Weekends in Dublin

Another one of those entertaining weekends in Dublin. My intention to spend more time in Dublin this summer is paying off. It is rewarding me with a mixture of culture, drinks & dinner, great company and sports. It may begin to sound repetitive, my continuous capturing of how well Dublin’s fair city treats me, but that doesn’t constitute a convincing enough argument against narrating it over and over again. Especially when I find myself in the very comfortable and writing-enhancing environment of the local Starbucks unit. It’s a Sunday morning and one of this weekend’s major treats is still to be enjoyed later on this day, as I secured tickets for the GAA semi-final between Kerry and Tyrone! A sold-out Croke Park is always an experience worth attending any game for, even though my understanding of Gaelic Football is limited at best. It won’t be long before Guilherme and I will cross the Liffey and take another deep dive into Irish culture. I expect it to be the cherry on the cake of a very entertaining weekend, which started very well on Friday night. In the company of Peter, Gene, Padraic, Eoin and Diarmaid the evening was kicked off with dinner at Pichet, whereafter we went to the Olimpia theatre to watch a great performance of the musical Once. Amazing! The night ended when the last bar we visited somewhere in South William Street closed, and if it hadn’t been for the football scheduled at noon on Saturday I would still have been asleep. It was a good reason to get out of bed however, and the running around Fairview Park certainly contributed to battling the last traces of my hangover. After the game I took a bath while enjoying a plate of lasagne (reminded me of coffee in the shower in the Gildebroeders) and slept for another two hours. Not overly keen to make it a late night again I nevertheless was in the mood for a pint or two and in the company of Jesus and Xaxi it was drinks in the Workmans club, whereafter we joined some of Xavi’s friends in the Garage bar in Temple Bar. Sensibly I decided to call it a day around midnight, took a Dublin bike home in the pouring rain, and woke up at the very respectable hour of nine o’clock this morning. And there we are, the circle has been completed. My cup is empty, my thoughts drifting to Croke Park. Time to go!

Summer nights

There was certainly a risk involved, planning to spend four consecutive hours in a park in Dublin on a summer evening. Presently, from my seat at the Starbucks in Rathmines, I can see the rain pouring down outside. For now this only complements the snug feeling that my massive cappuccino and the Sunday morning music already initiated. Should we have experienced such a downpour last Thursday however, I can imagine that the word ‘snug’ would have been the last on my mind. But Ana Marija’s determined insistence that it wouldn’t rain that night, based on one out of several conflicting weather forecasts, proved justified. And so the open air cinema in Merrion Square was a success.

At about three quarters of the Grand Budapest Hotel I managed to tear my eyes away from the screen in order to soak up the scene around me. You know, another one of those moments that you ‘step out’ of the situation in order to fully appreciate what is going on. The top floors of the 200-year old Georgian houses lining the square were visible above the trees in Merrion Square, bathing in the yellow glow of the street lights. Darkness had already set (lest we wouldn’t have been able to see the screening) and the sky was a concoction of ominous clouds and streaks of dark night sky. Occasional gusts of wind, met by shivers on my right side, blew the clouds apart before they had a chance to congregate into a decent force. The temperature was still pleasant however, and we were surrounded by a happy crowd of people sitting on blankets, eating their picnics, drinking their non-alcoholic beverages, and collectively enjoying the movie. An oasis of green in the heart of Dublin, on a summer night, enjoying the simple things in life. Such was the realisation, and my gaze drifted back to the screen. It was a movie worth watching after all.

The Aran Islands with the lads

[note: this blog post is best read with the following playlist: i) The Weeknd - Can't feel my face, ii) Calvin Harris & Disciples - How deep is your love and iii) Johnny Cash - Burning ring of fire]

Wow! It was one of those weekends. One of those long weekends where summer is the buzz word and everything seems to come together at the right time. Where plans work out according to plan and brilliant impulses cover gaps in the schedule better than any pre-orchestrated plot could have. It was near midnight last Thursday when the boys arrived in Dublin city centre, and after 685 kilometres on the road, two 8-minute flights, loads of cycling, 105 pints, and one mango smoothie the weekend has just come to an end. It was magical. Let’s reminisce. Let’s re-live. Let’s share the story.

