Three cities, three reunions, one great trip

Due to some unforeseen events I suddenly found myself with an unscheduled Easter weekend two weeks ago. With tickets to the Netherlands prohibitively expensive I impulsively decided that Poland could make for a nice destination for the long weekend, in order to spend some time with friends I hadn´t seen in way too long. What I hadn´t realised is the significance of the Easter celebrations in Poland, which made for a deep dive into Polish culture with grandparents, aunts and uncles suddenly finding a tall Dutch lad at their Easter lunch. How generously I was welcomed by my friends and their families is a token of Polish hospitality and it is with a warm and happy feeling that I now look back at a great long weekend that has just come to its end.

Katowice & Edyta

Whereas the last time I had seen Edyta was ‘only’ about a year ago, that get-together took place in Wroclow. Now, in Katowice, where I spent 4 of the best months of my life in an Erasmus exchange in 2006 (bloody hell), the venue was perfect for reviving the past and enjoying the present. Our Ligota dorm appeared virtually unchanged from 9 years ago, with even the same old lady occupying the reception at the main entrance, blatantly defying a ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall behind her while puffing away a package of cigarettes. As she allowed me to wander around the dormitory for a while I checked on the kitchen where Stefan and I used to make our potato & salmon dishes, passed by the toilet out of which I had to free myself by kicking in the door after the lock had jammed, and lingered in front of room 408 where Marisa, Delphine, Stefan and I used to spend most of our evenings. Despite the current-day Erasmus students still occupying the place, living in Ligota isn’t the same anymore as Kwadraty (the basement club) had recently been closed, in an effort to instill some peace and quiet on the area during week as well as weekend nights. Such a shame.

2015

2007

Apart from visiting Ligota I paid Silecia city centre a visit Friday afternoon while Edyta was working from home, buying myself a nice pair of leather shoes that are nigh impossible to find in Dublin, and checked on Dworzec PKP. The train / bus station used to be a bulwark of concrete and steel, with ramshackle old buses bumping along the pothole-filled roads in and out of the open air terminal. Even though Edyta had warned me that the place had undergone a complete transformation, it took me a while to realise that I was actually at the same place when looking for a tram to the Silecia city centre. A shiny new mall borders the newly paved pedestrian area that leads up to the entrance of the completely renovated train station. The dark and moist interior, with its fair share of homeless people always occupying the corners and empty beer cans littering the floor, has given away to a shiny new area with neat shops, vending machines and ticket corners. While the transformation is definitely an improvement I couldn’t suppress a sting of nostalgia when thinking of how the place used to look when I changed from bus to tram every day on my way to university.

With the ‘new Kwadraty’ which Edyta initially had had in mind being closed on Friday night because of the Easter break, we opted for the jazz club which appeared unchanged from my last visit nine years ago. On two big soft chairs, with generous cocktails in a dimly lit corner, it almost felt like nothing had changed in all those years.

Poznan & Olga

After 5 hours on the train I arrived in Poznan at around three in the afternoon on Saturday. While I hadn’t seen Olga since a sunny Friday afternoon in 2010 when we met in Antwerp for some drinks, it felt more like five months rather than five years since that last encounter. TIPC part I (total immersion into Polish culture) started shortly after Olga picked me up from the train station as we were due to attend a family lunch at her parents’ place. Funnily enough I had been to her parents’ house before, shortly after our summer university in 2007 when Piotr, Piotr, Olga, Domenika, Lauryna and I organised a reunion in Poznan. The traditional Polish dishes prepared by Olga’s mother, who even seemed to remember me after all those years, were mouth-watering and I tremendously enjoyed the wide variety of food that was spread out over the table. After a small glass of home-made sherry liquor I bade my farewells to Olga’s family and we made our way into town.

