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'."

Chilling out?

A deliberately easy-going and quiet weekend became all the quieter when both my Saturday and Sunday day-time programmes alike were cancelled shortly after one another. Though slightly regretful of this unexpected turn of events an entirely empty weekend is and will be a true rarity, forcing me into chilling out to the max. So when leaving work at a respectable half past four in the afternoon on Friday I was facing a Friday night full of books, music, peace and quiet. Yet I couldn’t. I find that I have so much energy here; energy to do stuff, to be assertive and to go explore and to live. Beside the energy I derive from Dublin and her lovely surroundings it must also be the total absence of energy-draining elements in my life here; no hours-long commute, no NS, no diary full of dates and meetings and what not equally divided over 4 different cities in three different provinces, still no NS, no boiler-issues in poorly isolated houses... None of that. So Friday, yes. Against my better judgment I went for an extended run along the river, which, if anything, only added to my yearning to do something that night. Hence I decided to attend the weekly couch-surfing meeting, held every Friday at another venue, this time being The Czech Inn. These meetings feature members of the couch-surfing community –(semi-)permanent dwellers of Dublin, travellers, backpackers, hosts and friends of friends- getting together and having a good time. Which is what I did, chatting away happily with people from all over, enjoying my Pilsner Urquel. My souvenir of the evening is called Julie and she’ll by staying at our place for a few nights before continuing her euro trip.

Saturday I took on another of my cycling trips (see map) with James (my bike) – well documented in the previous posts – and although the weather was as capricious as I have ever experienced in Dublin it was decent enough for cycling in the end. I found myself particularly fortunate both in terms of time and place when I was chilling out from a steep climb at one of my favourite spots in Dublin; up on a hill and overlooking the entire city with Howth and the bay all the way up to Malahide. Dublin was bathing in beams of sunlight while ominous clouds were gathering behind me; the usual intersperse of sun and rain. Hence I found myself in the slightly paradoxal state of looking at a brilliant blue sky ahead of me, while to my right waves of rain washed the hillsides clean and forced fellow-cyclists into dismounting and hiding. My spot was particularly convenient; shielding behind a huge tree, with a double layer of leaves safeguarding me from the rain. I may as well have been under a slatted roof as no single drop of the torrential rain touched me. See attached drawing for clarification ;)

Physically and mentally satisfied after this trip I joined Bo (the gf) and Bo (her friend visiting) to The International Bar which regularly features comedy nights. The gig was alright and the crowd cramped into the limited space of the attic enthused, which made along with a few pints of Carlsberg for an entertaining evening. Quote of the night while watching a bunch of stout women march into the crowd: 'They look like a rugby team' (slightly mocking undertone). The evening's host, 5 minutes later: 'And a warm welcome to the Irish ladies Rugby Team tonight!'

And now, believe it or not, now I am truly at ease, having read in bed in my newest book until noon, eating and drinking and listening to Einaudi playing the piano while occasionally thinking of Bo and Bo who as we speak are battling rain and wind in their cliff walk. Ghi ghi. Super-relaxing Sunday. I guess I earned it ;)

Koen & Mariken

Koen must already feel at home in Dublin, with his second visit in two months' time. Well appreciated though, and really good to realise that moving abroad doesn't have to have any impact on the relationships that mean most to you. It was a most enjoyable weekend once again, with a guided tour at Malahide Castle, winning bets at the dog races, hitting some golf balls from Leopard's Town's driving range, a stroll at The Taste of Dublin, and many pints of the black gold!

