red pants farming

A few weeks ago Bo and I spent the Sunday at the farm of Padraic’s parents. Roaming around fields lined with hedges and dry stone walls, feeding the sheep and climbing bales of hay made for a lovely morning out and about, accompanied by Lassie and Jess. After a filling brunch prepared by Padraic we settled in one of the house’s living rooms and flicked on the television to see Liverpool beat Man City and continue their road to the first PL title in 24 years. Liverpool fans all around with even Lassie barking enthusiastically when Gerrard’s corner kick made for the 2-0. A visit to the Hill of Slane on the way back to Dublin guaranteed the cultural aspect of the day and surely I’ll be back at this welcoming and cosy farm house, not in the last place to see Lassie again! 

“If you get the weather, there’s no place like it” - “We are so lucky with the weather!” - “I think Donegal is my new favourite place in Ireland”

The above pretty much summarises our experience over the past four days in county Donegal. Connected to the rest of Ireland by only a sliver of land, Donegal is often regarded as ‘different’ by most people here in Dublin. The prevailing comments however suggested that Ireland’s most north-western county is worth the 3.5 hour drive up, “if you get the weather”. As the forecast here is as reliable as an alcoholic’s vow to abstain from further drinking, I decided to ignore the hopeful whispers and ominous muttering alike, and packed the entire range from rain jacket and scarf to shorts and t-shirts. As we had the spacious Volkswagen Passat at our disposal, luggage for once wasn’t subject to the usual impediments of weight and size, and Bo and I both stowed two big bags each into the car’s trunk. Clothing for four seasons and enough food to last a week; let’s go!

At the time of writing it’s Monday evening. The weather has been cooperative to say the least with pretty much uninterrupted sunshine and more than pleasant temperatures. We have covered 800 km and seen the world. To be frank I have seen some pretty cool scenery in my life, not in the least the panoramas from four days of trekking through the Himalayas, Kerala’s jungle, Morocco’s Atlantic coast, and the holy temple mountain of Hua Shan in China. But what Donegal has to offer is really quite something spectacular and ranks among the most impressive sights and scenery I have ever got to enjoy. The interplay between wild ocean and sheer rock formation, with cliffs soaring up from the waters, only to give way to the most unperturbed and virgin beaches, and the entire absence of mass tourism make this place almost magical. Nigh everywhere we ventured there was the temptation to linger and stay longer, and many new ‘favourites’ were born. In the end it has been a hugely satisfying journey, and if anything, I know I’ll be back again, to each and every one of the places we have experienced. Well, enough of the indistinct reminiscence, let’s get down to a more tangible description in chronological order.

Day 1.

Day 1 was largely spent in the office as really it was just another day at work, bar me leaving at four in the afternoon and starting the engine of our fully equipped car at half four. The journey up took about 4 hours, but in the end I savoured my first Guiness of the weekend in one of Donegal Town’s few bars, listening to some mediocre live music, and I knew the fun had started. In what has become a cherished tradition by now, we started our journey with the cheapest half-decent  accommodation we could find, only to increase our standards gradually over the course of the trip. To be honest the bed in Donegal Town Independent Hostel made for a great night’s sleep and the shower was warm in the morning. But wait, that’s already day 2.

Day 2.

Day 2 featured an early rise that became the standard throughout our trip. However much we like sleeping in, there was simply too much to see and do. Our half an hour hike from the car park to Slieve League was dominated by roaming sheep and ominous clouds, and the views from “Europe’s highest sea cliffs” were enjoyable but not altogether much impressive. Maybe it was the weather that took away a bit of the magic, as we couldn’t even see the top of the cliffs across the sea inlet, given that these were covered in grey clouds. Luckily those were the last clouds to be seen and before Morning had conveyed its responsibilities to Afternoon we found ourselves in brilliant sunshine hiking up the hills surrounding Glencolumbcille.