2015

2007

Despite the temperature being in the lower single digits, Olga’s repeated references to a wide variety of supposedly great-tasting ice cream had actually led me to look forward to a cone, so you can imagine our disappointment when finding out that the place was actually closed (not because of the weather but because of the Easter break). Well, I guess I’ll have to come back for that one another time! After a walk in the park and a cup of tea with slices of mango at Olga’s apartment we headed for the city centre, which appeared unusually quiet for a Saturday night. The three bars we attended for three craft beers were all great places to hang out, even though ‘the Dragon’ was admittedly my favourite, with bare brick walls, non-matching chairs and tables, floor luminaires, and a dragon’s head sprouting from the wall above the bar. These great venues in even better company made the option of missing my bus at midnight a very tempting one and it was with great reluctance that I made my way to the bus terminus shortly before twelve o’clock. As both bus Polski and I were on time however I did find myself in a semi-comfortable chair shortly after midnight, trying to find a position which would allow me to catch some sleep, as another full programme was awaiting me on Sunday in Gdansk!

Gdansk & Karolina

As with Olga, Karolina and I met at an AEGEE summer university. Curiously however, after having spent the FinEst Fairytale 2009 together, both of us (without knowing it from one another) applied and were accepted for the 2011 summer university in Messina, Sicily. Now, four years after our last encounter, and for the first time in a non-AEGEE setting, Gdansk was the venue for another reunion. My 5 hours spent on bus Polski didn’t make for the best of nights' sleep and I was delighted to find a bed prepared for me at Karolina’s (amazing, new & spotlessly clean) apartment when I arrived at 5 in the morning. Two hours later I was woken up with sandwiches and tea (save the appetite for the family breakfast in an hour’s time) and off we went to the cottage where Karolina’s parents and brother spent the weekend. 

2015

2011

The cottage is about an hour’s drive from Gdansk and has a lovely view over a lake with forest in the background. Again I was spoiled with delicious traditional Polish dishes, including Karolina’s first attempt at making zurek (which was very tasty but had a slightly different flavour from the conventional variant) and a wide variety of meat and pastries. Some fresh air and kite-flying at the shore of the lake after breakfast completed the morning whereafter Karolina showed me around Gdansk. An old Hanze town, Gdansk has a gorgeous old city centre which, despite the destruction of WW II, has retained its old glory. After roaming the streets and learning about the city’s history we agreed we had deserved a break from the cold and sat down in a cosy and warm tea house which served super tasty and significantly over-sized apple pie, especially considering what we had already eaten that morning! 

After some further sightseeing we stocked up on alcohol for the night, which started off with a house party not far away from the city centre. As with all good house parties the neighbours starting complaining early enough however they were convinced not to call the policy which saved us a 500 zloty fine. The night came to its zenith at Absinth, a cool albeit slightly alternative club in the old town, with huge windows overlooking the square. Dancing on the tables we could see the snow raging outside which made for a curious sensation as temperatures inside were understandably high and rising. It was late enough when Karolina finally convinced me to call it a day, the consequences of which I had to bear 3 hours later when she woke me up for my taxi to the airport. Not being able to get more than a bite of bread down my throat I might still have been drunk rather than hungover but I managed to keep it all in during the long long way home to Dublin. Karolina, thanks for the lovely stay, our next reunion will be sooner than in four years’ time!

London

The decision was a very impulsive one, last Wednesday night, when I decided that a weekend in London, with two of my favourite people, was just what I needed. An app message to Dana and a phone call with Vasiliki (after three failed attempts) was all that was required to get my ducks in a row. A mere hour after the thought had first struck my mind I had booked a return ticket to London City airport that will resonate in next month’s credit card statements. It was definitely worth it.

Flight times were perfect and allowed me a full 48 hours on the ground, although I must admit I was a bit sleepy this morning after coming home from the airport only after midnight on Sunday. The fun started around half nine in the evening on Friday, after a very swift journey from Dublin (bus, flight, DLR, walk) got me to Vasiliki’s former apartment where her former flatmates were hosting a house party. After some alcohol infused-plumb and a catch-up with Michael we set off towards Vasiliki’s new apartment close to Victoria. Its location in a retirement home might suggest that it is not the liveliest of places however I am confident that whatever peace and quiet once prevailed is now gone with the Greek invasion. The absolute cherry on the cake is their massive roof terrace that allows for barbeques, roof top parties, and a lovely breakfast on the first day of spring (that’s what we did). Well, technically speaking we ate the supposed-to-be breakfast that Friday night just before toasting to a new get-together along with Vasiliki’s Greek flatmate Nick who had savoured a few cans of Guinness for the occasion. The usual ‘see you some other time this year hopefully’ the next morning was replaced by a ‘see you tomorrow’  which sounded a lot better and with that cheerful thought on my mind I got myself a Dublin eh Barclays bike and set off towards Soho.

