The sweet air of Buenos Aires

I'm in a completely different world now. 30 hours ago I was in cold, wet, miserable Ireland, and I am now cruising down the freeway in Buenos Aires, sun beating down, skies clear, window wound down, in singlet, shorts and thongs. I feel at home.

Let's rewind a little to where I left off the last time. After I quit my job I still had four weeks to go, but given that I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, I could relax a little even though I was still working very hard right up until the last day. In fact, I was working even harder than usual as I had to keep an eye on Andra, train her, and make sure everything was getting done (difficult, as everything was taking twice as long as normal since I had to show Andra how to do it first, and then supervise her doing it). Anyway, the day of reckoning finally arrived, we said our goodbyes, and I began my super-extended luxurious holidays.

Actually I had promised Sabrina I would go clubbing with her the night I finished, but I was so wrecked I couldn't even move off the couch. It was weird as I thought I would be more excited to be finishing but in the end I didn't even have the energy to be excited. I took the next few days really easy, not doing much except for rearranging my flights to Peru (which took forever thanks to one idiot I spoke to at Qantas who didn't have a clue what she was doing). In the end I had to physically go to the British Airways ticket desk at the airport and get them to do it as I wasn't getting anywhere by telephone. What the use is technology if you can't achieve anything except if you do it face to face? By Friday I was totally recovered from my exhaustion and ready to make the most of my last weekend in Dublin. Alan told me there was a party that night in Rialto, so we resolved to head off there together. The house the party was at was fabulous – a tiny dark living room with red fairy lights which created a fantastically eerie ambiance, a brightly lit kitchen for those that didn't like the mood lighting, and some space to hang out on the stairways and in the halls for those that didn't fit in the other spaces. There was a motley bunch of people there as usual – Dutch, Spanish, Polish, Mexican, Argentine, French, and even a couple of Irish, haha. The music was great and we did the usual talking, laughing, dancing, drinking. I even practiced my Spanish a little in preparation for my forthcoming trip (well, my Spanglish anyway). Eventually I got talking to Dermot, one of the Irish guys there, at about two or three am and we didn't stop until one o'clock on Saturday afternoon, when we decided we were probably overstaying our welcome as the last of the other guests had left some hours ago.

Needless to say I spent most of Saturday afternoon sleeping, in anticipation of Sunday, when my friend Julia was coming to Ireland all the way from Australia to visit me (amongst other things). I went to the airport to pick her up (thankfully her plane got in at 9am, not 5 am or something similarly ridiculous). We of course began to talk non-stop from the second we saw each other, even though poor Jules was tired from her marathon flight and probably jet-lagged as well. It was totally weird, even though we hadn't seen each other for almost eight months, it was just like we'd seen each other last week. I didn't feel like we'd been separated at all. Must be the power of email (despite the infrequency with which I actually write emails). First thing we went for a full Irish breakfast so that Jules could taste black and white pudding – plus we were hungry! When we were full to bursting with cholesterol, fat, and salt, I showed her some of the sights around Dublin, icluding Kilmainham Gaol, which I hadn't been to yet. It was fascinating, having housed the rebels behind the failed 1916 Easter rising, and plus our tour guide was kind of cute which always helps. He told us a story about Geoffrey Plunkett, who got married just hours before being executed at the gaol. His wife also ended up in the East Wing of the gaol later for "revolutionary activities" or some such. Pity the weather was wet and cold (surprise) and that we were both tired. Meanwhile I caught up on the Australia gossip – who's dating who, who broke up with who, who did what, when, and why. Turns out Janna and Meagan are planning to come to Spain next August so I might see them then!

On Monday Jules and I set off on our Paddywagon three day south of Ireland tour. We turned up dutifully at eight o'clock at the Paddywagon offices on Westmoreland street (the address having been written in size 20 font at the bottom of the ticket) and awaited the bus. It seemed strange that the office didn't have a sign or anything, but I informed Julia that lack of signage was pretty much the norm in Ireland. We were still waiting at quarter past, but when Jules mentioned it, I brushed it off. “Don't worry Jules, we're working on Irish time. Eight can mean anything from eight o'clock to ten thirty”. By half eight I was also worried so we rang the Paddywagon offices to find out the story. “Oh, you're at Westmoreland Street?” “Yes, that's the address on the ticket.” “That's our old offices. Just stay where you are. I'll send the driver around to pick you up”. And she did. Lucky we didn't wait any longer to ring or they'd have been half way to Galway already.

We did that nightmare thing you do on these ridiculous tours, introduce yourself to the bus and tell everyone a little bit about yourself. Not that you remember anyone's name three seconds after they tell you what it is, but whatever. Anyway, it was as good a way as any to pass the hours before Clonmacnoise, an old monastery in the middle of Ireland, founded by St. Ciaran in the 1600s or something. A long time ago anyway. It was one of the oldest universities in Europe (second oldest I think). It was very pretty with all the ruins and gravestones (lots of celtic crosses everywhere) but absolutely incredibly insanely windy and cold, even though it was sunny. Then bus, bus, and more bus all the way to Galway. We did stop at some random castle on the way, not that I remember what it's called.

Everyone has been raving about Galway since I got to Ireland. It's so pretty, the people are so friendly, you'll have a great time in Galway, etc etc. The cathedral was pretty amazing, I admit, but the rest of Galway was pretty difficult to appreciate in the cold and darkness. I heard it's really hopping in the summertime though, so perhaps it's just the time of year. I did get to appreciate the inside of the pub we went to for dinner! They had traditional Irish music which was great but more importantly it was warm and had light. Yay. Jules and I went to bed fairly early as we were wrecked and quite happy to leave the late night partying to the others that night.

The next day we set off for Killarney, stopping off at yet more castles (still not sick of them) and also “The Burren” which is basically a big expanse of rock, but apparently scientists come from all over the world to study it. We also saw (and made use of) a wishing well. I can't even remember what I wished so I have no idea whether or not it came true. Tuesday was also the day we saw the Cliffs of Moher, supposedly the best touristy thing in Ireland. I must admit they were pretty amazing, and we were lucky as anything since the weather was lovely and there were only a smattering of tourists. If you can put up with the cold and the rain, and you´re lucky, there are advantages to seeing Ireland in the winter. The thing is if you're unlucky, the entire Cliffs can be blanketed in a thick, inpenetrable fog, so you've travelled for two days to see nothing but white mist.

At night we did a tour of Killarney National Park, which was great as the landscape reminded me of Anne of Green Gables, and also because our tour guide, Michael, had a totally adorable Kerry accent. Plus the sun was setting so it was very pretty. We saw some Kerry cows (absolutely jet black from head to toe, they are dying out and are a protected species) and a “Heeland Coo” (Highland cow) that came on holidays from Scotland and never went home. He was really cute.

After that, again to the pub. That night I was totally antisocial as Liverpool were playing Chelsea in a champions league match which they had on the big screen, and despite my promises that I was “only going to watch for five minutes” - they were a very long five minutes that stretched out to ninety plus stoppage time. Well, to be fair to me it was a very interesting match! Both teams played well and it ended in a nil all draw which was not only enough to see Liverpool through to the next round, but on top of the group, no less! Sucked in Chelsea, (who must hate us now with a fiery passion since we eliminated them from the last Champions League comp, which we went on to win, hahaha) and sucked in Manchester United, who are now eliminated from the competition (almost better news than the Liverpool-Chelsea result). A good night all around. I finally tried an Irish Carbomb (Half pint of Ginness, with a shot of whiskey and one of Bailey's, skulled so the Bailey's doesn't curdle). It was delicious, bizzarely. That night we also met Joe, another Paddywagon driver, totally cute and a law student, but Casey and Melanie whisked him away into a corner in the first five minutes and noone else could talk to him. By the way Ireland is overrun with solicitors. Everywhere you turn there's signs “O'Connor and Sutton, Solicitors”, “Beauchamps Solicitors”, John Smith, Solicitor”. Why does such a small country need so many lawyers? We were planning to stay out that night but the bar we ended up at was totally lame and the three for ten euro cocktails were watery and weak (so I heard, thankfully I didn't buy any). So we hung out a bit and then again left the partying to the others.