It was an early wake-up Friday morning at 7 o’clock. First of all I am not used to waking up that early on neither week days nor weekends, and secondly I had only had five hours of sleep. As the lads arrived only close to midnight at the hostel the night prior, we were lucky enough to find a bar that still served customers and celebrated the start of what was going to be a marvellous trip with our first round of Guinness. While I had expected some delay on the lads’ behalf the next morning, I nevertheless found myself at the crossroads we were supposed to meet at at eight, waited for 15 minutes, gave out to the culprits when they finally showed up, and set off towards county Clare. First stop: Obama Plaza near Moneygall for some Irish breakfast (sausages, scrambled eggs, pudding) and some confused glances at a huge photograph of the president of the USA holding a picture of his Irish ancestor (who ever convinced him of that?). After another 1.5 hours on the road we were all very keen to get out of the car, some for reasons of the prospect of surfing, others for the lack of room to move / breathe / blink. An Audi A4 is a big enough car, but trust me, with 5 lads our size things get very tight in there.

Conditions in Lahinch were perfect. Rolling waves, sunrays making their way through the clouds, green rolling hills on either side of the bay and loads of surfing. After having ridden a wave all to the end, one was tempted not to waste any time lingering but rather fight its way back to where another great wave could be caught. But every now and again I held off before plunging into the water again. Look around Tony. Breathe in the fresh sea air, taste the salt on your lips, take in all this beauty around you and realise it’s the Atlantic Ocean you are gazing at. Be conscious of your amazing surroundings and enjoy it that little bit extra. Get that additional sense of happiness and gratefulness that comes with realising what you have and how much you should cherish that. And then that next wave is even better. After two tremendous hours and with the tide rising we reluctantly left the water, wondered how to get clean & dry without showers or towels, and squeezed into the car again. The natural wonders of driving along the coast and through the Burren were a treat to the eye, and Paal and I enthusiastically pointed out rewarding views and cool rock formations. The lads in the back, to varying degrees, decided to give their eyes a rest instead, and saved energy for what was going to be a great evening out in Galway City.

Freshly showered and dressed to the nines we first enjoyed a hearty meal (burgers, steak, fish ‘n chips), and then set off to the Quays for some great live music (first downstairs, then upstairs in the club). We switched from Guinness to Hophouse, Boonman proved his French magnet also works in the West of Ireland, and we finished the night only when the club closed and we were ushered out of the premises into the street. With more beers in our bellies and less sleep than the night before, the alarm clock the next morning rang agonisingly early at half seven. In hindsight, as we ended up being 1.5 hours early for our flight at Connemara Airport, we could have extended our night’s rest with what surely would have been a much valued extra hour. But hey, then we wouldn’t have taken a walk around the airport, taken selfies with donkeys, and attempted to build a dam in a river. Loads of fun, and I got away with mixing up the flight itinerary.

With the bulk of our body weight at the wings and a smirking Italian lad next to the pilot, we set off towards Inishmor, where we landed about eight minutes after take-off. Awesome! And much better than being stuck on a ferry for an hour and a half with i) a hangover and ii) a crowd that includes a multitude of American tourists and a hen party or two. The next 24 hours were pure bliss. The weather picked up, from overcast and a few rays of sun to blue skies with only scattered clouds, and we started our stay on the biggest of the Aran Islands with a big lunch (fish ‘n chips, chowders, pizza). As our Dutch origins blended perfectly well with the modus operandi of transport on the island (bikes), we cycled crisscross through fields, past drystone walls, and up hills. 

