are, it's so fulfilling to know you guys are interested. Lots of love from Southern Ireland.
Finally, a mid-40s looking guy with curly hair came through the door, and came to greet me. This was Billy, Lorna's husband, and co-proprietor of the Phoenix. After a short ten minutes ride, we arrived at the house, greeted by a little Jack Russell puppy named Ellie (who I'm now in love with). The house is absolutely beautiful. Two story, all wooden post and beam style, with an industrial kitchen and restaurant built on. The house is surrounded by an expansive and beautiful garden with trees, flowers, and plants, as well as pottery and trinkets, statues, etc.
I'm sharing 'the chalet', or the guest house, with another girl named Mirjam from Germany. She's really sweet and easygoing, and happily caught me up to the way of life at the Phoenix. The guest house has the same warm, wooden feel, with a kitchen and a lofted bedroom with the most interestingly designed staircase - i will have to post a pic of it. Here, our tasks are plenty but undemanding, and we make our own schedule and work when we please, as long as we complete 5 hours a day with one day off per week. Thursday is cooking day, and Friday and Saturday are market days, when Lorna brings tons of food to sell at the farmer's markets in the nearest towns, Milltown and Dingle. On Friday and Saturday mornings we clean the kitchen, and each afternoon, we do work around the property, like clearing the garden, moving "earth" or rocks, tilling the soil, planting herbs, etc. depending on what needs to be done.
Lorna and Billy are very laid-back, artsy and well-read. Billy listens to the radio religiously each morning (Ireland's NPR I'm guessing) and so far has made a point to share with me what he's heard each day. There's a very colorful, homey, artistic feel to this place, it's comfortable and welcoming. There is a young spirit to it. It reminds me a little bit of family friends Jan & Jeff's old place in Burnet.
Today it's beautiful outside, sunny and about 55 degrees, after a long night of rain last night it is well-deserved. Lorna is a dance teacher in the local towns, and she's heading up a salsa dancing event at a pub in Killarney tonight, DJ included. Mirjam and I are planning to attend. I kind of can't wait to check out the crowd...Latin dance in a rural Irish town has to provide some aspect of humor.
This morning I went running along the narrow main road where the Phoenix sits. Despite almost being run over by a few speeding cars, I took in the scenery, which was beautiful. The area is surrounded by mountains that actually resemble extremely large hills, and there is what looks like a huge lake or river on the other side, met with more mountains. There are sheep and cows all along the road, in people's front yards, or scattered over the expanse of hilly countryside. They're so close I could touch them! (I'm so American.) It feels very rural.
The restaurant is awesome, it serves all organic vegetarian food, with some fish thrown in. The house staples are hummus and olives, lentil dahl (which I've been gorging on, it's amazing), salads, soups, and a kind of quinoa casserole baked with sun-dried tomatoes. Lorna really knows how to delight the veg palate. She has two sons, Kim and Kyle, who are 15 and 17 and live upstairs, while her other four-odd children are grown and live elsewhere. They are very kind, funny, and well-mannered. Lorna makes sure to feed them all the meat they want, as long as its local. (No shortage of that from what I saw today). There are two cats, Coyote and Bibs, who sleep together in a yin-yang formation in a basket at night. It's basically the cutest thing I've ever seen. There are two greenhouses on the property which house all the greens and herbs, like arugula (which they call rocket here), dandelion & mustard greens, basil, parsley, fennel, and chives. Yesterday I made a salad entirely out of these ingredients.
This is already an amazing learning opportunity for me. The lovely house and lifestyle Billy and Lorna have created here is much like what I'd like to have someday. There's a lot of richness here- it is very genuine and rewarding, it seems, and it still allows them some freedom and variability in their day-to-day experience. And kitties and puppies don't hurt.
Pictures to come, I promise. Thanks for reading this, those of you who are, it's so fulfilling to know you guys are interested. Lots of love from Southern Ireland.
