favourites!

The other day I was facing a lovely unscheduled evening, full of sunshine and warmth and calmness. But where to epitomise all this? Though never overcrowded the beaches and parks always attract a decent number of people these hot summer nights, and I was up for some zen time with books and music and nice food. The back garden? The landlord and lady are back from Spain and would almost certainly occupy same for the larger part of the evening. Hence the decision to pull James out of the shed and make the way up to one of my favourite spots in Dublin; the viewpoint over the city in the foothills of the Wicklow Mountains, subject to earlier stories in this blog. I had my headphones and music with me, as well as a decent salad for dinner plus drinks and cookies to top it off. And best of all; the view in the sunshine. I sat there for almost two hours, didn’t even touch the book I had brought along, as I was consuming gorgeous Dublin right in front of me with all my might. I sat there until the sun set and the mosquitoes made me leave; off to the Dublin I had been looking at for so long, back to its buzzing streets and lively pubs. Two different worlds, 30 minutes apart.

time travels

My first time that I ever saw a cheque was here in Ireland. Big grins and awkward looks when I pulled my Ulster Bank cheque book from the envelope they sent me. Now I process them weekly, as clients still pay in by sending up cheques, or handing them over personally in the bank. A laborious and time-consuming process, but really the norm in here. Setting up a bank account took Bo four months, and we pay our electricity bills in the post office. Internet banking exists but is not frequently used, as cashiers still transfer large amounts of money in between accounts for their customers. To top it off: my annual payment for the tennis club I recently joined. 500 Euros, which I gladly paid for the awesomeness I get in return, but rather through internet banking or by credit card in order to retain proof of payment. In the end neither was possible; the flavours were cheque or cash. And guess where the ten shiny 50-Euro notes disappeared into? A cookie can, pictures and all, filled to the rim with bank notes. I love it. 

land versus sea

Although my enthusiasm for Dublin and her treasures may seem repetitive, the illustrations that feature its impeccable sources of joy are certainly not. As these days we enjoy a summery weather I am repeatedly told not to believe, the gf and I allowed ourselves just enough time after work to get changed, pack the rucksack with beach essentials, and cycle down to the coast. Whereas the dart takes you along many fine beaches as far south as Greystones, the one nearest to the city centre has its own unique appeal and is easily reachable by bike. At high tide the beach is perhaps 20 metres long, evident by the change in soil as the white thin sand fades into darker wet underground with streaks of seaweed and tiny crabs crawling around. As we climbed down the rocks separating the sand from the cycle track above the tide was low. So low, I couldn’t even see the sea. A flat wetland, with puddles and sandbanks as far as my sight would take me. Venturing well into this quagmire up and till a drier and less shallow stretch of sand we got to the point where distant waves could be discerned. Sitting down however the metre or so that my eye level was lowered was more than enough to hide the water again and all seemed endless bog again. Ships leaving the harbour seemed to be drifting on an endless desert landscape as they made their way to the ocean. How most peculiar that the change of tides covers such an immense area! An odd feature no doubt, but one I was immensely grateful for. How pure the bliss of sitting in the middle of that ostensibly endless scenery, savouring the salad we had taken along for dinner, with olives and cherries for dessert, gazing at a most intriguing landscape. Facing the coastline we have the Wicklow Mountains to our left, simmering in the distance behind the green city in the sun, colourful Georgian doors and wrought iron fences around cosy low houses. Turning further to the east the coastline disappears in the distance, its curves concealing Dalkey, Bray and Greystones from the eye, until land fades into open water, barely discernible beyond the vast stretches of sand that the sea has temporarily granted us. On our right the cranes and pipes of the Dublin harbour dominate the lion’s share of the scenery, with deep proud horns preceding the departure of yet another massive vessel making its way to the sea. Further to the east two tall white and red chimneys gaze over the Ireland’s capital; defining landmarks in a city where medieval spires have yet to concede their celestial dominance of the skies. And in the middle of all this intriguing scenery, so close to the dynamics of the city yet so very thoroughly shielded from its noises, smells and people, our sandbank offered just another insight into how truly magnificent Dublin is and how I keep falling more and more in love with its many treasures. Our light dinner was followed up by some fervently needed physical activity after a day in the office; chasing my orange frisbee while taking in the scents, sounds and sights of my energising surroundings I felt like a young dog with seemingly infinite energy. Hours we spent there, until the sun set and we ventured homeward, full of inspiration to write this precious memory down.

Minbuza

I quote Manon here when I declare myself being in a state of ‘social hangover’. Seven wonderful friends have just left, leaving me in Dublin with memories of a fantastic weekend and a tinge of a lingering headache. It was a weekend full of laughter, hugs, smiles, great food, catching up with the new, reviving the old, and fantasies about what the future may bring. Many thanks for such lovely time!

Malawi

Let’s just write it down. My thoughts, today’s insights, what’s keeping me busy walking home on a Thursday night. Let’s write it down so I’m not forgetting it, write it down so I can reread in 10 years time and realise this was one of those moments. Two things happened today. Well, more things happened; I played tennis over lunch and I had a very nice dinner prepared by Pieter’s gf and I woke up late without an alarm clock because I’m used to Bo being my alarm clock and she’s not here but that’s not what I was talking about. Two things today, on the same day, that made me realise.. well… re-realise if that’s a word, why I am doing what I do. Career-wise. Why I’m in banking and what the purpose in the greater scheme of things is. De stip aan de horizon. I sort of forgot for a while, being preoccupied with my great life here and with the banking career and with many awesome happenstances but not the true (work-life) passion that’s awaiting me in some years’ time. This morning I read a motivation speech by a young lady about why she wants to work for Rabobank, about sustainable food production in Africa and R&D in food&agri and about hunger and feeding 9 billion people in a few decades’ time. And then this night I went to a theatre to see the documentary “Where there’s a well” which is about potable water in Malawi and how this feeds into sustainable growth and a bit of traditional aid & NGO bashing – which I am always appreciative of. Well, both those things reminded me of the bigger plan, the plan I had set out a year and a half ago and what should lead me to working in the field that I am most passionate about; sustainable economic development in the less developed parts of the world. I like finance and banking and that’s why I enjoy my work & life but it’s not the true passion. It’s a stepping stone to that, cause when I’ll be skilled and experienced in a field and when I’ll be adding value then I can venture off to wherever and make a difference. Slipped the mind for a while, glad I was reminded. Twice. In one day. Coincidence? 