 Apart from the quality time with two very good friends I tremendously enjoyed cycling through London. It brought back happy memories of the autumn of 2012 when I spent 3 months in The City and travelled almost everywhere by bike, avoiding the tube and buses wherever possible. The concept still worked and I was pleasantly surprised at how well I still knew my way around, hardly requiring the help of maps to cycle from the river to Soho square, from Euston station to Vasiliki’s apartment and from her apartment to Lime House DLR station. London is a place I feel super comfortable in, a city where you easily blend in and quickly feel at home. And I could not have wished for a better day to zigzag my way around cars, tourists, lorries and past traffic lights than this gorgeous sunny Saturday.

I had deliberately scheduled in plenty of time to make my way to Soho and the last forty minutes before reuniting with Dana I spent on a bench in Soho park, gazing at the grand old buildings around me, reading in the Economist I had brought along, and watching people saunter by. The restaurant Dana had in mind for lunch (Barrafina) proved an excellent choice and was well worth the twenty minutes or so we had to queue before getting a seat at the L-shaped bar. Chilled white wine and a selection of gorgeous tapas in a lively setting smack in the middle of Soho, with sunlight pouring in through the big windows and a pleasant spring breeze drifting in through the open doors, all contributed to a very enjoyable lunch experience. The next winner was our visit to the British museum. Dana realised to her surprise that she had been there before, initially assuming that she hadn’t. The building is admittedly a bit bland and unassuming and one mightn’t recall having visited it earlier on, as the below picture would suggest ;)

While Dana roamed from Ethiopia to Coptic Egypt to the mummies, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the fascinating Napoleon era exhibition that had original caricatures from British and French newspapers at the time on display. I found it a great way to relive history as each print had a brief explanation proving concise background while the drawings and my imagination did the rest. Around five the museum closed and after some brief shopping we set off towards Camden where we attended a live music performance. The four musicians’ talent in playing the guitar, mandolin, spoons, washboard, banjo and cello (right Dana?) was fortunately superior to their choice of clothes (admittedly the folk singer’s prerogative) and the evening flew by. After a very fulfilling kebab and a ghetto music dominated uber ride back home to Dana’s I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

 Sunday was luckily void of any hangover symptoms and after a very nutritious breakfast I took a train back to London and a bike to Vasiliki’s place. The poor girl had been struck by a cold but the coughing and sneezing was ably cured by some herb instilled raki and the most authentic noodle soup I have had since returning from Sanmenxia in June 2009. We found the Chinese food stall in the middle of an open market place in Brixton, an edgy yet colourful neighbourhood a few tube stops south of Victoria. The open market was a treat for the senses, with Japanese, African, Arabian, and Chinese as well as more domestically oriented food stalls serving very tasty and reasonably priced dishes. The scene was a mix of languages, flavours, colours, different flags and banners, stalls with fresh food and fish, vendors selling bags and scarfs and hipsters drinking coffee, making me very eager to embark on a new foreign adventure to far-away destinations. After lunch Vasiliki insisted on visiting the ‘hill of Brixton’ which appeared a bland, wind-swept park (admittedly on top of a hill) where some local kids were playing football and a woman walked her tiny dog. The bus ride back to her place felt a bit like a (near free) sightseeing tour and the rest of the afternoon was spent watching the European championship in athletics in a very cosy and warm living room, on a soft couch and with a mug of tea. Mmmmm way too cosy and relaxed to leave just when it was getting dark around six in the evening :( A last hug and chop chop on a Barclays bike, cycling via the office and the apartment I used to live to Lime House, catching the DLR and being at the airport way too early (as always), listening to the Economist audio version and already reminiscing the fantastic weekend that had just come to an end. Vasiliki, Dana, thank you so much for the lovely time! See you both in Nice :D