Highlights were the well preserved remnants of ancient fortresses and the stunning views that came with them. In the evening we watched part of a rugby game, opted for a meal with a price tag that wouldn’t degrade us to poor and penniless before the holidays were over (fast food, burger, chips with cheese), and watched some live music in a local pub. When the four square meters in front of our chairs got congested with a crowd of rather voluminous females, awkwardly balancing on high heels while guzzling away a multitude of alcoholic beverages, I decided to call it a day and catch 8 hours of sleep for a change. The others tried in vain to catch a glimpse of the band through the forest of tightly wrapped flesh but followed me up rather swiftly when the unfeasibility of that endeavour became apparent. Exhausted, well fed and with our thirst quenched, and blissfully happy, I fell asleep in my way too small bed on a rather poor mattress. And we’re only halfway. Boom boom boom.

Sunday was more of Saturday but with even better weather (and less cycling). With a packed lunch we set off towards the most spectacular cliffs and spend three hours walking around, sitting in the sun, admiring the view, eating our lunch (ham, sandwich, cheese), taking pictures, gazing around some more, while creating a mental picture of how astonishingly beautiful Inishmor is. It is a picture that will last a lifetime. After a round of Guiness we were collected by the bus driver, driven to the airport, tjop tjop 8 minute flight, into the car, and off to Birr, county Offaly. Oh no wait. Why don’t we watch the hurling semi-final in a local pub? Galway play Tipperary. If there’s one way to impress those oblivious of Gaelic sports it’s a game of Hurling. Fast, technical yet physical, and completely new to most of the lads, the second half we got to see was an experience well worth postponing our arrival in Birr for. With the locals cheering for every point Galway scored, and the winning goal scored in the very last minute received by joyous celebrations in the snug little pub we found ourselves in, this is a hurling game that I will not easily forget.

Birr on a Sunday evening isn’t bustling. But hey, that’s alright. With a class dinner in the local Indian restaurant (garlic naan, butter chicken, tiger beer) and a round of Guinness we got all we needed to sink into the big soft beds at the Maltings House for a great night’s sleep.

This morning (it’s still Monday now that I write this, after just having dropped off the lads at the airport) we woke up at half seven in order to be present for breakfast at eight. Why so early? Well, because we had a great game of golf scheduled at Castle Barna Golf club. The hostess of the B&B proved why the unit gets a 9.1 rating on Booking as she very kindly served us a super filling and tasty Irish breakfast (eggs, bacon, pudding), which went down very well with the fresh fruit & yoghurt (strawberries, moor berries, apple). With the weather still keeping up we walked a very pretty golf course, had lunch in the sun (burger, bun, chips) and drove back to Dublin. And then, while we had constantly cherished how long the weekend was taking and how much time we still had ahead of us and how it felt like we had been away for two weeks already, suddenly it was over. Bags out of the trunk, hugs at the airport, and that was it. What a trip. It was one of those weekends.

Koen: ‘Hoe heet dat ook alweer waar alles klein is?’

Teun: ‘Madurodam. Voor jou is alles klein’

