The Inca Trail - Day 1

I didn't have the energy or the mental coherence to be excited the following morning at 04:00 when the bus picked me up from my hostel, but climbed dazedly into the bus and slept all the way to Ollantaytambo (about two hours) where we stopped for breakfast. A little more awake now, we managed to chat a little, what we'd seen, what we wanted to see, who'd gotten sick (both altidudinally and gastronomically). From breakfast another 45 minutes to Km 82, the beginning of our journey back to Inca times (as I was thinking of it). I tried to imagine myself an Inca making a pilgrimage to Machupicchu. They of course would have made the trip in a little over half the time and without so much huffing and puffing, but it would be essentially the same. We got stamps in our passports for the start of the trail, took a "family picture" and we were off!

The first thing that struck me about the trail (aside from the literally jaw-droppingly awesome, majestic, imposing mountain landscape) was how...inhabited the trail was. What to us was an important relic of Peru's Inca heritage, to the Andeans was just the road. Thus many rural Peruvians live along the Inca trail, we passed their huts and occasionally them outside making food, utensils or clothes. There were also many locals leading their horses (taxis, according to Solay) along the trail looking for grazing land. Not to mention the porters whizzing by constantly (more about them later). What I thought would be a peaceful hike in the mountains turned out to be a stroll along a sort of rural Peruvian highway. I can't imagine what it must be like in the high tourist season.

The first part of the trail was fairly flat, and we reached our lunch spot not too exhausted and quite interested to know what would be served up for lunch. Just quietly, considering my previous experiences with camp food, I was expecting it to be pretty simple...sloppy porridge, crappy sandwiches, and tex-mex food. But not only did we get a four course meal (no not kidding) it was delicious. Salad (with alpaca cheese), soup, some kind of traditional Peruvian fish dish, then sloppy jelly pudding stuff for dessert. Then tea. The meal was great while it lasted (even Glenn, a chef at the ultra-trendy River Café in London, was amazed at the standard of the food, saying it was better than most of the restaurant food he'd eaten in Cusco). However, post-banquet, we had 700 metres of mountain to climb up. The morning had been fairly plain sailing but after lunch it was as if the landscape suddenly remembered it was the Andes and that it had better throw some inclines into the mix. So began five hours of slogging up, and up, and up...Surprisingly considering my only above average fitness I was heading up the bunch until the last half hour when my body just sort of said, "Right, that's it, I'm clocking off". Remember, I'd been up since 04:00, and it was now around 16:30, 12 hours later. Thankfully I hadn't suffered any altitude sickness like Bridey, who had felt nauseous all afternoon (how that must have sucked!). Even more thankfully, when we reached our campsite, Llulluchapampa)the porters (who had reached camp aaaages ago) had already set up camp, pitched the tents, and made us afternoon tea.

After a brief but exciting deer-spotting in the surrounding mountains we had our tea, and then basically chatted and killed time until dinner. This again was an amazing experience for me as usually when I'm camping reaching camp means the work is only just beginning - you have to pitch the tent (usually in the dark if it's winter, and the first night it's always a nightmare because no-one can remember how to pitch the tent, you can never find a flat spot with soft ground and usually there's a pole or something missing), then cook dinner, eat, wash up, and by that time it's well past bedtime. Again a huge and delicious meal (all thoughts regarding how much weight I was going to lose with all the walking were slowly but surely dispersing) and then more chatting until bedtime.

I was tired but happy that the first (and hardest walking) day was over. I was in love with the Andes and couldn't wait to start seeing the archeological sites that we were going to start finding along the way.

Peruvian Perdition

It was the day that´s been waiting to happen since I left Melbourne. You know, the day everything goes wrong? It finally happened the day I got to Peru. Having said goodbye to my family I hopped on the plane (late, thanks to monster queues at Ezeiza) and arrived safe and sound at Lima airport. So far, so good. Well, new country, new currency, so I went to try and change my left over pesos for New Soles. The banks and exchange bureaus laughed in the face of my pesos - turns out they only change USD, Euros, Yen, and one or two others. Fine. There´s always the ATM.

