Tuesday theatre and other random events

Tuesday theatre

Abiding by the “discover Dublin and Ireland in three years’ time” roadmap Bo and I set out already 13 (!) months ago, our shortlist of plays yesterday offered only really one choice, as ‘Smock Alley’ was the only venue among the theatres listed that we had not been to before. That the plot sounded rather confusing and that the tickets were at less than half the price of the alternative shows did not deter us or indeed spark the slightest touch of suspicion, which left us two eager beavers with our pints in plastic cups waiting keenly for the show to commence. Positives: The venue was a centuries old treasure that had been tastefully renovated. Moreover the setting looked pretty cool with high ceilings and a décor full of lamps. And we could take our drinks inside. And the show didn’t last too long. That’s about it. I wouldn’t speak of negatives in the zenith of our blissful, liberal, unconcerned life, but I must admit that I was less thrilled about the actual play. My first words uttered to Bo about halfway the show were pretty much a fair reflection of my assessment of it all and were something in the trend of “What the **** is this?!”. We were all grins though, as it’s the inevitable risk of walking the road randomly. Basically the show featured three girls dressed up in some kind of an Asian fashion who didn’t speak but rather jumped around, turning lamps on and off, pushing and tickling each other, polishing lamps and moving things around, guided by some repetitive Latin American music. Random? Very. But an enjoyable experience nonetheless. And a good blog story, which is what it is all about in the end.

The rest of the week

As I can’t really get away with posting the above and the above only, let me touch upon some other recent post-ski trip occurrences. The weekend was the quietest in ages, albeit that the Friday night was more exhilarating than initially expected. The outset wasn’t too promising though, as I was tossing the ball over the net with Padraic at the Mount Pleasant tennis court shortly after work, while the initial drizzle was slowly turning into proper rain. We managed to stay on court for half an hour after which we decided that this Friday probably wasn’t the best for tennis. Walking home I finally found common ground with Mark (all of our suggested plans had been turned down by the other) by deciding to have a drink at the weekly couch surfing event, this time held at the Grand Social. Dinner at Crackbird and literally one beer at the drink, which wasn’t all too stimulating despite the large crowd of internationally diverse people. Luckily Craig, Mark’s new housemate who had come along, knew of some snug pubs with the “best Guiness in town” which in the end served to bridge an enjoyable few hours until we ended up at the Village well after midnight. While the passive-aggressive crowd over there wasn’t overly thought-provoking I did stay on until closure and despite the earlier couch-surfing flop did end the night in international spirits.

The rest of the weekend Dublin didn’t see too much of my face though as I slept through most of rainy Saturday and sunny Sunday exploiting the hangover's prerogative to the fullest. Monday and Wednesday featured tennis games which went from dreadful to acceptable. As it is, I developed a "first serve" over the past months which isn't only modestly powerful and effective but also creating excruciating pains by ripping apart the tissue between my ribs and spine. It was Monday that this agony manifested itself in full force which must have left my doubles partners wondering why the hell they ever asked me to join their game. Wednesday I was playing Brian for the ladder and luckily I managed to squeeze a victory from a very tight game without boasting much of an impressive serve. Conditions were wonderful though and we must have spent up to two hours on the court! The upcoming weekend promises to be slightly more eventful than the previous one with some quality Bo-time scheduled. The itinerary hasn’t been set out yet, although my might abstain from theatres for a while! 

Val d'Isere 2014

“So this is your life?”

“It is your life also.”

“No, this is exceptional for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

This conversation with Padraic, at 2,500 meters altitude in a ski lift, captures the essence of our long weekend skiing in the French Alps rather well. A luxurious hotel down the slopes, a private transfer from Geneva airport, lavish diners and expensive wines are all in sharp contrast with the typical hostel dorm rooms and public transport arrangements that set the tone of many a trip of mine. Of course I throw in the occasional nice dinner or hotel booking, but four days of copious spending on the better things in life is a rather standalone episode in my life thus far. And although I enjoyed it all tremendously, this trip isn’t the precedent for what is to come. On the contrary; with an itinerary of a trip every fortnight up and till half June, I’m afraid some tight budgeting is required to make it all happen! But that is of later concern, let’s first revive and divulge the eccentricities of Val D’Isere 2014.