Friday, March 19, 2010
finally, the blog! a recap so far
after 8 days in europe, i finally got settled enough to start blogging about my trip. i'll do a tiny recap to make up for lost time:
I started in London, staying at family friend (now at least) Melinda's apartment in East London. Melinda and her husband Aaron were so wonderful to me, incredibly welcoming and kind, and we had a really great time together. It was exactly what I needed on my jet-lagged first night in London- some very inviting and down-to-earth hosts! We went to an awesome little gourmet pizza joint for dinner and chatted over some beers. I had a hot shower, slept on their very comfy couch and woke to a delicious breakfast they had made, the three of us had a very nice morning. Their dog Sassy was super sweet as well. They gave me a hand-written map of where to explore in London before I left. They were so sweet and extremely cool. Thanks again, Melinda and Aaron! Good luck on your road trip and settling back in Portland.
The second night I stayed at a really nice hostel in the swanky Kensington area of London, home to some great museums, Hyde Park, and a lot of Maseratis, among other expensive vehicles. I hung out with some Aussies and called it an early one, as jet lag was in full swing.
The third night I migrated to Camden Town, which is a young, hip area of London. I wanted to be close to my tube stop in order to catch the train to the ferry to get to Dublin. I ended up going to a funky vegetarian restaurant with an open mic night, getting wine drunk with two very funny girls, and waking up slightly hungover after a cozy 6 hours' sleep and busting ass to get to the train station. I missed my 9am train by 3 minutes! But it was alright, I caught the next one, and had a few hours to drink some very black tea and help myself out of my wine-induced fog.
The journey to the ferry consisted of two train rides, each two hours long, ending up at the northern tip of Wales. I met a very cool American girl named Manon from Asheville, NC while waiting for the ferry, and we were instant pals. The ferry was hilarious, had kind of a nautical Vegas feel, with lots of gold-plated interior, a cafeteria style restaurant, and a very busy bar. We met another American, Liz, who was Dublin bound after a few months studying in Paris. Once the three of us got together we really lived up to our loud American stereotype next to a table of older, very quiet Irish gentleman.
We arrived in Dublin just as it got dark, and the two of them were staying at the same hostel, the Times, so I walked them there before heading to mine. It was only a few blocks away so we regrouped and met back up at the Times. We were located in the infamous Temple Bar area, the young drinker's center, so we, joined by Manon's Canadian friend Gracie, charged out into the night with our "girls night out" swagger. It was this night that I had my first pint of Guinness in Ireland, and let me tell you, it definitely lives up to the stereotype. It is much, much better here.
The following day I ended up very luckily landing a spot at the Times hostel for the following two nights, which was great, since I really didn't enjoy my hostel the first night. For St. Patrick's Day and the night before it was a whopping 58 euro. I nearly cried.
For the next two days, I hung out with a great guy named Nick from California, who is in the midst of an around-the-world trip. We shared our hostel room with six very expressive Italians and three college kids from Kansas so we really had to show solidarity. The Italians enjoyed spending their afternoons and evenings lounging around the hostel room in tiny, fitted briefs that showcased far more than I was ready to see while shouting at each other emphatically in Italian, so needless to say we spent a lot of time outside the hostel.
We toured the Guinness factory, which was way more awesome than I expected. But I think the key move is to go up to the bar and drink a Guinness first, then take the tour. Everything is just a little cooler that way. You learn how the beer is made, how to pour your own pint, and you get a free beer at the very top of the storehouse, which is a circular, all-windows room with a 360 degree view of Dublin. There was even a DJ. And even though we stayed well after closing, they never once kicked us out- in fact, they continued to give us free beer. I kept remarking at how the place was, in every way, Vegas for Guinness enthusiasts. I met four people from San Francisco, two of whom had lived on Turk Street! The night continued with Jameson and street dancing and live bagpipes- they refer to the night before as St.Patrick's Eve and had a pub-wide countdown to midnight. Cleary it's taken very seriously.
The next morning, St. Patrick's Day proper, was, for me, filled with great pain. Starting the evening before at 5pm with Guinness and not slowing down made my hangover a 100% guarantee, so I was kind of unable to take in the revelry on the real day. However I had kind of had my fill at that point- hundreds of drunk americans in ridiculous green hats only takes a few minutes to appreciate. I thanked myself for drinking water that night instead of beer as my train to Tralee was the next morning. However, little did I know I'd be getting a minimal amount of sleep....