Armed with my Visa card I went to the ATM and requested 150 soles, only to be informed that the ATM was witholding my credit card "for my protection". What? Protection from overspending? To my credit I didn´t freak out, took a deep breath, found the number for Visa and tried to call them. And tried and tried. It turns out making a collect call from Peru is on a similar difficulty level than say, a NASA space shuttle launch. Plus it´s impossible to make collect calls from public telephones (I found out after an hour of fruitless attempts) so there was nothing to do but wait till I got to the hotel in Cusco. I sat down with my guide to Peru and tried to concentrate on figuring out what I was going to see when I got there. Finally it was almost time to board the plane to Cusco and I found my gate and sat down. I got chatting to a cool American guy sitting by me, when we started comparing passports. When I looked closely at mine, it appeared as though the immigrations lady had stamped my passport for entry 09/01/06 (all ok) but also for exit the same day. Which means I was supposed to leave that day or I´d be overstaying my welcome in Peru. What followed was half an hour of mild worry (I´d sort it out at the immigrations place in Cusco, if indeed there was one) until I finally realised with relief that the exit stamp was from Argentina. Iiiiidiot.

So now I only had one problem to deal with, not two, and I relaxed the rest of the flight to Cusco. I landed with no problems, got my luggage, met Javier, the owner of the hostel I was staying at, and he took me out to the car to take me to the hostel. I had my backpack on my back and my daypack on my front, and unfortunately in the airport carpark there are some well hidden kerbs, one of which I immediately tripped over. Thanks to the amount of luggage I was carrying I wasn´t able to put my arms out to break my fall, which means the fall was broken with my nose. Javier was awesome, took me to the airport first aid desk where they cleaned me up and gave me an injection for the swelling and the pain (intramuscular, yay). They charged me 10 soles (which of course I didn´t have) which Javier lent me out of his own pocket. He took me to the hostel, made an appointment with a local doctor, then took me there on his way to tae-bo. Unfortunately the doctor was running late, and he missed his tae-bo class, but he said it was more important to make sure I was ok. To be honest he was pretty much my knight in shining armour as even with my Spanish I would never have been able to do it all without him. The radiography place the doctor sent us to to get my nose x-rayed was shut, we had to try three before we found an open one. They charged fifty soles for the x-rays which Javier again lent me out of his own pocket, but luckily the radiographer said she didn´t think it was fractured. Back to the doctor who had left for the day - "come back tomorrow at half past six". Fine.

Next day I was waiting dutifully at the surgery at 06:25. And waiting and waiting. I wasn't worried, as I figured this was down to the vagaries of "Latino time", where 06:30 can mean anytime between 05:30 and say, 09:00. Finally at about 10 or 20 past seven someone came out of the surgery.

"Are you waiting for someone?"
"Er, yes. Dr. Wilson. Do you know when he will be here?"
"None of the doctors are here. They only practise here in the afternoons."
"But the nurses told me to be here at half past six."

Even as I said it, the horrible truth was dawning on me. Yes, half past six. The half past six that was coming up in about 11 hours and 40 minutes. Apparently no doctors in Cusco have private practise in the daytime (strange but true) but the elusive Dr. Wilson could be found during the day at a local hospital. I resolved to go and find him - 5 hour wait be damned - just as soon as I did something about the aching hole in my stomach. Back to the hostel for breakfast where I told Vicky my sad, doctorless story. Within the hour Javier let me know that he had arranged to have the famous Dr. Wilson meet me at his surgery at 11:00. How? I have no idea. Why? He's just a nice guy.

Killed time until 11:00, then to the doctor's to await the verdict...was the Inca hike still on the cards or not? After he cleaned up the cut on my nose again and did a bit of poking and prodding, he looked at my x-rays and said, "I can't really tell anything from these. Where did you get them taken?" Shit. More poking. "Well," he continued, "Be careful on the hike and call me when you get back and I'll tell you if we need to operate.". Hmph. Not a very convincing diagnosis but I was going to Machu Picchu! (On foot). He prescribed me antibiotics so the cut didn´t get infected and anti-inflammatories for the swelling. These cost 100 soles which I paid for using my US dollars I had brought to pay for the Inca hike.