Reunion of former housemates

The track record wasn’t altogether convincing, with one single lunch sometime 18 months ago in Utrecht comprising the only time Marjolein and I had seen one another since I left our shared apartment and we ceased to be house mates. That was in The Hague, February 2013, two years ago by now. Haphazard Facebook messages once every so often with response rates ranging from a few weeks to a few months weren’t too encouraging either, and the oblivious outsider might have thought that a friendship built up over the course of a year at the Westduinweg was not to last. Well, such premature thinking was decisively proven wrong over the course of the weekend that is just coming to an end. Marjolein’s stay in Dublin, from Friday early afternoon until 48 hours later, was very much reflective of a joyful reunion of former housemates, with plenty of stories to tell, questions to ask, slagging to be exchanged and catching-up to do. And in the spirit of my departure two years ago, when we voiced our ambitions to do some cool hikes together somewhere in the British Isles, the weekend wasn’t only about eating and drinking. Let’s recap.

Friday afternoon, after the girl had finally reached our office walking from College Green to Christchurch all the way to the canal and finally past the Barge to Charlemont Place, we set out for some proper Dublin sightseeing. Or well… showing her the Church for a Belgian beer and a diet coke (we’re in Ireland lassie), the Bank for a few pints of Guiness (uglch – really??) / glasses of Carlsberg and Against the Grain for a lovely burger and some more pints / diet coke mightn’t constitute the typical sightseeing tour but definitely got her a flavour of the real Dublin. The afternoon and evening flew by until we called it a day after our last Belgian beer at Blackbird and tucked in for the night, knowing that Saturday morning would be an early morning.

Driving through the Wicklow Mountains down south early on Saturday wasn’t as enjoyable or exciting as I had hoped. Thick clouds restricted our view beyond a hundred metres or so, and the stunning vistas I knew were there remained hidden behind a curtain of fog. Bummer. If conditions didn’t improve our hike in Glendalough could become as ordinary as anywhere uninspiring with the best of the Wicklow Mountains obscured by nature’s fickle temperament. No rain isn’t the only condition for an enjoyable walk! Luckily the sun emerged as we approached our destination and plenty of blue sky appeared through the slowly receding clouds. Ireland again proved unpredictable but rewarding!

‘At first I thought, nice lake, cute walk, but nothing spectacular. You know. But when we reached the top of the cliffs, with views of the lake and the surrounding mountains…’ I knew that the scenery that reveals itself after the brief but steep climb would impress me again, almost two years after I completed the loop for the first time. And rightly so I expected the girl to be excited as well, although I hadn’t foreseen her zeal in tiptoeing as close to deer as possible so as to capture them, still from afar, with her smartphone camera. Without zoom function. More stunning vistas, lovely fresh mountain air, a few snowballs that missed their targets by a league, and ever more pictures made up the remainder of our walk and it was with much post-hike satisfaction that we checked into our lodge late in the afternoon. Very conveniently located next to the awesome Heather restaurant Marjolein and I were lucky enough to get a lovely little apartment which was cosy and warm upon arrival. Three hours of reading, showering and napping constituted the perfect reward of our efforts and fully refreshed we sat down for dinner at eight in the evening. The great food and spotless service proved that my happy memories of dining there two years ago with Koen and Luijkx were rightly so positive and three and a half hours later just after we had finished our complementary Baileys it was time to tuck in for the night. The ‘full Irish’ that Marjolein had been talking about from Friday afternoon was finally served Sunday morning and kept us going until well into the afternoon. Driving back the same route we now did see all the cool mountain scenery around us and we couldn’t help but stop a few times in order to appreciate the tranquillity that the landscape around us inspired, only partially spoiled by empty beer cans that plebs must have left behind when roaming the area. One last cup of tea at home and tjop tjop Marjolein on the bus and back on the plane to the Netherlands. Our next reunion shall definitely be sooner than after 18 months and I must admit I already look forward to it! Thanks for visiting kid!