After a pub, I returned to the hostel around 2:30, finished folding all of my laundry, and finally got in bed around 3am. After packing everything up, I laid out some freshly washed and dried clothes on the windowsill to put on in the morning. I awoke about 10 minutes into my slumber to the curious sound of pee, not going into a toilet. I looked up to find a young man urinating all over the windowsill, all over my neatly folded outfit for the next day. I think I shouted "Dude- stop...don't do that!" before jumping out of bed and shooing him away to the best of my ability. Poor kid was totally asleep, and had sleepwalked his way into taking a piss all over my stuff. He sauntered, still completely asleep, into the bathroom, finished his pee, and went back to bed, as I stood in mute shock at my pee-saturated articles. I think I said 'what the fuck' about 20 times and broke out into hysterical laughter. Nick woke up and started laughing, soon everyone in the room was cracking up. it was completely absurd. I clearly needed to wash my items yet again, and ran downstairs, still in disbelief, to the front desk to get some soap. I explained what had happened to the guy at the desk, and he responded in total seriousness, bolting upstairs and demanding to know whodunit. I meekly gestured to the culprit, Chase, slowly realizing he might be in trouble, and escorted myself back to the laundry room. The night manager, Martin, came in with Chase, the poor kid, looking drunk and confused, and asked me to verify that it was him who had whizzed on my wardrobe. He then ordered the kid to pack his bags and leave the hostel premises immediately. I was shocked again! I didn't mean to kick the little guy out on the street, he didn't mean to pee all over my stuff!
After my clothes were swiftly churning through the washer once more, I returned to the room to find the poor guy pathetically stuffing his crap into a bag, his two female friends half laughing and half feeling for him. I apologized for him having to go and he began profusely apologizing for going wee on my items. It was a hilarious exchange. "i'm sorry--no, no, I'M sorry..." and when he exited, the entire room erupted in laughter. Poor Chase, out into the drunken night he went. The pee remained on the windowsill well into the next morning. And that was the end of it.
I started in London, staying at family friend (now at least) Melinda's apartment in East London. Melinda and her husband Aaron were so wonderful to me, incredibly welcoming and kind, and we had a really great time together. It was exactly what I needed on my jet-lagged first night in London- some very inviting and down-to-earth hosts! We went to an awesome little gourmet pizza joint for dinner and chatted over some beers. I had a hot shower, slept on their very comfy couch and woke to a delicious breakfast they had made, the three of us had a very nice morning. Their dog Sassy was super sweet as well. They gave me a hand-written map of where to explore in London before I left. They were so sweet and extremely cool. Thanks again, Melinda and Aaron! Good luck on your road trip and settling back in Portland.
The second night I stayed at a really nice hostel in the swanky Kensington area of London, home to some great museums, Hyde Park, and a lot of Maseratis, among other expensive vehicles. I hung out with some Aussies and called it an early one, as jet lag was in full swing.
The third night I migrated to Camden Town, which is a young, hip area of London. I wanted to be close to my tube stop in order to catch the train to the ferry to get to Dublin. I ended up going to a funky vegetarian restaurant with an open mic night, getting wine drunk with two very funny girls, and waking up slightly hungover after a cozy 6 hours' sleep and busting ass to get to the train station. I missed my 9am train by 3 minutes! But it was alright, I caught the next one, and had a few hours to drink some very black tea and help myself out of my wine-induced fog.
The journey to the ferry consisted of two train rides, each two hours long, ending up at the northern tip of Wales. I met a very cool American girl named Manon from Asheville, NC while waiting for the ferry, and we were instant pals. The ferry was hilarious, had kind of a nautical Vegas feel, with lots of gold-plated interior, a cafeteria style restaurant, and a very busy bar. We met another American, Liz, who was Dublin bound after a few months studying in Paris. Once the three of us got together we really lived up to our loud American stereotype next to a table of older, very quiet Irish gentleman.