Well, that was my nose sorted but I was on my last soles and I had to pay the balance on the Inca hike (which I had brought with me from Argentina but had to spend on food, lodging and medicine since I had no credit card). I finally got through to Visa and got USD$200 in time to pay the hike (for which I was leaving the following day, the 11th). I went to the United Mice offices and we had our pre-briefing at 19:00. I met Jen, Nadelle, Bridey and Glenn who would be my co-torturees on the trip, and Solay, our guide. I also ended up having to buy some stuff I needed and hadn´t brought: torch, wet weather pants, beanie (stupidly sent to Boulder ahead of time), coca leaves and a walking stick (apparently there´s a lot of stairs on the trail which I was soon to find out for myself, to my chagrin). Luckily all this stuff was relatively cheap but my budget was also tiny, since 140 of those 200 dollars had gone to the hike people. After that my nightmare two days was finally over and I headed back to the hostel to sleep. Even that was prolonged as my mother rang me to let me know I had to talk to the travel insurance people right away or I wouldn´t be able to get money back for my nose-related expenses. Spent half an hour on the phone to the insurance company, then to my mother again, by which time it was 23:00 and I had to get up for the hike at 04:00. I collapsed into bed after a lukewarm shower for a restless night´s sleep.

Eventually as I dropped off to sleep and began to unplug myself from the VISA and nose débâcles, I began to mentally prepare myself for the next day - the Inca Trail! After eight years of dreaming, I was finally going! I was still a little anxious about how my body was going to cope with the Andes, but quietly confident that even if I had to push it to its limits, my body could handle whatever the Peruvian terrain threw at it.

Hasta Luego, España

After we’d ingested obscene amounts of sugar and fat, we headed back to the hostel and tumbled into bed. We woke up (I use the term loosely) later in the day to check out the Palacio Real, the old palace of the Kings and Queens of Spain. It was spectacular, I must admit, but running on about three hours of sleep I was incredibly blasé about what I was seeing – another tapestry, nice chair, cool throne, whatever. Afterwards I was tired and grumpy and so headed back to bed for the afternoon while Jules went to the Prado. I really wanted to check it out but in my "barely alive" state I wouldn’t have enjoyed it at all so I figured my time was better spent sleeping.

Somewhere in the mix there we went to Toledo, which is a couple of hours from Madrid. Toledo is an incredible little walled city which literally makes you feel like you’ve stepped back in time into a fantasyland of swashbuckling pirates, blushing maidens, duelling, chests of gold dubloons, and maps of deserted islands marked with an ‘X’. There are only two drawbacks – the stores sell nothing but overpriced souvenirs and (very expensive but real) swords; and the streets are so narrow, short and windy and the buildings are so tall that it is impossible to find your way around, even with a well-marked map. At one point we were searching for the cathedral (absolutely huge, beautiful, and full of priceless art) when we realised we had been circling it for the last 5 minutes. Toledo is well worth a visit though, if you can stomach the tourist-trappy aspect which is very hard to ignore.

Eventually our time in Madrid came to a close, Jules went to catch the bus to Valladolid from which she was going to London, and I went to Starbucks and spent the day drinking Chai Tea Lattes with a copy of "El Jueves". Normally I’m dead-set against Starbucks as a propagator of extremely bad coffee, but seeing as I was in Madrid, a city which reminded me so much of New York, being in Starbucks felt right somehow (although Starbucks coffee is deplorable, it’s a damn sight better than the filter stuff that you get everywhere else in the Big Apple). Then off to the airport to catch my flight to Roma. I’d never been to Italy before, and was practically trembling with excitement at the prospect of so much history, culture and art. I was also looking forward to staying in the same place for more than two or three days! My cold was proving impossible to shake and I badly needed rest and relaxation. But how could I relax when there was a new city to explore?

Hasta luego, BA

When I got back from Ostende it was finally time to do what I'd been meaning to do this whole trip - begin to get to know the city of my birth. Basically that means getting a guidebook and visiting all the tourist traps, and hopefully learning something about Baires in the process. I mean, I wasn't going to learn a lot about Argentine politics from looking at a bunch of government buildings, but at least I was going to pick up a bit of culture from the very fact that I was alone and therefore forced to interact with people I didn't know. Plus, tourist traps are so for a reason...they're cool to see. I'm not going to describe everything I did and saw because that would take forever, so here are the highlights:

I started off walking down Avenida de Mayo, one of the main streets which has some spectacular buildings including the amazing old-style Cafe Tortoni and the Palacio del Congreso (Congress). That leads you down to the Plaza de Mayo, the heart of the city and home to the Casa Rosada, literally the "Pink House", which is the seat of parliament. At first I thought pink was a strange colour to pick for the centre of such a male-dominated arena as politics, but clearly the Argentine men have no limiting prejudices about the supposed femininity of the colour pink, as I found that pink shirts on Argentine men have reached epidemic proportions. The Plaza also has an amazing cathedral, in which the remains of José de San Martin, who liberated Argentina from the tyranny of the Spanish (yay) and possibly apart from Ernesto "El Che" Guevara, is the biggest Argentine hero, are buried. They even have poker-faced guards wearing silly hats guarding the mausoleum. I don't really understand this thing with the hats. Do the governments of the world have some special people that they go to to design the hats for their guards? Some wacked-out bunch who have listened to Seargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band a few too many times?