Some non-profound add-ons to our trip! First of all the map is incomplete because it doesn't show our trip to the Cliffs of Moher South of Galway. I guess no-one notices nor cares hence I leave it as it is. Secondly our best quotes of the journey :D

Sandwich man: ‘I recommend having onions on your sandwich too’
Bo: ‘Alright go ahead, I trust you’
Sandwich man: ‘Not many women do'

(Bo being exuberant)
Tony: ‘Mensen denken dat ik jouw verzorger ben’

Tony: ‘Dat strakke hipster blousje is ook relaxt’
Bo: ‘Dat is helemaal niet hipster eerder trashy’
Tony: ‘Hipster is het merk’
Bo: ‘Ohja’
Tony: ‘Know your closet’

Bo: ‘Lukt dat die steile helling op?’
Tony: ‘Natuurlijk. Ik zit in een Audi’
*BAM*KNAL*pruttel pruttel

Bo: ‘Dit is “aftera te” ijs, het enige ijs dat ik echt lekker vind’
Tony: ‘Bah’
-pause-
(grin)
Tony: ‘Ik wilde zeggen “smaakt naar tandpasta” maar dat slik je ook gewoon door’

The West

I’ve always been told by people that they had been told by other people that Ireland’s really pretty. You know, what’s beyond Dublin and Cork and the like, beyond the cities and towns and into the real Ireland. On previous trips to Glendalough and Carlingford, Ireland had already showed its prettiness to me, but it hadn’t seemed too wild. It’s been a cultivated prettiness, with marked hiking trails and some tourists here and there and an area that could be overseen from the top of the hill that marked the most awesome spot of the trip. This ‘bank holiday weekend’ I found out about that other part of Ireland, the part that mesmirises people and starts living its own life in the tales and stories people tell one another, so that in the end everyone kind of knows that Ireland is pretty but few people have witnessed its raw beauty in its full might. I have now, or at least a tiny bit of it, and I can’t wait to explore more.

Connemara. Just google it and you’ll instantly be rewarded with pictures showing dazzling landscapes and wild ponies (don’t ask me about the latter). It’s a stretch of land covering multiple counties in the west of Ireland and is so wild and generally uninhabitable that its population density has remained very low. As the land does not allow for much more than sheep herding its natural beauty has been preserved very well over the past centuries, while EU regional development funds have made sure that the infrastructure is top notch. Together this allows for the slightly paradoxal experience of experiencing raw, fairly unspoilt nature, while driving comfortably on a recently constructed road. Apart from the marked hiking trail in Connemara National Park –which wasn’t quite matching expectations because the foggy weather basically prohibited us from gorging on the spectacular views that the route supposedly holds- Bo and I explored Connemara by driving through it and getting out of the car every so often to explore yet another unique spot or viewpoint of stretch of land or river or what not. And while the great-quality roads wouldn’t be the reason for holding up travellers on their journey, Connemara’s perpetual inhabitants are; sheep and cows who are pretentiously unaware of where their semi-fenced territory ends and the road begins roam around unconcerned and stare indifferently into the headlights of any approaching car.

Impressive as well are the Cliffs of Moher; 200 metre tall stretches of sheer rock formation rising up from the sea, withstanding the merciless beating of ceaseless waves while overlooking the Atlantic ocean and guarding Ireland’s west coast. Gorging on their might from the sea was impressive to begin with, but staring down at the depths below while lying flat on the belly all the way up there is a treat for the senses unparalleled by much else. Peeking over the edge, down the vertical rock formations, while seagulls soar in the vast space between you and the depths below, watching wave after wave crushing the rocks, features the peculiar sensation of feeling adrenaline rush through your veins while being completely motionless as all that’s moving really are your eyes.

I could keep on writing about Connemara. Easily. If I ever get to write my book this is a place to get inspired. And reading back this blog post I’m really not satisfied with what I’ve scribbled down, as it’s nothing compared to the sentences that spun through my mind when I was roaming through Connemara’s natural bliss. Well, as I’m a satisfier I’ll still post this blog, along with pictures that don’t even approximate the true sights, and perhaps one of these days I’ll give it another try and write down something more profound. Connemara-worthy, that is. For now I’m calling this bank holiday a day and I’m going to sleep, as it’s been a long and awesome weekend. Soon more and better!!