We arrived in Dublin just as it got dark, and the two of them were staying at the same hostel, the Times, so I walked them there before heading to mine. It was only a few blocks away so we regrouped and met back up at the Times. We were located in the infamous Temple Bar area, the young drinker's center, so we, joined by Manon's Canadian friend Gracie, charged out into the night with our "girls night out" swagger. It was this night that I had my first pint of Guinness in Ireland, and let me tell you, it definitely lives up to the stereotype. It is much, much better here.
The following day I ended up very luckily landing a spot at the Times hostel for the following two nights, which was great, since I really didn't enjoy my hostel the first night. For St. Patrick's Day and the night before it was a whopping 58 euro. I nearly cried.
For the next two days, I hung out with a great guy named Nick from California, who is in the midst of an around-the-world trip. We shared our hostel room with six very expressive Italians and three college kids from Kansas so we really had to show solidarity. The Italians enjoyed spending their afternoons and evenings lounging around the hostel room in tiny, fitted briefs that showcased far more than I was ready to see while shouting at each other emphatically in Italian, so needless to say we spent a lot of time outside the hostel.
We toured the Guinness factory, which was way more awesome than I expected. But I think the key move is to go up to the bar and drink a Guinness first, then take the tour. Everything is just a little cooler that way. You learn how the beer is made, how to pour your own pint, and you get a free beer at the very top of the storehouse, which is a circular, all-windows room with a 360 degree view of Dublin. There was even a DJ. And even though we stayed well after closing, they never once kicked us out- in fact, they continued to give us free beer. I kept remarking at how the place was, in every way, Vegas for Guinness enthusiasts. I met four people from San Francisco, two of whom had lived on Turk Street! The night continued with Jameson and street dancing and live bagpipes- they refer to the night before as St.Patrick's Eve and had a pub-wide countdown to midnight. Cleary it's taken very seriously.
The next morning, St. Patrick's Day proper, was, for me, filled with great pain. Starting the evening before at 5pm with Guinness and not slowing down made my hangover a 100% guarantee, so I was kind of unable to take in the revelry on the real day. However I had kind of had my fill at that point- hundreds of drunk americans in ridiculous green hats only takes a few minutes to appreciate. I thanked myself for drinking water that night instead of beer as my train to Tralee was the next morning. However, little did I know I'd be getting a minimal amount of sleep....
After a pub, I returned to the hostel around 2:30, finished folding all of my laundry, and finally got in bed around 3am. After packing everything up, I laid out some freshly washed and dried clothes on the windowsill to put on in the morning. I awoke about 10 minutes into my slumber to the curious sound of pee, not going into a toilet. I looked up to find a young man urinating all over the windowsill, all over my neatly folded outfit for the next day. I think I shouted "Dude- stop...don't do that!" before jumping out of bed and shooing him away to the best of my ability. Poor kid was totally asleep, and had sleepwalked his way into taking a piss all over my stuff. He sauntered, still completely asleep, into the bathroom, finished his pee, and went back to bed, as I stood in mute shock at my pee-saturated articles. I think I said 'what the fuck' about 20 times and broke out into hysterical laughter. Nick woke up and started laughing, soon everyone in the room was cracking up. it was completely absurd. I clearly needed to wash my items yet again, and ran downstairs, still in disbelief, to the front desk to get some soap. I explained what had happened to the guy at the desk, and he responded in total seriousness, bolting upstairs and demanding to know whodunit. I meekly gestured to the culprit, Chase, slowly realizing he might be in trouble, and escorted myself back to the laundry room. The night manager, Martin, came in with Chase, the poor kid, looking drunk and confused, and asked me to verify that it was him who had whizzed on my wardrobe. He then ordered the kid to pack his bags and leave the hostel premises immediately. I was shocked again! I didn't mean to kick the little guy out on the street, he didn't mean to pee all over my stuff!
After my clothes were swiftly churning through the washer once more, I returned to the room to find the poor guy pathetically stuffing his crap into a bag, his two female friends half laughing and half feeling for him. I apologized for him having to go and he began profusely apologizing for going wee on my items. It was a hilarious exchange. "i'm sorry--no, no, I'M sorry..." and when he exited, the entire room erupted in laughter. Poor Chase, out into the drunken night he went. The pee remained on the windowsill well into the next morning. And that was the end of it.
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