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!