Plaza San Martin is another plaza in Baires, much greener and a bit nicer than Plaza de Mayo. It's a cool place to hang out, people-watch, read a book, or just lie in the sun. There's a Palacio de San Martin, and an arms museum (interesting but not fascinating) and a war memorial for those that gave their lives in the Falklands War. The memorial is pretty nice actually. If I lived in Baires I could see myself spending a lot of time in that plaza.

For some reason I really like cemetaries, and the one in Baires, the Cementerio de la Recoleta is one of the top three cemetaries in the world, so I was pretty excited about going there. Luckily I arrived just as a tour was starting so I learned all about the different types of graves they have there (mausoleums, niches, and I can't remember the names of all the other ones). The guide showed us some of the important people that were buried there, including a couple of presidents and the one and only Evita Perón. The Duarte family mausoleum isn't one of the most fancy ones in the cemetary, but there were so many people crowded around it you could barely see it, let alone get a picture. Some of the mausoleums were huge with sculptures, different levels, marble, inscriptions, the works. One even had a small chapel inside so you could have the last rites or whatever in there. Nonetheless despite all the grandeur I still like the Assistens Kirkegård in Copenhagen better. Recoleta is like a little metropolis - all built up with no greenery. You can't walk around and feel peaceful with so much concrete and granite. Of course it was still fascinating. I wasn't able to locate my family's mausoleum - there are thousands in the cemetary and for them to be able to find it you need to give them the deathdate of one of the people buried inside. Of course I had no clue, and I wasn't about to wander the cemetary all day in search of the needle in the haystack.

Another cool part of Buenos Aires is Puerto Madero, and the Costa Nera which is right behind it. Puerto Madero is a little port that has just been revitalised and upmarketed. Now it's full of expensive hotels, restaurants and bars but if you look around you can still eat fairly cheaply. The water is quite pretty and it's even nicer at night. Behind Puerto Madero is the Costa Nera which is by a river which was all dried up when I was there so it was a river of mud and green slime (erk). The Costa Nera is home to the dodgy chorizo stands of Buenos Aires, and practically any time of day or night you can find the little carts lined up with choripan, chimichurri, vacio, and other delicious wares. It's buyer beware though, make sure you ask the locals which carts are ok, because you just might end up with a case of dysentery.

One of the days I went to see the Teatro Colón (shut) the Palacio de Justicia (covered by scaffolding) the Teatro Cervantes (shut) and the Museum of Modern Art (shut). At that point I decided it just wasn't going to be my day and went shopping. Well, window shopping anyway. Calle Florida isn't the cheapest place to buy stuff. Another day I went shopping in Once, and there I did go to town. It's like the unofficial Chinatown of Baires, where you can get clothes really cheap. They're not really of the highest quality, but hey, they're really cheap! I bought, amongst other things, a really really really really cool red patent leather backpack shaped like a record, with actual records on the front and back! It's hard to describe, maybe when I get back to Dublin I'll take a picture of it and post it here. Suffice to say it's really cool.

These small descriptions don't really do justice to the amount of sightseeing I really did (and the sheer amount of walking I really did) but I know this must be like going through someone else's endless albums of holiday snaps (ie. you can't wait for it to be over) so I'm going to end it here.

The best and worst thing abou the last days in Baires was catching up with everybody for the last time. In Mar de Las Pampas, we'd arranged for a sort of cousin's dinner (there were only four of us in Baires at the time, but hell, it's better than nothing, which is what I have 99% of the time). We went to Gustavo's house, and my god, the man can cook! I was astounded at the deliciousness of everything and now am all inspired to expand my culinary repertoire which currently consists of spaghetti bolognaise, stirfry, cheese on toast and canned soup. We chatted, ate, drank and chatted, and laughed. Regular stuff, stuff I really like.