The next day we made our way to Blarney Castle in the pouring rain (and I mean pouring, as though someone had overturned a cosmic bucket over southern Eire). Blarney castle was pretty cool, even apart from the stone, although again it was a bit more difficult to appreciate in the rain. The shitty weather did keep the tourists away though, so at least we had the run of the place. I kissed the Blarney stone (bring on my seven years good luck) and by the end of that morning my jeans were soaked up to the knees and my shoes and socks also soaked through, not to be dried again until 9 that night. After that more driving in the bus (day 3 is the longest driving day) then Ross castle, which again was totally fascinating but cold and rainy. At least this castle had a roof and we got a guided tour which included lots of history about the castle in yet another cool Irish accent (not southern though unfortunately). These people used to eat practically nothing but potato mash and milk for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It's a wonder they survived. Then still more driving until we finally made it back to Dublin. Home sweet home. We went back to my place and had a lovely hot shower and got changed into some dry clothes. Unfortunately having been wet all day it wasn't enough to avoid the revolting cold I ended up with the next day (and still have).

Anyway, over the next couple days I just caught up with people and got ready for my trip. One small hiccough when I went to get an ATM card that I could use overseas, and the bank told me I couldn't have one because my account had only been open five months, not the required six. So now I have no way of getting at my money from here. Again, thank Christ for Visa. I even managed to see Dermot the day I left, although only for an hour as he was an hour late to meet me (not his fault). Don't think things are going to go anywhere on that score after all - and I had such hopes! Well, I'm not gonna dwell on it, especially considering some of the hotties I've seen here in Buenos Aires! Girls, you gotta make it a stop on your next trip, I swear. There´s cute guys practically around every corner! And they´re not shy either. Maru and Flo have already promised to go out dancing with me, so I´ll be able to maximise my boy-checking-out then.

The flight to Baires (that´s what I´m calling it now) was mercifully not too long (only 19 hours, including the one and a half we spent sitting in the plane grounded at Madrid) and we touched down about two hours later than we were supposed to. Add to that a one and a half hour wait at immigration (I was entering on my Portuguese passport having left my Argentine one in Australia, so I was slightly nervous that they wouldn't let me into the country, but of course it was all fine. I even got a stamp in my Portuguese passport finally, because within the EU nobody stamps anything!). Thankfully the potential boredom of the wait was alleviated by a couple of Englishmen I got talking to in the line. One was kind of cool, one less so, but at least the conversation was entertaining. Finally I was through immigration, I picked up my bag, and went to meet my slightly fed up family who had been waiting for about three hours. Soon we were on the crazy Argentine freeway (where traffic lights and lane markings are merely suggestions, and indicator levers practically have spiderwebs due to lack of use) where I began this blog. It's actually three days later now, and I'm still trying to finish the damn thing.

Actually now it´s four days later, so I´m gonna finish it today if it´s the last thing I do. From the freeway to my grandparent´s house (how cool to see them again) and then to my cousin Carla´s (mum´s side), who has a beautiful house in an estate kind of thing with a pool and all the mod cons. Lots more people there - Carla, Claudia (her sister) my aunt Doris, Carla´s son Geronimo and her hubby Sebastian. We had a great time relaxing by the pool and catching up with all the news, watching DVDs of U2 and Robbie Williams. We had asado for dinner (something I´ve been waiting for for the last eight years) and finally I collapsed into bed at I can´t remember what time. It´s so weird to have so much daylight, I´m still not used to it. It can be nine at night here and there´s so much light it feels like three in the afternoon. Which means I go to bed late, and because I get up so early, I don´t sleep all that much. Sleeping is a waste of time anyway, right?

The next day we went to see the other side of the family (dad´s side) at the Quinta, which is their weekend house. Everybody who´s anybody in the Fernandez family was there(with some notable exceptions), and what a riotous, unruly, raucous bunch we are. Everyone screaming over the top of everyone else, taking the piss out of each other, and just generally being noisy. Just like me. We spent some time in the pool, some time eating, lots of time chatting. I´m still trying to finish Crime and Punishment and failing miserably although starting tomorrow I have four lazy days at the beach to finally find out how it ends.

My Spanish isn´t as good as I thought it was - I still find myself slipping back into English a lot, but I´ve been here less than a week, so I still have four in which to improve. Having Ramiro around isn´t helping, because it allows me to cheat a lot. Still, he leaves on the 29th and after that I won´t speak any English at all. Well, I´m gonna try.

Anyway, after the Quinta I stayed at my cousin Maria Marta´s place (she has a cool apartment in the city) and we stayed up late and had fun chats with her and Florencia (her sister and yet another cousin) and watched Legally Blonde. I forgot how funny that movie is. Next day - shopping! I can´t get over how cheap everything is here. In Dublin I´m so poor: I live in a tiny, kind of crappy apartment which I share with three others; I only buy red meat on special occasions, I walk everywhere and never take taxis; I only buy clothes at Penneys and only when I really need them (I´ve been using the same work pants all year even though they´re two sizes too big and the hems are all frayed). Here I´m like some kind of queen: I bought a pair of Levi´s the other day for about thirty euro. The ones I bought in Arnotts a couple months ago (not even a brand, just any old crappy jeans) cost me nearly sixty. I finally bought a pair of proper running shoes for a third of the price I would have paid in Ireland. I got my nails done (french manicure) for seven pesos, which is about three euro, probably less.

You know what else is cool here? Sales help. In Australia and Ireland, "Sales Help" is an oxymoron. Here, they´re great. They gave me all sorts of advice about running shoes, helped me pick the best ones, and even thanked me for the pleasure. In the jeans store they asked what style I was after, brought me what I wanted, then when I said I didn´t like A or B about a pair of jeans, they brought me jeans without that. Not just another random pair of jeans that they thought I might like, like in Australia. I showed them where the cut wasn´t right, they brought me a cut that fit better. I wanted no pockets, they brought me no pockets. I love shopping here.

Yesterday we took a train to the delta at La Tigre, then a boat ride in the canals. That was totally cool. People live in the canals in the delta and the boats are like a kind of bus that takes them home, to school, to the shops, etc. At night we had pizza at tia Doris´s and my kind of distant cousin and friend from last time I was here, Maura, was there, so we did a bit of catching up.

Today, here I sit in an internet cafe, trying to summarise as briefly and entertainingly as possible. This morning I went for a run (my first in like, two weeks, naughty naughty, but come on, I plead extenuating circumstances). It´s hot here, but I did my twenty minutes and didn´t die, so go me. Let´s see how I feel tomorrow! I´m going to have such a poor time in Peru if I don´t keep in shape but my family is intent on feeding me to death, and it´s not easy to resist all the yummy pastries, barbeques, dulce de leche (a kind of argentine caramel, which has to be tasted to be believed), dulce de batata con queso fresco (sweet potato jam with unpasteurised cheese - yuuuuuum) and all sorts of deliciousness. I will, however, persist, otherwise I´ll be 1000 kilos in Peru and I won´t be going to Machu Picchu without a helicopter to airlift me. I´m trying to convince my cousin Clau to come with me - she really wants to go so hopefully it won´t be too difficult, hehehe!