Summer in the Netherlands

With the customary 30 minutes delay (Aer Lingus’s trademark) I landed last Friday afternoon at Schiphol Airport. Behind me I left dark and gloomy Dublin, where a splendid month of June had been followed up by a horrendous July with an average temperature below 14 degrees Celsius. Luckily the welcome in the Netherlands was warm in multiple ways. The evening set off at The Parade with Karine, David and Merel. Queueing for a while and paying the 7.5 euros entrance fee had raised expectations somewhat for what appeared to be an odd collection of tents, tables, chairs, food stalls and many, many hippies. And children. Loads of children. I still don’t really get the point of it all, but seeing my friends in combination with (tiny) beers and tasty food made the location rather inconsequential. What will stand me by for a while to come however is the performance we got to enjoy for a euro ('sorry we ran out of match sticks. When they ask for your ticket just hold two fingers down'). To be honest, by the time we had finished our dinner and had had a few drinks, the temperature had gone down significantly, and I involuntarily regretted ignoring Karine’s earlier advice of taking a coat. Well, we squared that one when I won a bet later on that night and earnt a bottle of wine! Anyway, the main reason for paying the euro was that we could warm up with a few dozen other people in a tiny shack, where we were treated a 20-minute play by some kids who were still in school learning how to become actors. Well, plenty to learn still ;). Whereas this show was very much the last push for David and myself to leave the Parade and take shelter in a warm pub somewhere, Karine and Merel seemingly hadn’t had enough. So while the two of us were drinking craft beers at Oliver, the ladies enjoyed some more 1 euro shows and teamed up with us later on that night. When Oliver closed (earlier than usual) I bade my goodbyes to David, whom I probably won’t see for a while given his imminent move far far away, and continued with Karine in a wine bar at Neude. When also that wine bar closed a few hours later it was only a cold 5 minute bike ride to Karine’s awesome new house where we had a very very last drink which eventually proved to be the one drink too many and made me feel slightly hungover the next day. A long shower and great breakfast sped up the recovery process significantly though, as did the bottle of ice cold weisner that I cracked open with Alex at Stadhuisplein not long thereafter. After a few hours Alex was replaced by Wendela while the sun kept on shining, and in great spirits I left for Amsterdam early that evening. With the Gay Pride in full swing in our capital, the streets and squares were buzzing with life and music. After having met up with Raymon and Gunter we had a few drinks in a few different bars whereafter we ended up at Rembrandtplein, which hosted a big festival. I am usually not the biggest fan of packed streets, crowds of drunks and streets littered so badly you can hardly see the pavement, but I must admit the combination of good music and great vibe among the crowd dancing and partying made for a very enjoyable experience. 

Joined by Teuni and a mate of the lads we then set off towards a club I can’t remember the name of. ‘Last time I tried to enter we were denied access because we were overdressed’. Raymon warily eyed my purple trousers and blue buttoned-up shirt. ‘They don’t like shirts in there. You had better take yours off’. And there I went, in my t-shirt, shirt folded up under my arm, wearing Gunter’s leather jacket on top. Better safe than sorry and a few minutes later we were rocking on the dance floor, shirt back on, and drinking cold bottles of Heineken. The next morning I felt remarkably similar to the day prior but also here my hosts made me a superb breakfast which swiftly wiped away any traces of hangover and headache. With the knowledge that the evening, scheduled with Anja, Tommie and Angela, would feature one or two drinks as well, I decided to give my body a break and the afternoon with Manon, Iris, Minke, Roelant and Bob was spent on orange juice and coffee. Manon had picked a splendid location at the water, a short boat ride away from Amsterdam Central Station, and it was there that we enjoyed the view and a catch-up on each other’s lives. As with all my little reunions, time went by faster than was desired and it really felt more like 45 minutes rather than 3 hours later when I bade my farewells. Hop on the boat and hop on the train and off to Schiphol, where Tommie and Angela picked me up on their way to Noordwijk. With the sun still shining brilliantly we were received warmly by Anja. Not for the first time this weekend the thought ‘I could live here’ struck me, as Anja had secured a beautiful apartment with a spacious balcony. 

Cold white wine at that very balcony kicked off an evening which would take us to Dutch for dinner and back to Anja’s for some limoncello to finish the evening in style. I experienced the best hangover cure of the weekend by taking an early morning swim in the sea with Anja the next morning after which I lounged on the deckchair on the balcony all day. Well, not all day, as we went to have lunch at the beach, but yes the rest of my Monday until 18:00 was spent in the sun with a newspaper and a glass of water. Anja was kind enough to drop me off at Schiphol and after a goodbye hug I made my way to the gate where, surprise surprise, my Aer Lingus flight was delayed. Awesome weekend catching up with friends, thanks everyone for the lovely time. And of course a blog post wouldn’t be complete with a quote to top it all off with:

(about not being allowed to smoke in the restaurant)

·       ‘Waarom zou dat niet mogen? We zitten toch buiten.’

·       ‘Nee dit telt niet als buiten.’

·       ‘Nou als het regent word ik nat’