On the way home, Maru realised that her mobile phone, usually surgically attached to either her hip or her ear, was missing. After some minutes of flipping out, we realised she'd left it at Gus's house. Bad luck for her but good luck for me, as it gave Gus and I an excuse (like we really needed one) to meet up for lunch the next day. We had a lovely lunch and said goodbye (sad but inevitable), and I hand delivered the phone to Maru's office (what service!!).

That night I met up with Clau and Juan and we walked up Puerto Madero and Costa Nera, after eating some delicious icecream (and discovering they now have beer flavoured icecream, strange but true). More and more chatting, and we would have stayed out but it had started to rain (plus we were really hungry) so it was time for another delicious parrillada. Mmmm. The restaurant was really cool (if noisy) and the lights were low (I think we were eating by candlelight) so we basically couldn't see what we were eating. This is totally fun. Plus with parrillada everything is delicious so there's no chance of biting into something you don't like. Plus the tablecloths were paper and they provided you with crayons to draw with, also appealing to my child-like mindset. We had planned to go home and have some caipirinhas but in the end after all the walking, plus the mountain of food, we were pretty wrecked and (well, Clau and I anyway) fell into bed as soon as we got home.

The next day I met up with my old friend Maura who I'd made friends with on my last trip in '97. We've kept in contact a little over the years but sadly my email writing frequency is generally quite low and Mau has suffered the consequences of that! We went shopping, I tried not to buy things, she showed me the state of the Showcentre, and what a sad state it's in! Last time I was in Baires, the Showcentre had just opened, and it was full of shoppers during the day, and at night the big open spaces were full of people dancing. Now, we went and I think there was about seven people there, not including us. All the shops except for a video arcade and a fast food joint were shut. It was generally eerie, and they should tear it down and build something useful there. That night I had dinner at her place with her family. Mau's boyfriend was the guest of honour as he had just graduated from University with a degree in Engineering. Congratulations Diego! We ate tonnes of food (duh) and the conversation was lively - it was interesting trying to find someone I hated at Maxi's insistence! They found out I love dictionaries so now I think they think I'm a bit weird. But hey, I guess that's old news.

The next day - the tango capital of Buenos Aires - Caminito and San Telmo. San Telmo is full of awesome antique shops and cute little boutique stores - as well as tourist trappy markets selling Boca Juniors merchandise and handicrafts. What I love about the area is all the colour, especially in Caminito where all the houses are painted in different bright colours, Nyhaven style. Pity the place is full of tourists, but it's not like I can complain. Plus we saw some tango dancers and listened to tango while we had lunch. There were Boca fans everywhere, but what can you do. In the afternoon we went to Carla's place to see her and say goodbye, and laze around a bit in the pool. Juan and Clau drove me back to my aunt and uncle's in the city, and Clau and I said a watery goodbye. Man I hate goodbyes, and I'd been full of them over the last days.

That night I had arranged to go out with Maru and her friends, to dance the night away. True to form we didn't go anywhere until about midnight, had some drinks at a bar and then went to the nightclub to dance. We all had a blast, the music was fun, we went crazy and left the club at...I don't even remember what time. We left the club and the sky looked kind of grim and threatening. By the time we had bought and eaten hot dogs, it was pouring with rain. We were completely saturated running the fifteen metres from the hotdog stand to the car. We dropped Maru's friends off at home and began the longish drive to the Quinta in Maschwitz. The car ride was awesome fun, we stopped for terrible roadside coffee and got even wetter (if indeed such a thing was possible), "I got my mind set on you" by George Harrison came on the radio, (which has become kind of like my Buenos Aires theme song) and arrived at Maschwitz dead tired but contented. Lunch ensued, then sleep, then driving back to Baires in preparation for my flight the next morning.

Maru had kindly offered to drive me to the airport at dead o'clock in the morning, which I especially appreciate as she is soooo not a morning person. We left kind of on time which was pretty good for us two, and made it to the airport with two hours to spare. This we thought would be plenty until we actually arrived at the airport and saw the queue was similar in size to the one formed behind my parents when they took 45 minutes to check in. We installed ourselves amnd prepared for the long wait with coffee and cereal bars, and checking out the cuties in the line behind us, who ended up on my flight (yay) but not sitting anywhere near me (boo). In the end by the time I checked in it was boarding time and we didn't have any time to just hang out, so straight to the big blue doors to say goodbye for the last time (for this trip anyway). I didn't want to leave Baires, I'd had such a good time, but it was time for it to end. Time to move on to other things. Time to go to Peru and tackle the Andes. I was scared, but excited. Little did I know what was awaiting me in Lima.