Now it´s about lunchtime and after that who knows. I hope a swimming pool will be involved. I cannot describe the pleasure all this good weather is giving me after six months of Ireland. I didn´t even realise how much I missed it until I got here. Hopefully by the time I get back I´ll be sick of hot weather because February is still bloody cold in Ireland! As always in a new city/country I´m already planning my next trip here before I even leave. But I have lots of reasons to come back here as soon as humanly possible. Can´t wait ´til Christmas!

Work Shmerk

I had my last day at work yesterday, and far from feeling exhilarated, I'm actually feeling at a bit of a loss. I've spent the morning trying to reorganise flights and stuff for Peru (all the ones I wanted are booked out, hurrah, so I've got no time to get from Lima to Cusco for the Inca hike), which means I'm probably going to have to fly, which is gonna cost me like 250 euro. I am so sick of airlines, flights, times, bookings, and all that. I'm especially sick of how much they charge you for the pleasure. But I want to get it all out of the way before the weekend so I can relax. Thank god I've got these days off or I don't know when I'd be able to organise all this.

Last night Sabrina and I had planned to go out clubbing, but in the end I collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. My body needed it thanks to all the partying I put it through this weekend! I had some friends come to Dublin from London and we went out clubbing on Friday and Saturday and I got up early on Saturday to visit Andra, so by Sunday I was wrecked! It was all in the pursuit of a good time though so it was worth it, and we found Rick's, the best burger bar in Dublin! I'm still feeling lethargic today - I think it's because it's been six days since I've been running and my body needs an adrenaline kick. I'll go later when the rain will hopefully have let up a bit. I can barely believe it's eight days until I go to Argentina - this six months has been one of the fastest in my life. Every time I stop and turn around I find another month has gone by.

Andra made me Romanian food on Saturday, and we had chats, and Dan made me drink a pile of Jameson, and we had a good time. Wow, that was such a poorly constructed sentence, but I am extremely tired, so you'll have to forgive me.

I was planning to give you all a proper update on my life, but to be honest I've been sitting in this internet cafe trying to fix my flights for 4 hours 21 minutes and counting, and I have to get out of here. I have to go for a run or do something, right now, this minute.

Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi Oi Oi!

Two blogs in one day - I know - an unheard of (and probably never to be repeated) miracle! But I just had to gush about yet another miracle, one I am still coming to terms with. The Socceroos have somehow beaten Uruguay in a two leg competition for a place in the World Cup finals in Germany 2006! I cannot believe it - I thought it would never happen unless FIFA gave Oceania a well-deserved full qualifying place. Australia must be mental at the moment with all the celebrations - I can't believe I'm missing it.

Anyway, I posted before about Halloween and promised pictures which I never delivered, so here they are people! Click to enlarge, you know the drill...

This is Sabrina and I in our living room after we just finished getting ready - the angel and the devil!


Shelly and I at the club.


The only one of the three of us, taken (as far as I can remember) by a guy in a martian costume.


Shelly with the guys dressed up "Top Gun" style. I must admit they looked good but they were total players!


Me with the best looking one!

Don't cry for me Argentina

Last week I had a taste of what it might have been like for me had I taken a job at a large company full of graduates, rather than at a tiny cleaning firm with four office staff, all married men over 35. Alexandra (Andra for short) hails from Romania but understands Spanish very well after years of watching Spanish telenovelas on Romanian television. She met a charming Irishman by the name of Daniel in a pub in Bucharest, and it was love at first sight. Long story short, she followed her heart all the way to Dublin, and here she plans to stay. She's absolutely lovely, intelligent and fun, and a real no-bullshit kind of person (my favourite kind!). Anyway, she'll probably be taking over my job, so we've been working alongside each other the past few days, and will be until I leave. Anyway, she started on Wednesday, and by Thursday night I was already going out to the pub for after work drinks with her and Dan. I met his dad, and his dad's work colleagues, and some friends of Dan's. His dad was super-nice, buying me drinks and when I told him I was thinking climbing Croagh Patrick (a big mountain here in Ireland) he invited me to stay down at his place in County Mayo. Absolutely lovely guy. Andra and Dan left at about half seven, but I stayed to drink and chat with Dan's mates, since I was having a great time. I did get into an argument with a guy by the name of Paddy (that was his real name, I swear) because he started up with the “all Muslims are terrorists” bullshit, which really drives me crazy. When I hear someone saying something so stupid and intolerant, my brain disengages a bit, and I don't stop to think of the consequences, I just tell them exactly what I think. So I told him I thought he was wrong, and he insisted he wasn't, and was surprised that I didn't hate Muslims after the 17 arrests just made back home. I told him that Muslims were just the same as any other religion - some crazies yes, but mainly people like you and me. He didn't like that much. He said, “But they're killing people”. I pointed out that the IRA was similar in a lot of ways. He didn't like that at all. I swear if I was male he would have punched me in the face, but given that he couldn't really hit a defenceless little girl in a crowded pub, he kept a lid on his rage. He denied any similarity between the IRA and Islamic terrorism, with the argument that the IRA were “freedom fighters” against the British invaders. I pointed out that you could paint the same picture of the Iraqis. He shut up after that (after calling me a “stupid eejit” not that I care - to be called stupid by someone so narrow-minded is a twisted sort of compliment) and we agreed to disagree.

Anyway, although things got heated, the argument was quickly forgotten, and I got talking to Sam, an American who, although he loses points for working at Starbucks (my nemesis), gains about a million points for being a totally cool guy. He's a political science major (like me), is ex-military, married (his wife is living in London at the moment) and we had lots of interesting discussions about many different things (no arguments!). By about 22:00 I'd had about as much Guinness as I could take, and I had to work the next day, so Sam walked me to the bus stop (what a sweetie) and I took the bus home. I got talking to Stephane, who was the kindest bus driver I've met so far in Dublin. He hails from a place 60k out of Paris (I don't remember where), so I practised my French a bit and gushed about Paris a bit until I had to get off (Stephane let me off early so I didn't have to backtrack about 1500 metres, what a legend). All in all a totally fun night, and all the more fun because of the sponteneity, and unexpectedness.

Friday night I didn't have any plans bar coming home, eating and sleeping, but thankfully Maria messaged me and saved me from myself by inviting me out with her and Alan, Clarkey and Barry to see a band, Jalopy. They were fun and entertaining, kind of two parts Pulp, one part Silverchair, and add a dash of 70's disco. I swear the lead singer was Jarvis Cocker's evil twin. Afterwards there was a DJ, and even though they were playing “doof doof” music it was great to dance to, and we went crazy on the dancefloor, particularly Alan and Clarkey who were being total clowns and were up on the stage trying to breakdance, pulling each other around the floor, and generally making us laugh hysterically. We walked home in the freezing, freezing cold and I stayed the night at Maria's, since both her flatmates are away at the moment. We had girly chats, she showed me some photos of mutual friends, and we fell into bed.

Saturday morning I slept late, which, strangely, I don't enjoy as much as I used to. Back home it wasn't unheard of for me not to surface until after midday. Now that I get up at seven in the morning for work, I find that on the weekends I can't stay in bed much past 08:00. I just feel like the weekends are so short, it'd be a waste to spend so much time in bed! I read a copy of “El Jueves” of Maria's and nearly killed myself laughing - it's a bit like MAD magazine, but it's actually funny rather than stupid. I don't always get the jokes, or understand every word, but to be honest I rather surprised myself with how much I did understand. Looks like hanging around with Maria has improved my Spanish somewhat, which is lucky considering soon I'll have to speak nothing but Spanish for five weeks! A scary prospect, but if I managed it the last time I visited Argentina, I can definitely do it now.