An individual experience in a group setting

‘It’s like a bunch of people in a completely dark room. And they’re all dancing. And you can’t see anyone.’

It was once of those rare occasions that Liadh had ventured downstairs to the canteen with us. It usually made for entertaining conversations over lunch, and this time was no different.

‘And why is it completely dark?’

While I can’t remember how we ended up talking about this rather atypical event, what does stand me by is that it took me a while to comprehend what she was describing. That is, if I ever really got it before experiencing the whole thing myself.

‘Yeah so nobody can see how you dance. You can be as wild or crazy as you wish. There’s no dress code, no particular kind of people, no alcohol.’

No alcohol? This started to sound rather outlandish. I’ve been in Dublin for two years by now and every social gathering of sorts I attended here has involved alcohol. Pints, usually. Pints of Guinness. And always more than the ‘just one’ that invariably captures the (supposed) intention ex ante.

‘That sounds … different. And you’ve been there before?’

‘Yes a while back. It’s on again next Wednesday, I’ll be going with a few palls of mine’.

With my fork I prodded the potato variant on my plate. Croquettes, baked, chips, boiled (warm), boiled (cooled down and mixed in a salad), mashed, small, big, concealed in a fisherman’s pie, hidden in murky soup, or all of the above; the daily menu in the canteen features plenty of potato-based dishes. No wonder that Liadh only comes down for the occasional taster.

‘You are welcome to come with us if you wish?’

While working on the vast amount of starch on my plate the idea slowly took hold.

That was last week. Let’s rewind another week, to the date of my last blog post, and to my explicit intention to live up to the virtues I constantly proclaim. Change is good. New is always better. Don’t stick to routines. Live. Go out. Explore.

Well, to be honest, and it wasn’t always the most intuitive thing to do, the past weeks I have lived up to these ambitions. I must admit that the absence of the girlfriend is of course a huge stimulus. Or I should rather say, her presence usually makes me feel too snug and cosy at home to leave the house every evening. Now, in an empty apartment, the incentives to go out and do new things are very much there. Even in this dark, windy and cold weather, which usually makes you think twice about heading out. So, with Bo coming back tomorrow evening, this is a natural moment to reflect. I did join the gym, where I took classes in aeroboxing (really entertaining, especially with Erle as an invigorating instructor), TRX, and ‘functional gym’. My very first salsa lesson was a fact last Tuesday, whereas I went to see Wild in the cinema with Aidan on Wednesday. The Friday prior I got introduced to a bunch of Jesus’s colleagues on a drink they had organised, and I kick started plans for a Kalkaji reunion in May and a surf trip in April. Today’s mad experience with Liadh and her friends was the cherry on the cake in terms of taking on new stuff. Well? New is always better. I loved it.

Liadh’s friends are a welcoming and entertaining crowd, as I found out over dinner at Bobos an hour before the dancing was to commence. Among them was a girl very much Australian in appearance and speech, although she insisted she is Irish. And a guy who, while sipping his pint of juice, was telling about the juice-based diet that had caught his attention. And how he was intrigued by a South-London taxi driver who cycled to Brighton and back without stretching, because of his vegan diet. There were six of us in total, and luckily I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t got a clue of what awaited them.