Cheers for the New Year!

My parents and brother left for the US of A on the 29th of December, and I was very sad to see them go. Although I'm "independent" now, I still like having them around. We got on particularly well this trip, perhaps because we were all aware that we only had 19 days to spend together, and none of us wanted to spend that time arguing. Also because we weren't together long enough to really get on each other's nerves!

We got to the airport and waited for them to check in...and waited and waited and waited, drank a cup of coffee, figured out the equation for cold fusion, waited some more, and 45 minutes later they were done. The people behind them in the queue (which was half the length of the airport by that stage, and Ezeiza is no tin shed) actually applauded as they finished. I shed a tear or two as they went through the door to the departure gates but I got over it pretty quickly - within half an hour I was already planning all the sightseeing I was going to do now that they were gone.

The 30th my aunt, uncle, two cousins and I left for Ostende, another beach holiday (yaaaaaaaaay). I can't explain how good all the sun exposure felt after so many months in Ireland. You don't even realise how depressing it is until you see sunshine and remember what normality feels like. I love Dublin to bits, but the weather could certainly use some improvement.

The idea of this holiday (for me) was to finally relax from all the Christmas madness (lots of flopping on the beach involved) and get in some proper conversations. Plus to spend New Year's Eve by the beach, which is a totally cool idea. No matter how hard you try and how great your party is, you just can't beat Mother Nature, which (to me at least) is a simultaneously depressing and uplifting idea. We stayed at the "Viejo Hostel Ostende", a totally historic hotel which can claim that Antoine de Saint-Exupery, the author of "The Little Prince" once stayed there. It has its own restaurant by the beach, and the architecture of the hotel itself is lovely.

I immediately began working on my first trip objective (flopping lazily on the beach) with gusto. We did little over the next days other than sleep, eat, flop on the beach and talk, puncuated by small dips in the ocean (watch out for the jellyfish). The 31st we ate a delicious dinner at the hotel, then headed down to the beach for champagne at midnight, which was magical. The Argentines have a tradition of making hot-air-balloon type things out of paper, which are beautiful to see when they work, and funny to see when they hold on to them too long and they burn up close to the ground. We all danced together, put on silly hats, and generally had a good time, until about 02:00 when Maru and I (under strict instructions from my cousin Anita's husband Daniel) went clubbing in nearby Pinamar.

First port of call was the main corner in Pinamar, waiting for one of the guys with discount cards to take notice of us. This was more difficult than it sounds given that there were probably more people there at 02:00 than there were at 14:00 the previous day. We stood there like stunned mullets for some minutes before we realised we'd have a better success rate with less clothes on. Off with our jackets therefore, and as we suspected, with a little cleavage the process became significantly easier. Almost within seconds a hottie with brown curly hair gave us cards for a club called Ku. Off we trotted therefore to Ku, which was huge - five different dance floors all playing different music. We danced the night away and I did some international relations work with a Peruvian cutie - learning to get along with people from different countries is important for world peace and international harmony and all that stuff, right? Maru and I got back to the hotel about 06:00 and fell directly into bed.

The next day involved yet more flopping around on the beach, and for dinner we went to nearby Mar de las Pampas, where another aunt and uncle, cousin, his wife and her parents were staying. It was great seeing them again. First of all Maru, Caro (my cousin Gus's wife) and I went for a good long walk along the beach. This was a good idea taking into consideration the volume and fat content of food consumed over the Christmas/New Year period, and the mountain of food we were about to eat. We excercised our bodies, but mainly our mouths, for a good hour. After, Maru and I stayed on the beach for a bit more chatting before heading back to the food mountain (a parrillada, which is basically an oh-so-yummy meat fest). The night was balmy, the conversation was tranquil, we just basically took things easy until it was time to go home. Every time I have to say goodbye to someone for the last time it breaks my heart a little, but at least this time I know it won't be so long before I come back, now that I can get to Baires under my own steam. And it's basically on my way home from Europe! Ahem, well, kind of. But close enough.

Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere

As I've said before, spending Christmas with my family was one of the things I was looking forward to most about this South American sojourn. I'm not really a big Christmas person: I hate Christmas trees (pine needles everywhere and garish lights); the crass commercialism drives me insane; you can't go to the supermarket for a loaf of bread without being subjected to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas"; and anyway I'm not religious and don't believe in God so to me the whole Jesus aspect of it is simply a nice story. But love it or hate it, Christmas is a time for family - about remembering that these people are connected to you in a special way (though sometimes we wish they weren't), that family is important, that we should all try to take better care of each other and all sorts of other warm and fuzzy things. So I always miss my family most at Christmas, and wish we didn't have to be so far away. This time, we weren't.

In South America (and most Western European countries barring the UK and ROI), the big day for Christmas is the 24th, not 25th. Thus late afternoon on the 24th of December we headed over to my cousin Carla's house in Morón where the Mendes Viegas side of the family (mum's side) was uniting. As is usual for any Argentine gathering, especially at Christmas, there were mountains of food including a delicious matambre made by my abuela Patricia, who makes the best matambre in the universe (I swear). We all ate and talked and later danced, and generally had a good time. Sebastian (Carla's husband) had bought a ton of fireworks so we had our own private display, which I quite enjoyed once I had gotten over being scared by the loud bangs. Santa came to visit, and even brought me a bunch of stuff which I was so not expecting including a sheep shaped CD holder and a book of short stories in Spanish (which is just what I need to practise). Then more talking and dancing and fun 'till bedtime.

Next day was to be spent at my aunt and uncle's Quinta (weekend house). Luckily the weather was gorgeous and we had a relaxing day by the pool, with yet more food (of course, what do you think this is). What could be better than feeling the sun beat down on your back, toes dipped in the pool, sipping mate and chatting with the cousins you haven't seen in eight years? I tried to catch up with as many people as possible, but the madness of Christmas, the amount of people, and my still far from perfect Spanish made it difficult to have a proper conversation with anybody. We finally got Mariano to sing for us at dusk (he's a professional singer) which was totally awesome - particularly good was the snippet of "The Magic Flute" which he executed with style and perfect German (he speaks like 5 languages). Finally it was time to say goodbye, which is always sad, but at least I have the memories of a great day.

Iguazu - rushing water, refreshing beverages, and Russian literature

After "Gesell" we had one day to gather our strength, then mum, dad, Miro and I were on the road again (well, in the air really), this time to Puerto Iguazu, in Misiones, right at the top of Argentina, on the Brasilian border. The reason people flock to Iguazu? The widest falls in the world. I'd already been last time I was in Argentina ('97), so I would have preferred to go to Cordoba or Mendoza or Bariloche, but Iguazu's not bad for a plan B eh? Dad had never seen the falls despite living in Argentina for about 40 years (weird, huh?).

We stayed in a very nice hotel, which totally made me appreciate travelling with my parents - when I go solo I'm always staying in the cheapest, crappiest places available. We spent our first afternoon lazing both in and by the pool, as we got to Iguazu too late to make it to the falls. Someone, who also happens ot be the writer of the blog you are now wasting time reading (get back to work, Maru!) had the absolutely brilliant idea of ordering caipirinhas to sip poolside at dusk. For those unfamiliar with this delicious beverage (native to Brasil), basically you take some lime, cut it into quarters, and bash it up with a pile of sugar. Stick the sugary lime into a glass with some crushed ice, and pour over a generous quantity (you can interpret "generous" however you please) of Cachaca, a sort of Brasilian version of rum. Stir, and then add more ice. Now enjoy the yumminess! It's sooo refreshing on a hot, tropical day.

Next morning we were falls-bound, and what a delicious surpise awaited me as our tour guide for the day, Adrian, was quite good-looking! What a pity I was wearing my "I'm on holidays with my parents and therefore couldn't care less how I look" clothes.

Pretty much the first thing we saw when we made it to the park was the Garganta del Diablo (Throat of the Devil) which for me has always been the best part of the falls. The sheer amount of water churning its way down into the humungous abyss is impossible to describe. Even pictures don't do it justice - the speed and volume of the water is just too massive. It was ridiculously hot, so we stood by the Garganta for a while enjoying the spray and being generally awestruck.