I'm looking forward to my South American sojourn for so many reasons. First of all, and most importantly, to reconnect with my extended family. As they will surely attest, I am hopeless at keeping in contact while I live so far away. Part of that is because I'm embarassed at how little Spanish I speak (though hopefully that side of things should have improved) and part of it is pure laziness, and a proclivity for procrastination. Yes, I will write that email...later! Furthermore, last time I was in Argentina I was about 14 or 15 years old, and frankly just a child (though I thought I was all grown up)! It will be great to get to know my family as a woman, not just as a little girl, and I think that will be an interesting aspect for them too - to see how much I have changed in these years. One of the coolest things will be getting to spend Christmas with them - that's always when I miss them most.

The second thing I'm looking forward to is getting to know my home city on my own terms. The first time I went back, as previously stated, I was just a child, and therefore was escorted everywhere and shown the sights by a well-meaning adult. This was perfect for that time, but now that I'm a little older, and somewhat more politically aware, I'm looking forward to checking out Buenos Aires solo (well, some parts at least) and discovering more of the “hidden” city as well as finding the “vibe” of the city of my birth. Last time around I felt at home there immediately (huge crowds notwithstanding - how do you fit 11 million people in one city?) but I was too young and stupid to pay real attention to my surroundings. This time I will not waste this golden opportunity to get to know the city, particularly as it forms such a large part of my identity. By the way I hope Buenos Aires has a modern art gallery. (If you will permit a small digression here, a couple weekends ago I went to the Museum of Modern Art here in Dublin, and they had an exhibition of Latin American art that was absolutely amazing - I wish you could all see it).

The third thing I'm looking forward to is the hot weather. I am sick and tired of wind! I don't mind the cold here so much, but the wind is driving me insane as it lowers the effective temperature at least five degrees. I can't wait to go somewhere where staying inside on a sunny day isn't a criminal offence, because the next day is just as likely to be sunny, and the next, and the next...

Fourthly, the Peru trip. Thanks to Robyn Brentnall, my high school Theatre Arts teacher, who, in Year 10, picked “The Royal Hunt of The Sun” as the yearly play, I've been fascinated by the Incas. They were brutal in some ways (sacrificing young virgins and things) but in many ways they were the ideal communist society - everything is shared, everybody works until a certain age, then they are looked after by the community until they die. Plus they had the legendary streets paved with gold and all that crap. Anyway, Pizarro came along with all his testosterone and machismo and killed the Inca, massacred most of the population, melted down most of their intricate artefacts into gold bars, and took over Peru, and that particular civilisation was ruined. But some relics remain, and that's what I'm dying to see. Hopefully that should give me some further insight into how the Incas lived than books, which are fallible, after all.

Last but not least, I'll get to see my father, mother and brother, which will be great after six months apart.

My flatmate Sabrina is coming home from Paris today after a week there. We've all missed her and her exiteability and sweetness. Plus it's much quieter with only three people in the flat. I hope she stayed safe with all the rioting and such going on at the moment. I've got some time off these three days while we leave Andra at work by herself for a few days to see how she fares. So it's three days of relaxation and trip planning for me - it feels like Saturday morning for me again! This morning I'm going to treat myself to a Full Irish Breakfast - eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, black pudding. I know it's a one way ticket to a coronary, but I've been meaning to do it since I got here six months ago and I haven't yet, so I feel like now is the perfect time (I love indulging myself when I'm supposed to be somewhere responsible like work or school, but I've managed to get out of it for some reason). Plus espresso coffee, which I haven't had for ages now because it's so expensive. Mmm, can't wait.

Gotta start making changes

Finally the weekend again. It didn’t feel like a bank holiday week at all (only four workdays), in fact it felt just as long or longer than a normal working week. Well, only 15 business days to go at my current job!

I left off last time talking about going out on Sunday night with my flatmates Sabrina and Shelley. We went out to this pub/club called d|two, which I’d never heard of before. It’s really quite cool as there is a pubby kind of place on the ground floor, and a big beer garden (with heaters thankfully) and downstairs in the basement there’s a club with a dancefloor (albeit a small one). Most everyone was dressed up for Halloween which was great to see. There were some awesome costumes including Robin (of Batman and Robin fame) Tigger (of Winnie the Pooh fame), a carton of milk, the guys from Top Gun, a fluffy bunny (I’m sure they must have been a Buffy fan) and Sabrina’s favourite, a pint of Guinness. I didn’t take many pictures as I put my camera in the cloakroom after a bit so I could dance, but there will be some below, soon. Unfortunately I left the URL of the page they're on at home, so I can't link to them at the moment. Check back later in the week and I'll add them to the end of this post. You can all thank your respective lords that I have finally figured out the art of thumbnailing, so hopefully the page will load somewhat quicker than previous.

Anyway the place was loads of fun, playing all my favourite kinds of club music. When I’m out dancing I need radio pop at the beginning (Britney, Christina, Destiny’s Child and the like), then later in the evening when it’s winding down it’s time for some classics (Footloose, Walking on Sunshine, Hey Mickey etc). I would never sit down and listen to this stuff at home, or see it at a concert, but that’s what I like to dance to when I go out, and they provided that in buckets. We all danced all night till the club closed, at 3am. Then we walked all the way home from the southside to the northside, with Shelly’s shoes torturing her to death every step of the way (the reason I only ever wear flats).

Actually, that night was the first night it really hit home to me the difference between the north and south sides of Dublin. In my head I’ve always known that the south is more upmarket than the north, and that’s certainly reflected in the architecture, but I’ve never seen such a marked difference in the people as that night. As we walked home along Harcourt and Grafton Streets (southside) there were loads of people walking home, minding their own business, and the few that did talk to us were friendly and polite (if a little drunk). The second we crossed O’Connell bridge, it was like we stepped into another world. The whole atmosphere of the environment changed, suddenly there were crowds of menacing looking guys standing around, there were “fooking”s and “bollocks”s flying everywhere, and everything and everybody just seemed more grimy and dishevelled. I found it totally weird and quite disconcerting, as I’m kind of pinkish politically (not quite red) and such bold class divisions make me uncomfortable. Not even in England, the most classist society ever, did they strike me so, although to be fair I only spent five days there!

I did meet a handsome management consultant by the name of Tom at the club (who reminded me somewhat of Dylan Moran from Black Books), but he never called me. Stuff him, I’m not waiting by the phone! It does puzzle me why men make all the effort to chat you up, charm you, ask for your number and then totally disregard it. I imagine it’s because he went out Monday night and met another girl!

In completely unrelated news, I’ve started running. Well, that’s not quite true. It’s more like a slow jog – I don’t want to kill myself in the first week. I feel so lazy sitting in a chair all day, and my cardiovascular fitness has probably deteriorated quite seriously as I haven’t set foot in a gym since I left Melbourne. I can’t afford a gym membership here, but the streets are free, if somewhat polluted. That’s the one thing I don’t like about running - when I take a deep breath to provide oxygen to my wailing muscles, all I get is carbon monoxide and secondhand smoke from all the people standing outside pubs and at bus stops smoking. Yummy. But it’d take me a half hour to walk to St. Stephen’s Green to run for 15 minutes, which doesn’t make much sense. Oh well, in a few months I’ll hopefully be able to run to St. Stephen’s Green and back.

Friday night I went to see an Aussie band, “Architecture in Helsinki”. I was going to go with my mate Ceri (whom I met at Jon Spencer) but she had to work at the last minute and so I ended up going by myself. I was a bit worried when they came out onto the stage as they looked suspiciously like the band that played before “Icecream Hands” that night I went to see “The Whitlams” in Melbourne (do you remember them Meags?) who totally sucked. I’m still not entirely convinced it wasn’t the same band but if it was it doesn’t matter because they rocked. It took them a little bit to get going but when they did they showed us a great time. It was a bit of an eclectic ensemble – an eight piece featuring 2 keyboards, guitar, bass, drums, trumpet, 2 trombones and random percussion like triangle, cowbell, tambourine and that thing with the metal beads on it that you shake and it makes a “dsh dsh” sound. So I guess it was kind of like a mini “Polyphonic Spree”, sans colourful monk outfits.