Horses for courses

A fortnight after me actually turning 27 years old (only the second time I’ve had my birthday abroad – many more to come!) I was to receive my birthday present yesterday from the Ms. It had been a well hidden secret up and till June 17^th when she revealed we’d be going to the Dubai Duty Free Irish Derby horse races in Curragh. New = always better and this was certainly something I had never come across before; a ‘main street’ fanfare that you wouldn’t see in the Netherlands in a hundred years. The horse races are the classy version of the dog races but in the end the same principle applies; you get your race book and your returns per horse and off you go betting away. After my disastrous track record with the greyhounds (pure random chance would have granted me returns at least twice as high) I wasn’t going down Curragh for the betting but rather for the experience of watching the Irish experience something profoundly classy.

There are basically two ways of getting to the courses; by car or by designated bus. As we don’t have the former Bo arranged for the latter and a good two hours after leaving the house we crawled out of a muggy, sweaty, overloaded bus, glad to be walking the last 500 meters to the entrance. The sight was quite remarkable. It has to be said that Irish ladies dress up more and better than their Dutch counterparts; a regular Saturday evening features high heels, fancy dresses, and loads of make-up. Sparse cloth wrapped tightly around a voluminous torso is not in all cases for the better but at least they make the effort here and going out in Dublin does indeed feel more like a ‘night out’ than back home. Well, those slick Saturday night dresses are dwarfed by what the ladies don for something as fancy as the horse races; dresses from Disney movies, heels that make them all of a sudden able to look me in the eye, and elegant hats that would make the Dutch queen turn her head. That the awkward drunken stumbling on sprained ankles and sagged faces staring bewildered at the queues for the ladies’ toilets as the afternoon progresses takes away a bit of this magic ought to be said but in all honesty only adds to the experience of how the Irish celebrate their weekend. And the contrast with the lads is stark. Where ladies in Ireland seem to be able to drown in closets full of fancy dresses the average lad goes out in a rugby jersey or lumberjack’s shirt. Apparently also for them the races demand an alteration in style and the alternative to the earlier described set of clothes is… a suit. An odd mix is the result, with ladies dressed up for a prom mixed and matched with a bunch of lads who looked like the average civil servant from the ministry of agriculture taking their after-lunch stroll. Tight fitting gowns versus sloppy oversized blazers, feet cramped into high heels against dusty black shoes. Quite the sight, and Bo and I were watching our fellow visitors as much as the much celebrated horses.

 Busy but not too overcrowded, great tasty burgers, cold overpriced bottles of Heineken, lovely weather, muscular yet elegant horses and their tiny jockeys, and of course the above described circus all made for a lovely afternoon. Races finished around seven pm whereas our bus wasn’t scheduled to leave until nine, and by six the uninterrupted flow of alcohol was already having its impact on the initially oh so classy scene. Spilled ice-cream on the floor made an entertaining blend with beer and streaks of vomit, with the ladies finding it all the more challenging to parade on their feet extensions and the lads becoming more and more vocal and rowdy. Waiting another two hours in what promised to become an avalanche of human disorder only to be cramped in a tight bus –short of oxygen but oversupplied with beer, sweat, vomit, raucous shrieking and drunken laughter wasn’t exactly the most appealing end of an entertaining afternoon. Sure, from afar, I would have loved to gaze over such scene, but to be in the middle of it, I’d rather pass. And so was Bo. Hence we left the festival at around half six and after an awkward twenty-odd minutes on the parking lot we had secured a ride home. Or well, Bo had:

·        *  Bo: “Hey there. Would you by any chance be driving to Dublin?”

·        *  Three lads (enthusiastically): “Yeah we are! How so?”

·         * Bo: “Could you give us a ride?”

·         * (lads looking confused.. ‘us’? … ): “Yeah eh well… (looking over their shoulder, hopeful-faced tall Dutch lad, too big for their car).. well ehmm Ooowkeee”

And off we went, beating the traffic, back in Dublin by 8 pm. Their initial reluctance of taking us along was well founded, as their BMW sports car wasn’t exactly designed for 5 people, especially if two of them are of the tallest race in the world. Let’s say I’ve been through worse, having been folded up more than once on Indian busses in New Delhi, a world away in terms of time and distance. Yet our bold approach getting us the desired ride made any uncomfortable position perfectly bearable as I was happy and content all the way back home, letting my thoughts drift out of the window and into the passing green countryside. Out of the car, somewhere in the northern suburbs, chop chop onto a bus as Bo thought she recognised the area and I did, off we went to Dublin city centre. I hadn’t run out of birthday present yet as Bo’s parents had given me an add-on to the day-out by giving us a dinner-voucher and that’s how we found ourselves at a classy Thai restaurant, gorging on tasty white wine and spicy but delicious Thai curries. Another great place for food and drinks in Dublin; the small city centre seems to hold an infinite supply of potentially favourite restaurants and bars.

Another event secured, another look into the Irish culture that I’m getting more and more familiar with, and another great weekend!!

 

Quote

"Dublin is incredibly rich of venues that could be one's 'favourite place'."