In famous medieval Dutch readings like Beatrijs (rotte vis!) a period of seven years is generally used as a figure of speech referring to a very long passage of time. Well, my first three hours back on the snowboard confirm that it is really and truly a very long passage of time in real life as well, as the last time I had been boarding dates back to 2007 and the erosion of what were already very limited skills to begin with became painfully obvious on day 1. Trying to guesstimate the number of times I had fallen that night I came up with 25, yet reliving the first half day I must admit that it could also have been twice that number. As we speak my forearms still bear the brunt of the tumbling, smashing and cracking on snowy and, more often, icy slopes, as both are covered with bruises. My knees and lower back, the usual suspects when it comes to comparing my body with that of a 50-year-old lumberjack, made me genuinely reconsider whether I would be up for another day on the slopes that Thursday night. The next morning I felt better than expected however and I gave it another go, sticking to the green slopes high on the mountains (see map). With skills slowly developing and the number of crashes being limited to on average one every descend, Friday and Saturday featured enjoyable boarding in superb conditions. On Sunday morning, when the sun was breaking through the clouds and the last day started promising to be a worthy closure of the trip, I noticed that most people on the green slopes had become slower and less skilled. I wasn’t being overtaken anymore, but rather zooming past others. The flatter parts of the green track that had till then been my favourite weren’t so enjoyable anymore, and I figured it was time to try a blue one. Eoin “born and raised on skis” Whelan and Aidan “I’m not a great boarder but I’m doing blues and reds with Eoin anyway” Lawlor had endeavoured to convince Padraic and myself to join them to the slopes to the west of our safe green haven, yet until then to no avail. Yet, when I survived a long, narrow blue descend all the way to the village, and bumped into Eoin at the very end of the track, I decided to give it a go and explore more of what the area had to offer. By the end of the day, by then having been joined by the others, I had covered more than twice the area I had limited myself to the first three days. More stunning views, cooler slopes, and new favourites set the tone that Sunday afternoon, only to finish off in style with a long winding red piste all the way down. Being refused for another ride up and subsequently reluctantly handing back the gear to the rental store marked the end of the winter sports action on the slopes, just when I started to acquire the skill set to really enjoy it. But as Eoin said, perhaps not wait another seven years until the next trip!

The weekend wasn’t only about boarding though. Every day on the slopes ended with some proper chilling out in the hotel’s wellness centre, where a steamer and a sauna received tired but satisfied guests. A shower upstairs, some post-wellness-centre napping, and ready for drinks and dinner. Wholly unintentional our dinners went from poor and overpaid to very tasty and expensive as the days passed, with the absolute depth of despair being Padraic’s Chinese dish on the first night. “Good pick sir” a smirking waiter confided him when scribbling down the ill-fated choice, only to serve up a bowl of steaming noodles straight from the microwave ten minutes later. 22 Euros lost on dinner, but a price worthy of a good story as it has become. “Why the *** did I order Chinese food in France” suggests however that there’s a lesson learnt here. For Padraic’s birthday – I won’t go into specifics age wise- we ordered up two vast chunks of beef in a cosy restaurant named after the French revolution. Seeing them being roasted on the open fire made any faked glances into the menu superfluous as really the choice had been made by each and every one of us as soon as we realised what was on offer. In sharp contrast with their overprized and mainly sold-out wine menu, the restaurant in the hotel did offer a more than decent four course dinner for a very reasonable price for our Saturday night. The wine problem we handily solved by savouring a single bottle for four hours, while the midnight snoring and day-after headaches did suggest that a fair amount in excess of that bottle had been nourished. The mystery remains unsolved for all hotel staff bar the cleaning lady, who may as well be ignorant about her key knowledge.

