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!