The welcoming words of the organiser proved very accurate, as I realised a few minutes later after having descended the stairs into what appeared like a huge, dark basement. The soft and relaxing music, the sort that you might expect at a Thai massage place, which had welcomed us while shuffling into the large dark area, soon gave way to the first energising beats. The tiny, softly glowing yellow lights that shone here and there from the wall were dimmed during the second song, and while my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, all I could really see now were moving shadows. Shadows bouncing and jumping, raving and clapping, rapturous, dreamy, floating, pounding… everyone in their own flow, everybody expressing how the music affected them, what it did to them, and how they wanted to show that… without anyone seeing… while being in the middle of a crowd. An individual experience in a group setting, I could not have described it any better myself. Every song brought a new rhythm, a new surge of energy, another flow, other moves, other thoughts. The brief silence between tracks was filled with cheering and clapping. While I knew the whole experience would only last an hour, I hadn’t got a watch to track the time, and for what must have been the last fifteen minutes or so I anxiously awaited the first beats of a new song, knowing once I heard them that there was at least three or four more minutes to dance. As I learnt later over water and pineapple, while exchanging our positive experiences, this was only the second time the event was held. There’s no set date or time, so you have to keep an eye on any announcements. Which I will. Next time I am definitely there. In a different outfit. Cause really, what good are a smart shirt and trousers which prevent you from bending your knees all the way? Next time it’s tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. Dancing in the dark, I love it.   

(group pic on the dance floor)

A reflection

During my one week long post-Christmas tour of the Netherlands, visiting friends and family criss-cross through the country, I got repeatedly asked the following question by diverse crowd; ‘How is life in Dublin?’ Well, that this question is being asked to a friend living abroad isn’t altogether surprising, but my response, ‘same old’, did arouse a shimmer of marvel but also frustration every time I answered. ‘Same old’ isn’t exactly the embodiment of excitement and dynamism, and indeed, the people whom I hadn’t seen for a year got pretty much the same answer as 12 months ago. House still nice, job’s going well, still roaming the countryside in my free time, weather isn’t that bad but it’s not glorious either no, been doing a few nice hikes and bike trips recently, blablabla.

What I hadn’t consciously foreseen but what is obviously bound to happen is that any kind of destination, after a while, starts featuring its routines and patterns. Also in an expat life. Also when living in a European capital. Also in awesome Ireland with its treasure chest filled to the rim with emerald bounties. However foreign or exotic your new home may be, as soon as you hit a certain consistency in daily patterns, sports, social activities, and one week is hard to tell apart from the next, the answers one gives to questions about life become inevitably less exciting. While this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and many people indeed very much appreciate some sort of regularity, predictability and stability in their lives, I do notice a certain restlessness rising up.

To be fair, the timing for such woeful thoughts isn’t altogether random. As one of my colleagues put it today, this Monday is on average the most depressing of the year, being so close after Christmas and with little imminent prospect of public holidays, sunshine, or some other kind of craic. Now I do not speak in terms of depressive Mondays, but one must admit that January, with its cold dark nights that kick in at around five in the afternoon, gale force winds and freezing sleet, isn't the most hospitable of months.

Comparing the past two years with the years after I left the parental nest for good, some very obvious dissimilarities stare me in the face. Since I turned 20, I have lived in six different countries. During the time I did spend in the Netherlands I moved house (and city) more than five times. Consecutive periods in one place ranged from as short as a few months (in London and at Anja’s place) to a year and a half (Tilburg), but never longer than that. Moreover, the years in my early twenties were characterised by many ‘firsts’, as I discovered while debating the issue with Koen and Luijkx in Amsterdam over the Christmas break. Going to university, becoming a member of this student club or that, moving into a student dorm, studying abroad, backpacking, first part time job at an office, first internship, etc. All firsts, all new, all peaks in their way, which you will remember for years to come as distinguishable experiences in a dynamic and rapidly changing life. The start of my working life might even have been one of the most exciting periods, as the traineeship was really and truly a rollercoaster, with a different assignment, team, city, country, every ten weeks. Plus the training courses, company visits and trainee bonding that filled the inter-assignment intervals. I loved it. And then comes the first job, abroad, in Ireland, in Dublin, another new adventure, all is new, all is exciting, and I still love it. My life is exactly how I want it and I couldn’t be happier and I couldn’t be more grateful.

But now, two years later, the initial excitement of moving abroad again has ceased. Dublin is a home I have fallen in love with, but life, especially in winter, takes a different pace. Little is new. Routine dictates the days and the weeks. (Foreign) trips are a reasonably efficient way to battle the symptoms but not an effective medicine against the underlying cause. What to do?