Saturday was kind of quiet and boring, thankfully. I’m taking my weekends easy at the moment, conserving my energy for the last few weeks at work. I watched a bit of television last night – the more I watch the more I’m convinced that when I get my own place I’m banning television. It seems harsh, but really there’s nothing worth watching aside from the news and documentaries, which contain information readily available from print media. Even the news here is irritating and biased, as we get the Sky News feed from the UK. It’s not as bad as CNN, but since they try so hard to ape the US news in every single way, sometimes it seems the only difference is the British accents. I miss SBS World News! You can easily substitute documentaries with books, news with newspapers, and boom! No reason for a television. I admit, sometimes television can produce some real gems – “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” (and spinoffs), “Good News Week” (in the good old days when it was on the ABC), “Monty Python” and does anyone remember “Mcallum” the fantastic drama about a forensic pathologist starring the oddly sexy John Hannah? But these gems are few and far between, and sandwiched in the middle are programs devoid of reason or emotion – vacant time-wasters such as “Pimp my Ride” and “The Simple Life”. What can these programs teach us about ourselves? They do have one use, and that is the opportunity they provide to completely switch off our brains while watching them. This “brain rest” can be invaluable, particularly after a difficult day, but I don’t think it’s healthy to have your brain switched off for much of the time.

Today I discovered a new park, the Iveagh Gardens behind Harcourt Street. They’re tiny, and well hidden, maybe Dublin’s best-kept secret. There’s a waterfall, perfectly manicured lawns, some statues, and thankfully very few people. It’s the perfect place for some solitude as it’s pretty, peaceful, and only a 35 minute walk from my flat. While I was there, I took some time for quiet reflection, and made a big discovery about myself. For so long I thought that I was a person that didn’t like change, or didn’t cope well with it for some reason. I thought I was happiest when I had a routine, knew what to expect every day, did the things I knew I liked, saw my friends, and lived life in a little bubble. And I was relatively happy, or rather comfortable. But coming here, and travelling so much, and planning yet more travels, I’ve found that was a fallacy. I’m happiest when I’m planning my next adventure, or better yet, having it. I feel more “true to myself” (sorry for the 70’s hippy flower-power speak, but that’s just the way it is) when I’m moving somewhere, figuratively as well as literally. Change still scares the pants off me, but now I know it will invigorate and educate me, and I feel like I know myself well enough to cope with just about anything life throws at me. Thus I can throw myself fearlessly into new and exciting escapades with the knowledge that I can circumvent just about any obstacle and learn something about myself and life in the process. What more can you ask from life?

That said, I’m reinstating my original plan for South America. Sod the expense, I’m going to Peru. I’ll spend about four weeks in Buenos Aires reacquainting myself with my family, I’ll get to spend my first Christmas with them since we moved to Australia (something I’m looking forward to more than you can imagine) and New Year too, then on the 9th of January I’m off to Lima where I’ve got about 10 days to explore Lima, Cusco, Machu Picchu and the Inca trail. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since high school, and I’m tremendously excited. The hike takes four days and costs about three hundred euro, which I should be able to afford. January is the worst time to go, since the weather is hot and wet, but I don’t care. In my experience of hiking, suffering increases the satisfaction level achieved at the end. I feel like it’d be criminal to waste this opportunity and this aeroplane ticket, which is already paid for. After Peru it’s on to Los Angeles, Denver, New York, and back home to Dublin. By that time it’ll be around the 16th of February or so, and I will have spent over two months holidaying. It strikes me as completely extravagant to take such a long holiday, but this is why I’m here – travelling is my raison d'être at this point in my life. Next on the hitlist after I get back to Dublin and have fattened up my emaciated bank balance is either Italy or Rejkyavik, Iceland, I haven’t decided which yet. Then on to Barcelona for a year of work and perfecting my Spanish, hopefully with lots more adventures in between (gotta squeeze Cuba and Morocco in there somewhere, as well as a million other places). Such is the life of a citizen of the world!

Halloween

Well, I finally did it. After enduring four months of misery (to be honest, it wasn't that bad, but the last month has been) I quit my job. Hurrah! Not too many people would be overjoyed at the prospect of unemployment, but I feel like I'm in a better position to find a job now than when I first got to Ireland, and that time it only took me 3 weeks, so I should be laughing. Plus there's always temping. In fact I'm quite tempted to temp permanently (no alliteration or oxymoron intended) when I get back from BA as I really don't want to make the same mistake twice with this job thing. I think the problem was I took the first job offer that came along without a second thought, and I really need to take more time to figure out if a job is really right for me before I commit myself. Or, there's the other route of temping, in which you take any job that comes along, but at least you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Plus you get to change jobs a lot, which means you can meet a bunch of people. Working with three middle aged married men does not do wonders for your social life. The thing that sucks about temping is that it's always your first day! As soon as you settle into a job you have to leave. Enough about work stuff, like any of you need to know about that boring crap. Even I'm bored by it most of the time and I have to live it. Anyway only four weeks to go!

Not much has really happened since I got back from Paris. Work has worn me out during the week and the weekends have been spent recovering and doing laundry (ooh, hang on, I just realised I have to put a load in the washing machine. Be right back). Plus there was this thing with this guy...it got kind of strange, and he didn't talk to me for three weeks. He's the one that usually throws the raging parties so my social life naturally took a bit of a nosedive for a while. Thankfully this weekend is turning out to be quite different, thanks to a pagan tradition supposedly born right here in the Emerald Isle, but the Irish are quite like the Greeks in that they claim that everything was invented in Ireland or by an Irishman/woman. Yes, this weekend is Halloween.

So on Friday I came home still buzzed from the nerves of my resignation, and prepared to make myself resemble, as closely as I could manage, Faith, the renegade vampire slayer from the television series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". I had originally wanted to go as Wednesday Addams, but couldn't find a suitable dress at the op shop (by the way, they have great op shops here, while I was out looking for a costume I picked up some bargains including a preloved Marks and Spencers skivvy made of pure wool for about six euro) so I figured with black pants, boots, a white tee shirt and my badass (fake) leather jacket I could be Faith. Anyway, what else is a Whedonverse freak like me to do? I even got my flatmate Shelly to draw Faith's tattoo on my arm with eyeliner. Add one cross and one chopstick...er...stake, and the outfit was complete. Pity no-one at the party had the remotest idea who Faith was - but if they're not cool enough to love Buffy, that's their problem, hehe.

The party totally rocked, I met some awesome people including Dave, aka random seventies disco master, the gregarious life of the party; Simon, aka random French guy, the laid back, generous photographer extraordinaire; Rhiannon, aka fairy princess, the young Buffy fan who nevertheless didn't recognise me until I told her who I was supposed to be; Peter, aka Big Hairy Gorilla, the cute guy whos earliest memory is of crashing his dad's car into the garage at three years old; Nick, aka cowboy sherriff, the guy from Kildare who spent five years living in Hong Kong and going to a fundamentalist Baptist school where they told him Satan was speaking through him because he said "fuck"; and George aka George (he didn't have a costume), the cool Portuguese guy who wants to go to Australia (everybody here does - it's exotic to them or something, why, I have no idea). I find it’s always the people you meet that make the party.