Drinks-wise Val d’Isere wasn’t hugely impressive. The main waiter in the hotel, who had recommended a poor bottle of overpriced wine before, was consistent in his awkward advice as he suggested a deplorable bar with fake live music as the place to go for the evening. The Amstel beer that was served was a challenge to finish and we swiftly moved on to the next bar. And the next bar. And the next bar. Luckily the best hangover cure was readily available the next morning with a load of fresh mountain air to wash away any traces of alcohol. On Sunday night we came across a lovely bar with great live music and a tasteful interior, which suited us perfectly given the birthday celebration mood we were in. The guest of honour however wasn’t up for a prolonged night out, and with Aidan giving up his false pretensions suspiciously swiftly by joining the former-mentioned b-day boy on the bus, Eoin and I had little choice but to join them back to the hotel for a well deserved four hours of sleep before the alarm clock woke us at 5 am for the long journey back to Dublin. Now, back home on the couch, with a battered body and a satisfied mind, I can conclude that the trip has been a real success. Thanks for having me lads! Val D’Isere 2014, you have been wonderful!

Global Village!

How a random idea about six weeks ago turned out into a full fledged party: our Global Village night was a big success! Kindly hosted by Anna Luisa and her house mates the scene was filled with foreign foods, drinks, languages, chatting, laughter, and random dancing. For once I will let the pictures do the talking, I reckon they tell the story rather well ;)

The first cycling of 2014

Sunday was the first day in 2014 that James got some motion in the wheels as we teamed up with Bo and her new bike for a test case ride to Howth. The coastal road to the peninsula is actually quite nice for cycling; most of it is equipped with a cycle lane and the views over the Bay are very pretty. The weather was, as usual, rather dynamic but overall rather warm and sunny, especially when climbing the hills of the “scenic route” into Howth! After all this climbing we enjoyed a lovely lunch and a glass of Rosato at The House where after the way back was taken a bit more at ease. At some point, when the sun was shining brilliantly and cycling in shorts and a jumper became even too warm, we decided to have a little break in the grass separating the road from the sea. As it turned out, lying in the thick warm grass was so comfortable that the both of us dozed off for a wee bit. Roadside napping in the sun early March; random!! Coffee and cakes at KC Peaches back in the city centre and a day to cherish. And an educational one for Bo, who learnt that cycling downhill she should use the manual break for the rear wheel rather than the front one, as well as that a lower gear should be used ascending. I’d say we are ready for our scheduled cycling weekend in Dingle later on this year!

Carnaval 2014

Well, first things first. Last Friday Bo and I celebrated having been in Ireland for exactly one year! To stick to the clichés; the year went by unbelievably quickly and if I could re-live it I wouldn’t do anything different. Well, maybe I wouldn’t have eaten all those cookies before having my dinner just now, but well, that’s year 2 to be fair. But all in all a great first year, and delighted to have another two to go!

To celebrate in style I went to the Netherlands for the weekend. This may seem rather odd for a one year anniversary, and I must admit it wasn’t a wholly voluntary choice. As it was, Bo had invited four squeaking girlfriends from the Netherlands, who were to occupy the house for a decent 48 hours. One may understand my desire to escape said environment and thus I made sure I was across the sea in the Netherlands. I only found out a good while after booking my flights that this very weekend was the weekend of Carnaval, which is for many in the South of the Netherlands the biggest festival of the year. Admittedly I used to be very fond of these five days of partying, especially when I was 16 and single, yet the prospect of dressing up as… anything… and mingling with inebriated locals didn’t sound too appealing up front.

 How different it all worked out! I had the best time of my life!! The largest contributor no doubt was the get-together with about 3o friends and acquaintances that I hadn’t seen in a long while. We started off with dinner prepared by Anke at their place; a cosy evening filled with laughter and poor quality Carnaval music. As the supply of beer rapidly shrunk we set off towards town where we joined the crowds at the busy but not overly busy St Joris, while our group grew and grew as more people decided to join in. I must admit I did at times feel like being 16 again, dressed up as a monk, walking the streets I used to roam so often as a teenager, hanging out with the kids from back then. Rietje’s (Koen’s mother) comments of “you had better prepare Tony’s bed now rather than tonight” sounded like a déjà vu, and Henk (Koen’s father) eternalising another memorable moment through his camera had barely changed since then. The hangover the next morning also felt rather familiar, but unfortunately that isn’t something only from the distant past… Comparing the pictures from 12 years ago with the ones from 2014 however, some things seem to have changed a little... I'd say for the better! ;)