 What to do? First of all, not complain. This is the epitome of first world problems. I have everything I could wish for, so much to be grateful for, which indeed I am. I am not complaining, I do not feel any resentment or bad temper or anything other than happiness. A yearning for change is very much a reflection of how few worries characterise my current life, and how good this life truly is. This became all the more apparent last Thursday, when I suffered a back injury while playing tennis. For the past days, turning my back, getting up from bed or the couch, and getting dressed have been painful exercises. And as soon as something like that happens, something bad or unlucky or restricting or whatever, you start comparing your temporarily unfortunate position with the situation ex ante and realise there was really nothing to moan about. Pondering about trifles is very much a token of a good life.

Well, good we agree on that. So, what to do? Change! Change stuff in your life if you don’t like it. Change jobs, change hobbies, change where you live, but be rational about it. Changes can be small or big, but be aware of the consequences. Cherish what you have, and apply some rationality to impulsive initiatives. Or not. So, what is the plan? Even though I really enjoy playing tennis, I don’t enjoy the back injuries, and this is not the first time these have struck me. And new is always better. So let’s change it for something different. Last Sunday I visited two different gyms and by now I have picked a favourite. Plenty of varying classes to follow, a pool and a Jacuzzi and a sauna, and my new Economist subscription including their audio version to keep me company while working on the less exciting exercises. New and innovative. Write more, travel even more, read even more, host more couch surfers, volunteer at the dog shelter, take salsa classes, do some online courses, improve my pathetic level of Italian…

Let’s see in a few months’ time what has come of all these initiatives..:) Thanks for listening. Thanks for reading. And remember, change is good!  

The last weeks of 2014

Two days back from two weeks off and it’s as if nothing has changed. Well, little has changed. But it’s almost as if I haven’t been away, while Ireland seemed miles away when indulging in leisurely activities on the continent (or ‘Europe’, as the Irish call it). The break away from working life has been very enjoyable, but it is good to be back home as well. It feels good. The morning walk constituting my daily commute, the first tennis game of the year (a pitiful loss but never mind), the atmosphere at the office which is, even with tight deadlines and demanding multitasking, always relaxed and comfortable, and of course the little palace that Bo and I call home. Home with our cosy shaded lamps, shelves full of books, walls full of maps and comfortable couches. And home to Ireland, with a year full of new trips and adventures awaiting us. With more and more pins on the map the destinations seem only to grow more plentiful, as the little advertised walks and villages are very much hidden gems that compete effortlessly with picture-perfect tourist magnets once you know where to find them. And there is of course the alluring appeal of re-visiting previous winners, with Donegal topping the list by a distance. But before drifting off to all the new possibilities in 2015, let’s take a few moments to reminisce the last two weeks of 2014.

6 full days in France are a treat that I enjoyed to the max. Apart from eating, chilling out, reading loads, eating even more, socialising with the family, and taking regular naps, every day also featured either a decent hike (10km plus) or a 6km run. These two very complementary types of activity make for an ideal combination for a week away from the internet, television, and telephone. One of the (literal) highlights of the trip was the pruning of the two pollard willows (not sure whether that’s correct name of them trees) in front of our house. Making myself comfortably on one of the thicker branches, I sew vigorously at anything within reach until I had an uninterrupted 360 view, mirroring my dad’s tree a few yards apart from mine. A good workout in the crisp winter air was a welcome diversion from all the chilling out. And the post-sawing chilling out was of course all the more enjoyable.