Dave invited me to his party in Wexford last night, and I was all set to go, I rang him at midday as requested, he said he’d get back to me with the details...and nothing. Didn’t even reply to the text message I sent a few hours later. To be honest I’m a little miffed – I was quite certain something was going to happen that night with Peter (aka Big Hairy Gorilla) and now I’m not sure if I’ll ever see him again. Not to mention missing a good party, which I never like. But there will be other men, and other parties.

In fact tonight I’ll be going out on the town with my flatmates Sabrina and Shelly. Normally this shouldn’t be a big deal but Sabrina works every Friday and Saturday night, all night, from say, 20:00 to 05:30. And the only nights I can go out are Friday and Saturday. But because this weekend is a Bank Holiday weekend, I have Monday off, and we can party all night Sunday! We’re so exited, I haven’t been out with Sabrina before, but she’s so sweet I know we’re going to have a fabulous time!

Because it’s been so long since I last blogged, I’m going to reward you with some pictures. My apologies for the large files, I don’t have any software to make them smaller, if anyone can recommend some that I can get for free for a Mac I would be forever grateful. I should probably “just f***ing Google it” but I’m too lazy.

This is something I’ve wanted to do for some time – it’s a picture diary of a day in my life in Dublin. I’ve also put some Halloween photos at the end. Here goes!

Here is the living room of my (tiny) flat. You’ll notice it is absurdly neat and tidy. I wish to assure you that it almost never looks like this and no-one in this flat has OCD. Of note is the horrid clashing furniture (a staple of student digs).



Here is our (incredibly tiny) kitchen. That little bar fridge has to fit food for four people! And try making gnocci from scratch with that bench space. Everything works though (aside from the grill) and I love the artwork on the wall. Good to have some abstract art to stare at while you’re washing the dishes.



This is my street, Bolton Street. Nothing much of note here. Just thought you might want to see where I lived.



This is Lower Dominick Street, around the corner from where I live and not so affectionately dubbed “Knackertown”. Basically this is government-funded housing where all the poorest people in Dublin live. Actually looking at it now this is quite upmarket council housing in Dublin – one day I’ll take pictures along the dodgy end of Parnell Street and you’ll see what the “real” Dublin is like. It looks a bit deserted at the moment because it’s 07:00 and I’m on my way to work, but usually there’s kids playing around and people chatting outside and all that jazz.



Here is a picture looking down O’Connell Street, featuring, you guessed it, The Spire, aka “The stiffy by the Liffey”. You can’t really tell the magnitude of the thing from this picture, but let me assure you it is bloody huge. Absolutely the stupidest, most useless pointy sticky uppy thing ever in the history of useless sticky uppy things. It cost three million euro and was built for the millennium celebrations, but in true Irish style wasn’t finished until 2003. Hehe.



I walked past a garda car and thought you might like to see what they look like, in case you’ve never seen Ballykissangel.



This is the GPO on O’Connell Street. It’s even more impressive from the inside but I was on my way to work and couldn’t really stop. It’s also the place at which the independence of the Republic of Ireland was declared. Actually it’s a pretty politically significant place, and some say the holes in the columns are bullet holes from the uprisings at the time. The Irish government maintains they’re caused by erosion, so thanks again to governments taking all of the magic and romance out of a story for politically motivated reasons.



The statue of Molly Malone at the top of Grafton Street. Apparently she sold fish by day, and “entertained” the men of Dublin at night, for a fee. They wrote a song about her and now she has a (totally overrated) statue in her honour. This is supposed to be a tourist attraction?



Grafton Street at about 07:30. Just people going to work and vans delivering stock for the day. Totally different from the afternoons on the way home.



Brown Thomas - the Harrods of Dublin, i.e. totally pretentious and horrendously overpriced department store stocking such brands as Gucci, Armani, Parker, and Alessi. They don’t have the cool part of Harrods (the antiques and silver) but they do have a guy standing at the door wearing a tux and (get this) a top hat, to greet people as they come in. The store’s still not open at this stage so I didn’t get a photo of Top Hat Man, but he cracks me up.



St. Stephen’s Green, a great little park, seen from the bottom of Grafton Street. That arch is the main entrance.



The Luas, which is the tram I take to and from work. Imagine my chagrin when I found that it was operated by Connex, but to my surprise they’re actually quite reliable most of the time. Expensive though – every day a round trip costs me three euro.



This is the main shopping strip in Windy Arbour, where I work (currently, and not for too much longer, hurrah!).



My desk at work. Again, never that neat.



Street performers on Grafton Street after work. You don’t need a license to busk on Grafton Street, so you get all sorts, from rocking string quartets to your soft-rock band wannabes to comedians to five year olds murdering Mozart on the violin and playing on their cuteness factor to raise funds.



The crowds on Grafton Street after work. Quite different from the morning, huh?



The Spire, this time seen from the bottom of O’Connell Street.



These are everywhere in England and Ireland. Most of Europe drives on the right (crazy buggers), so foreigners have to be warned from which direction to expect oncoming traffic. I know in Scandinavia and Berlin I almost got flattened a bunch of times when I looked the wrong way.



These are of the Liffey, taken from O’Connell Bridge.





My favourite store! Practically all of Dublin shops here. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Brown Thomas is on the south side (the posh part of Dublin) while on the north side (the dodgy part) there’s two Penneys within a five minute walk of each other. Three cheers for reasonably priced clothing, homewares and cosmetics!



Back to the Liffey for some reason.



The Moore Street fruit and vegie market. This one is actually cheating a little bit. I took it on a Saturday morning, since by the time I get there in the afternoons they’ve all pretty much packed up and gone home. The produce here is the best value around (eight grapefruit for two euro? Hell yeah!) but it’s not self service so you have to take whichever ones they pick out for you, so sometimes it doesn’t work out. If you get there early it’s ok, but at the end of the day there’s only the shrivelled up, bruised and rotten stuff left. I love the colours in this picture.



Here’s a couple of St. Stephen’s Green. They’re not very interesting but my camera batteries ran out before I could take any more so you’re stuck with these ones.





My wall in my room at home – it’s a work in progress. For any AFL fans, yes, that is Max Hudgton on the wall, kindly sent to me from my mother. By the way mother, what were you doing reading the Herald Sun? Shame.



My (tiny) room, which I share with Antonia.



Me as Faith for Halloween. The hair thing didn’t work out so well, but Shelly did quite a good job with Faith’s tattoo. I spent forever making my face as white as possible, but all the powder came off in like five minutes.



Me as Faith complete with badass (fake) leather jacket and chopstick...er...stake.



Clarkey dressed up as a geek. It’s a bit scary how well he managed it!



Damian and a random French girl (don’t know her) being, well, French.



Alan dressed as a gladiator.



Maria (the cowgirl) and Emma (the zombie tennis player), with some chicks I don’t know.



At this point my camera ran out of batteries, so no more pictures sorry. I’ll take some more next time. That should be plenty to keep you going for now anyway!

Paris, je t'aime

It's been a while since I last blogged, so this'll be a long one. There's a lot to cover. I'd better start with Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. It was a totally awesome show, they're a rocking band, Jon has amazing stage presence (though I only got a couple of glimpses of him since I'm so short I had to stand on tippytoes/jump to get a look at him). They were totally tight and rocked the place from top to bottom. There wasn't any moshing (not allowed) but to be honest I prefer it that way (yes call me a wimp if you like but I don't particularly like being elbowed in the face while I'm trying to listen to music). The crowd was into it though and we had a great time. I met a girl there, Ceri (friend of a friend of a friend) who's really cool and we had some good chats - we'd only met each other for ten minutes before we were discussing the "alternative lifestyles" of our friends (I'm not trying to be PC, it's just the only term that covers all the possibilities) and also all the details of our own love lives! I love people who are open like that. She told me she might be able to get hold of a ticket for me for Arthur Miller's "View From A Bridge", which was sold out at the time (that Saturday was closing night). She ended up coming through for me (go Ceri) and the play was totally awesome.