Next stop, a walk through the National Park (not quite the Amazon jungle, but close), then a boat ride underneath the falls (clearly not the Garganta del Diablo part, you'd be crushed, but another part). We got saturated from head to toe as if we had stood under the shower with our clothes on, which is exactly what we needed at 13:00 on a stinking hot tropical summer's day. Even more enjoyable was the group of rowdy Italians who were on the boat with us, making cool siren noises, screaming and generally getting into the spirit of things, with infectious results.

Lunch followed and then a bit more of the falls (a bit of a letdown after the morning, but any other day of course we would have been amazed) then back to the bus and the hotel, where we bid Adrian a fond farewell and went straight to the pool for some more lazing about and caipirinhas at dusk (when you've found a winning formula, stick with it).

The plan the next day was to visit the Brasilian side of the falls, but when we heard there'd be a two hour wait at the border, we said, "screw that" and looked for stuff to do in Argentina. We found a bird sanctuary (more interesting than it sounds I promise) and another place where they were supposed to tell you about the culture of the Guarani indigenous population but was really a five minute tour ending in the (various) handicraft stores. I have no problem with capitalism, but that's just rude, luring tourists with promises of cultural enlightenment when the only thing they ever intended to enlighten was your wallet.

Three guesses what we did that afternoon...If you guessed "sat by the pool with yet another round of caipirinhas", you'd be correct! That night we got talking to some other tourists, two Kiwis and a Chilean. I had some hopes that the Kiwi guy would turn out to be somewhat interesting, but as it turned out he had as much depth as a toddler's pool. Though I may be being a little harsh - it's difficult to get into a philosophical or political debate in an antiseptic hotel bar with a girl you met five minutes ago. At least he had an interesting job, restoring old and historic buildings.

Another cool but totally unrelated thing about that trip was that I finally (after over a year) managed to finish "Crime and Punishment". I started it ages ago, got halfway, then left the book on a train or something and never bought it again until I was about to leave Australia for Europe. Thanks to my busy and fascinating life (haha) I didn't manage to begin it again until the plane to Baires. Once again I got halfway through before getting swept up in the madness that is my extended family, and I couldn't get five minutes to read until we made it to Iguazu. But finish it I did, and although the ending was weak (I expected better Mr. Dostoevsky) it was a totally fascinating take on the criminal mind and the Russian society of the day. The edition I read (Vintage Classics, 1993, translated and annotated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky) had really interesting and detailed notes too, which always makes life more fun, if more frustrating, flipping backwards and forwards through the book.

Next day we bid farewell to the stinking heat and 95% humidity of Iguazu and returned again to the slightly smelly heat and 90% humidity of Baires.

Villa Gesell - the final moments

The last night in Villa Gesell Miro, Clau, Juan and I went out in search of "Gesell"'s one and only Irish pub. We found it, right at the end of the main street - but it was the least Irish Irish pub I had ever seen. There were "Budweiser" signs everywhere, the music was Latin American (which was great, but not particularly in keeping with the theme) and the Guinness was twice as expensive as all the other beer. We therefore proceeded to ignore the lack of Irishness and have a great time anyway. Juan's brother, Santiago, showed up later with a few more friends and we drank, chatted and played pool.

However, the staff at Hook's "Irish" pub were about to throw a massive big rock into our lake of tranquillity, and written on that rock in big, red, capital letters was the word KARAOKE. Now, anyone that knows me knows I love to sing, but a lesser known fact is that I can't stand singing in front of an attentive audience, particularly with a microphone (likely due to two specific microphone-related singing disasters in my youth, which I decline to go into here, for reasons of brevity and embarrassment). Thus I was presented with the same dilemma as always: indulge my love of singing and face potential disaster and a lifetime of cringeing at the memory, or remain seated and gaze longingly at all the people on the stage that didn't give a damn? Thankfully, I chose the former, and even more thankfully, it wasn't a disaster. In fact, everyone in the audience was probably admiring how well I was singing in English (little did they know I'm a native speaker). So brownie points to me for feeling the fear and doing it anyway.

All of us had a go at singing, all of us were pretty awful, but so were the other people in the bar. People who can actually sing don't have to do karaoke, they have recording contracts. (Sometimes even people who should be relegated to karaoke have recording contracts). After the bar staff finally took pity on the population of Villa Gesell and turned off the karaoke machine, we stayed and played pool until they kicked us out (about 06:00). We walked home in the morning light, Juan and I searching fruitlessly for an open hamburger joint, then straight to bed in preparation for a lo-o-o-o-ong car trip home.

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!