Week II of the break was equally enjoyable but a bit more hectic. To be honest, you couldn’t go less hectic than France so all in all it was still quite relaxed. Sunday was all about clearing my room for the youngest piglet so she could move in while building a house somewhere else (literally), whereas I left for what turned out to be a memorable night in Amsterdam the day after. Trading in our usual overseas destinations (Antwerp, Dublin, Madrid, Milan) for a domestic one, Koen, Luijkx and I still had the time of our life in the Dutch capital with plenty of tales to share for years to come. Quality time. Tuesday featured a Dublin reunion with Pieter, Anna, Jip and Hannelore, whereas I saw time to have a coffee and a catch-up with Johan during the day as well. This itinerary may sound rather attainable but please do bear in mind the gigantic hangover I was nurturing until well into the new year. As tradition prescribes I partook in the futsal game on the last day of the year in Veldhoven, which always makes for a nice annual reunion with the likes of Roy, Nils, Paul, Rob and the others. Annual became biannual that evening as the lads showed up at Koen’s parents’ house, as I did, for a festive start of the new year. Thursday evening there was a lovely catch-up with Karine whilst indulging in great value tappas in Utrecht whereas Friday I got to visit the parents in law in Rotterdam, nourishing some hearty traditional Dutch food that we have to do without in Ireland!. Ending the holidays in style Koen, Stefan, Lieke, Inge, Mark, Bo and I went to Blauw in Utrecht for a spectacular Indonesian dinner which pushed Indonesia as a destination of choice even further up the bucket list. The ever growing bucket list… Two weeks of bliss, two weeks of being with the people I love most, with plenty of energy fuelled for a happy start of 2015. And for those few who actually do read my blog; I hereby wish you a healthy and happy new year! 

From Graiguenamanagh to Borris via the river Barrow

It had been a while ago since our last trip away from Dublin and into the mainland of the Emerald Island. Come to think of it, the relaxing but rather uneventful city trip to Limerick must have been the last time either of us left Dublin for a non-foreign bound destination. High time for some good old road trip into a region we haven't made our own yet. Again the LP proved an invaluable contribution by suggestion the riverside walk as mentioned in the title. Appearing rather random, as Borris as well as Graiguenamanagh (try pronouncing that) are both tiny, tucked away villages in the country side of counties Carlow and Kilkenny. We would never ever have found these hidden gems let alone the pretty river side walk that connects them on our own. 

The itinerary worked out according to plan; early rise on Saturday to drive to Borris, light lunch in a cozy tea house with a lovely warm open fire, where after we managed to get hold of the second and last bus of the day to Graig. 'A tenner will do for the both of you'  the elderly gentlemen behind the wheel said when we mounted the massive but nigh empty touring car. Twenty minutes later we disembarked in the very pretty riverside village of Graig, where an old lady running a convenience store made sure we understood where to leave the trail in order not to bypass Borris. At the golf course, OK, let's do that. Tempted to explore the place further but urged on by the looming knowledge that we didn't have too much leeway to get to our destination before dusk we set off walking, quickly leaving the last riverside houses behind us where after there was nothing but water and multicoloured vegetation surrounding us. It was absolutely lovely to be outdoors for a full day, and I very consciously enjoyed the peaceful winter landscapes, the fresh air, the exercise of wading through ankle high grass, and the variety of tangible artifacts of Irish history we came across. The latter include a giant rusty pulley that must have been used at some point for moving boats along the canal (the path we walked is called the towpath), ruins of riverside houses, and remains of what used to be a small harbour just off the waterway. When after a good two hours'  worth of sturdy walking we reached the bridge depicted below, we knew we had advanced too far as Borris was already behind us. No golf course to be seen and anyway there weren't any trails to cut through the meadows and forest separating the river from the heritage town. So after some scenic chilling all that was left to complete the loop was to walk the remaining half an hour on road, after which we checked in at the very cozy Step House in Borris town. 

Going back a few centuries, along with the majority of the historic village that counts barely 600 people, the Step House was a lovely place to reminisce the day out and to enjoy a hearty burger with a few pints. Our destined pub crawl was cut short to a glass of baileys in a bar down the road where after we decided we were better off by buying a bottle of the creamy treat in the local store and nourishing that in bed. Well, nourishing some of that in our awesome bed in our awesome room and watching some match of the day to top it all off a great Saturday came to an end. One of the best breakfasts I've had in ages this morning and a relaxed drive back to Dublin, where the afternoon awaited us to be enjoyed at home and the remainder to the baileys is being taken care of as we speak. Another very satisfying and most rewarding weekend away in Ireland, whose variety of astounding destinations and natural and cultural wonders still keeps us going even after almost two years in the country.