The play was Saturday morning, then Saturday night I met up with my friend Kyle who I met on the Scandi/Russia tour. Actually we met up in the afternoon for a couple of pints before the play, and they (Kyle and his mate Aaron who actually is Kyle's sister Amy's boyfriend - did that make any sense?) introduced me to Martin, this guy they met in the hostel when Kyle and Aaron flicked on the light switch in the morning to find Martin relieving himself in the corner of the room. Exactly how that led to him coming to have a drink with us I don't know, but in the end it worked out well as Martin promised us a free bottle of wine at the restaurant he was working at that night. We dutifully turned up at the restaurant at about half eight and Martin seated us and was very professional (must have been difficult thanks to previous events). We ordered dinner and the promised bottle of wine was produced (cheers Martin). Before we'd even finished that bottle, Martin appeared with a second one. Then a round of shots. Then another round of shots. Needless to say before we'd left the restaurant I was a little tipsy. Add a couple of whiskys at some random Temple Bar pubs and that was the end of me. Though I did manage, in my slightly inebriated state, to have an intelligent conversation about the US education and political system with this American chick we ran into. She was studying education and intended to teach at special needs schools, which she reckons are badly underfunded. No surprises there, special needs are badly underfunded everywhere, not just the US. Anyway we had a great night, and poor Kyle had to be up at dead o'clock in the morning to catch his plane home. How he made it I don't know. Needless to say, Sunday was a quiet day, full of bed rest and such.

Tuesday night Ceri invited me to go see "Lady Salsa" with her and her mates. We were to meet at a bar called Traffic at seven. I was there at seven on the dot but no Ceri. No worries, I just went to the bar to order a drink and got chatting to the barman, Connor. This is what I love about Ireland. I've never had so many conversations with random strangers as here. Irish people are just so friendly, and are always up for a chat. I know barmen are supposed to be friendly and chatty, but they've never actually lived up to the stereotype except in Ireland. Anyway Connor had spent some time in Sydney and so we chatted about that, and working in the hospitality industry, and so on, until about half seven when Ceri showed up. We hung out a bit with her mates and then went on to the show. Long story short the show was pretty crap, so we left in the interval to grab some tapas and a drink. Somewhere between sitting down at the pub and getting up to get the tapas, I was separated from my wallet, never to be reunited. Unfortunately that meant the next day was blind panic trying to cancel my credit and bank cards and get new ones sent out. Thankfully Visa was totally awesome and had my replacement card and emergency cash to me by Wednesday. The people at the call centre were totally hilarious though - they work off a script, which is pretty standard for a call centre, but they stick to it to an extreme level. For instance, one of them asked me, perfectly politely, "What is your name?", before he caught himself and corrected it to, "I mean, can I have your name please Ma'am?". Then another time I asked a girl if she could tell me whether or not any purchases had been made with my card in the last 24 hours, and no kidding, this is what she said, verbatim: "Let me explain this to you Ma'am. All the records relating to your bank account are kept by your financial institution, and we have no access to those records. Therefore unfortunately I am unable to inform you whether or not any transactions have been made with your card". I nearly laughed down the phone at her only I was in such an awkward situation at the time (standing at a payphone in the middle of Grafton street at peak hour while all the people on their way to work were walking by, holding about a million pieces of paper, my mobile, my handbag, and god knows what else) that I was too anxious to laugh. I'd prefer to talk to an automated system than a person that sounds like an automated system! They were very helpful though, I have absolutely nothing bad to say about the Visa service and would recommend them to anyone (and no they didn't give me any money to say that!).

The reason I was so crazy worried about my credit card and money (thank god there wasn't any money in the wallet when I lost it) was that I was slated to go to Paris that weekend - and there was no getting out of it as the tickets were already booked. I could have changed them but to be honest I couldn't be bothered with the hassle (does that sound like me or what?). Friday finally came around and I went to the airport armed with clothes for the weekend, a little money, and my passport and confirmation number for my flight booking. I was convinced the Ryanair staff were going to laugh in my face and demand my ticket (since when can you fly without a ticket?) but they just asked for the number and issued me with my boarding pass. Weird.

Then came about two hours of intense boredom waiting to board the aeroplane. Well, that's not strictly true. It would be more accurate to say two hours of intense boredom punctuated by moments of blind panic that I had nowhere to sleep in Paris that night. See the friend I was going with, Maria, was supposed to book accommodation for herself and I for the weekend. She didn't, and didn't tell me. By the time I found out I had nothing booked, it was Thursday and the hostel I had in mind was already full. Long story short I arrived in Paris at about half ten local time, not having a clue where I was going to sleep. I had originally planned to find a somewhat comfortable spot in the airport lounge and sleep there, but the second I stepped off the plane I realised that was not going to be a viable option. Paris Beauvais is one of those dodgy Ryanair airports that are basically a couple of tin sheds with some chairs and a little kiosk inside. There was no way I was spending the night there. So after some deliberation and a little more panic I caught the bus into the city centre.

Thirteen euro and a little over an hour later, we were dropped off in the city centre, right in front of the Hotel Concorde de Lafayette, probably the most expensive hotel in Paris. No way I was sleeping there, either. By now it's about midnight and I'm wondering the streets of Paris looking for a hotel I don't have to sell my body and soul to stay in. In amongst the panic I'm actually quite taken with Paris; even though it's night, and scary, and I'm worried about stuff, I can't help noticing how cute and French everything is. From the first I knew that Paris wasn't going to be just another European city. Paris lives up to its reputation as something special.

After I'd checked out the prices in a couple of hotels, I found one that had rooms for 60 euro a night, which was probably the best I was going to get for the middle of Paris. Unfortunately they didn't have any 60 euro rooms available, but they had one for 75. This didn't sound too bad at half twelve at night so I handed over my credit card (cheers Visa) without demur. This also marked my first conversation in French (I didn't do too badly, especially given the late hour and the snooty receptionist, who, to be fair to the Parisians, was one of only two snooty people I encountered there). It was exciting to actually use some of the knowledge I learned in high school. I had a long hot shower and finally made it to bed at half one.

I'd set my alarm for 7:00 am but like that was going to happen. I think I got up at eight and left the hotel at about nine. I then encountered my next hurdle - in my rush to pack everything on Thursday night/Friday morning I forgot my Lonely Planet guide, so I didn't have a clue

a) what I wanted to do or
b) where the hell anything (including I) was.

I decided to wander aimlessly for a while and hope to stumble co-incidentally upon the Champs-Elysées. Needless to say that didn't work but I did find a cute café in which I had a typical French breakfast of croissant, tartine, café au lait and jus d'orange. However, across the road from the café was my saviour. I saw a big M and I don't mean McDonald's. What would we do without the Metro? It gets you from anywhere in the city to anywhere else with no muss or fuss. When I took a look at the Metro map I thought, "There's no way I'm going to be able to figure this out", but really it's not that complicated. I picked a station that said "Champs Elysées", and went there. I got out of the metro and there it was at the end of the road - L'Arc de Triomphe. So I strolled down the Champs Elysées - which is reeealy reeealy long I found out - and along the way I managed to find a map, hurrah! - until I made it to the Arc. It was pretty cool, and I took loads of pictures. Then I consulted my map (yay) and made my way to the Louvre. On the way I found the Seine, and at one point I turned around and there it was - the Eiffel Tower. It just came out of the blue. I didn't have time to check it out at that time, I was on a mission to see some famous art. The Louvre was amazing (once I found it). The Mona Lisa was totally underwhelming, what a disappointment! I don't pretend to be an expert on art, but I don't understand why people go on about it so much. It's a fairly dull picture of an ugly lady. Yes the perspectives are all screwy, but why does that make it amazing? Anyway, lots of the other paintings made much more of an impression on me than Lisa. The Venus de Milo was stunning though. It was really moving, but the impact was dulled by the tourists that were jostling to get a picture in front of it. They were practically committing GBH to push each other out of the way. That kind of ruined the whole atmosphere of the art. You can't really contemplate and appreciate a great sculpture while there's five or six grinning Asians in front of it with flash bulbs constantly exploding. The rest of the Louvre was great, but to be honest it doesn't really compare to the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. That was crammed chock full of incredible artworks, including two Leonardos which knocked the Mona Lisa out of the park. That said, I only spent two and a half hours or so in the Louvre, which is a crime, but I only had two days in the city!

Next up I made my way to Notre Dame, where I met up with Maria and her brother Mike. We stopped for lunch and then checked out the cathedral. From the outside it's a really old gothic cathedral complete with mad pidgeon guy out the front (no kidding - he had a bright orange wig on, and all this birdseed so he was like the "feed the birds" lady from Mary Poppins). But on the inside the place has succumbed to the ravages of crass commercialisation - confessionals that resemble seminar rooms complete with glass doors and computer screens with multimedia presentations, not to mention flashing lights and souvenir stands and such. That took away from the power of the place, but I just tried to imagine what it would have been like hundreds of years ago and tried to block out all the other rubbish.

That night we strolled down the Seine and saw it all lit up, which was incredibly romantic. One day I have to return to Paris with Mr. Right, because Paris lives up to its reputation as a totally romantic city. Before I got to Paris I thought the idea that a city could be "romantic" was complete rubbish, but Paris has infected me. We went to the Eiffel Tower which looks totally incredible at night, and to the Arc de Triomphe which is less spectacularly lit up. By this stage it was past midnight so we went back to the room to sleep as we were all wrecked. That night I slept on the floor in Maria and Mike's room, so in the end I spent an average of 37.50 a night on accommodation in Paris, since I didn't pay a cent the second night! Still expensive but not so bad for Paris (which by the way is not expensive compared to Dublin standards).

Sunday morning was a little wasted as Maria only woke up at 11:00. We went to the Eiffel Tower (again) but this time we went up and took loads of panoramic pictures of Paris. Unfortunately the queueing and all took all morning and by the time we got down again I had to make my way to the bus to get to the airport (they leave three hours before your flight). Again lots of time spent wasting time at the airport but there was one highlight, which was the conversation I had with the customs official, which was the longest conversation I had with someone in French. It went something like this:

*I hand over my passport, which is my Portuguese one since that's what I'm travelling on in Europe*
Him: *something I don't understand*
Me: "Er, sorry?"
Him: *repeats*
Me: *confused face*
Him: "What's 'Hello' in Spanish?"
Me: "Hola."
Him: "What about Portuguese?"
Me: "Er, I don't know."
Him: "But aren't you Portuguese?"
Me: "No, my grandmother and grandfather are."
Him: "So, where do you live?"
Me: "Well at the moment I live in Dublin, but I really live in Melbourne, Australia."
Him: "So you don't speak any Portuguese."
Me: "No."
Him: "But you speak good French."
Me: "Not really."
Him: "But you understand what I'm saying, and you can reply."
Me: "Yes, of course."
Him: *confused look* "Well, goodbye"
Me: "Bye."

This was all in French of course. Reading over that it doesn't seem that exciting, but the feeling that I could hold a conversation in French outside a classroom was elating. The flight back seemed looong, and I found out something when I got to Dublin airport again - arriving home and getting off the plane when there's no-one to meet you is totally depressing. When you're going somewhere it's elating to be on your own, an adventure. But arriving home you want to see a familiar face and talk crap for a while. I went to catch the bus home, and got talking to two aussies, Warwick and Amy (to anyone from Contiki reading this, I KNOW!! Weird). It was refreshing to talk to people who appreciate JJJ. I got home and all I wanted to do was fall into bed, but my lovely flatmates all said "we missed you", and they were dying to hear about my trip, so we got into a big conversation, and by the time I got to bed it was almost midnight.

Drumroll please...I'm actually going to post some pictures! These are ones I took in Paris, not all of them, but some anyway. I tried to compress them a little for those of you with slow connections, but the files are still quite large, so I'm sorry, but you'll have to be patient! Here goes!


One of the coolest things in Paris is the Metro. At its most basic, it's a public transport system that actually works, and doesn't cost a fortune. But some of the time, it's actually a beautiful marriage of form and function. Much like an Alessi kettle or a Cadillac, the Paris Metro is both functional and aesthetically pleasing. This isn't even the coolest Metro station I saw, but it was the first to catch my eye and therefore deserved a photo.

Hehe. I couldn't resist taking a picture of this as I strolled down the Champs Elysées. I saw lots of Quicksilver and Ripcurl and such in Paris and not all of it was sported by Aussies. I just thought it was hilarious to find an Aussie surf store in the capital of haute couture.

The postcard shot. Pity about the terrible weather. Although the traffic looks crazy in this shot it's pretty amazing how quiet the city is. I had no problems crossing the Champs Elysées even against the lights, and all the stories I heard about traffic insanity in Paris seemed to be unfounded. In fact, all in all Paris didn't seem to have all that many people in it. I was expecting it to be teeming with humanity much like London, but comparatively it was almost deserted! Strange.

Here's a closeup shot.

French windows! Eeeek! How cute!

I was just walking along and it popped up out of nowhere. I mean, I know it's in Paris, but I just wasn't expecting it at that particular moment, so this is my first sighting of it from across the Seine.

How's the serenity. This is my favourite shot of Paris, taken early Saturday morning by the Seine. Looking back on it I can't believe there aren't any people in the photograph. Where the hell is everyone? Anway it worked out well for me.

The Louvre. Very old and pretty as you can see.

This is Maria, the Polish girl I explored Paris with, and I poring over a map of Paris at a dinky crêperie. Not my most flattering picture, but well.

The colossal Gothic masterpiece that is Notre Dame, complete with threatening looking raincloud. How pertinent.

Big front doors of the cathedral. The one place I saw that was literally swarming with tourists.

A terrible picture of Maria and I in front of the pyramid thingy at the Louvre. What is that thing for anyway?

Postcard shot No. 2 and Mum's favourite. The Eiffel Tower is amazing at night. In fact Paris is even more beautiful at night than during the day. In fact most cities are...I'm always amazed when I look out over the Yarra from Princes Bridge, how gorgeous Melbourne is.

A not-as-good picture of La Tour Eiffel with traffic and such. I shouldn't have bought such a cheap camera. Though to be fair I haven't a clue how to use it properly. Perhaps I should read the manual?

The Seine from the top of the tower. Pretty breathtaking picture, but what you don't realise is that the experience was literally breathtaking - it's soooo windy up there, you can hardly breathe! And look how HUGE Paris is!

I don't like to swear, but look how f****** HUGE Paris is!!

Do I need to say it one more time? HUUUUGE!!

Anyway that's it for now. I'm going to post some pics of Dublin soon now that I've figured out how to get them off my camera (turns out my other memory card is corrupted, which is fantastic because I have no idea what pictures are on there so there could be some really good ones and I'll never know. Damn technology!!

By the way, I've been listening to the Corrs almost non stop for the past three days, and I must say they are very good music to work to. "Old Town" is my favourite, and they also do a good cover of R.E.M's "Everybody Hurts", which is not a patch on the original but quite moving anyway. Anyway it's past six and time for me to toddle off home...I'm still at work, though I only blog after five! Take care all.