The Lonely Planet was once again of invaluable help by recommending the Tower Loop, which indeed provided great views over the cliffs and Atlantic ocean from the top of the bog-covered heights. All this exercise warranted some food-related reward and not much later we indeed devoured a decent fish chowder in Ardara, a few kilometres up the coast. The small village signifies the gateway to Loughrea Peninsula, which ended up being the first place in the county that truly released our “oooh’s and aahhh’s”. Our stay at Carnaween House was a concoction of magnificent flavours, scents, sights and sounds. Based at one of Donegal’s many white beaches, our home for the night was tastefully decorated in a style that breathed “summer” and “sand” altogether. After half an hour in the lounge chairs in front of the house, by now under a radiant sun, we couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and rushed towards the sea. Iniskeel island, which can be reached on foot when the tide is low, makes for waves coming from two sides at hide tide, as it splits up the flow of water streaming in from the ocean. The result is a peculiar interplay between moving water, with waves crossing each other as they reach the shore, creating an ephemeral chessboard of blue and white.  Iniskeel island isn’t the only pearl enhancing the view from the beach however, as the horizon is dotted with tops of mountains making you want to stare in the distance for hours. With the weather being such an unexpected treat we spent all time left until dusk at the sea shore, tossing the frisbee and running through the ankle deep water, feeling more child than ever. In the end our reservation at our host’s restaurant made us leave the spoils of salt and freedom, only to take place at the best table with the best view over the bay with the best fish dish I had had in ages. A late evening stroll with a glass of the Green Spot after dinner, and off to bed, as really all we wanted to do was to be awake when the sun shone. Tucking in for the night at eleven pm on a Friday really was an easy sacrifice given the day-time bounties that lay ahead.

Day 3.

The first half of the next day wasn’t the best part of our trip, as the “scenic drives”, despite the obvious scenery that comes with them, do take up a lot of time and do not quite grant the same experience as being outside our moving prison of glass and steel. Reconfirming that position after an hour of “scenic drive” detour past holiday-home covered coast line we drove straight on to our next destination and parked the car early in the afternoon at Corcreggan Mill B&B. Amicably instructed by our host Brendan we set off towards another winning combination of exercise and sightseeing. The afternoon’s three hour hike was truly spectacular, starting off at what has become my new favourite beach (in the world) and reaching to the top of the cliffs from where the views over the ocean and the islands off the coast are breath-taking. Rolling waves crash incessantly against the rock formations that guard Ireland’s main land against the ocean’s perils and make for a spectacular sight, especially when watched from high above. Unfortunately the mapped walking loop appears to be closed these days, which forced us to climb over some fences and dodge a number of sheep to reach the main road again, only to be confronted with an angry farmer who must be telling about a dozen hikers each day to stay off his land. Not ideal. That evening we gratefully made use of the self-catering kitchen in an effort to stave off the mounting costs that come with enjoying life so thoroughly, especially given the eccentricities that lay ahead at Loch Eske Castle. My usual recipe of pasta and pesto made for a tasty evening meal, and after some reading in the hostel’s cosy common room we opted for another early night’s sleep, as we hadn’t seen the true treasure of the area yet. Horn Head.

Day 4.

Day 4 was arguably the best day. Relying again on Bo to follow through on the previous evening’s decision to rise and shine before 8 am we enjoyed a decent breakfast at the B&B and set off towards Horn Head just when most people were drowsily making their way downstairs. Even against the background of all the previous treats of the trip, even when compared with the most beautiful and impressive gifs of nature I have been given to enjoy in my life, Horn Head is AMAZING. Bliss. Pure bliss. I tell you, go there, get a day with a brilliant blue sky, go early in order to have the entire area for yourself, and soak up the immense feeling of wonder and amazement of how beautiful this world can be. Imagine yourself on the very top of the highest cliffs, with the ocean left and right, the thundering sound of crashing waves below and the quiet of the main land behind you, with the coastline and islands disappearing in the mist beyond. Seagulls soaring in the depths below, tiny spiders crawling in the moss just below your face, while you are lying flat on your belly, peeking over the edge, defying feelings of vertigo and instead soaking up the adrenaline that is rushing through your body. Need I say more?

A morning that starts so overwhelming must get a decent follow-up. How often would you soak up the salty water of the Atlantic Ocean as well as the chlorine of one of the country’s best spas in one day? Not often. As we hadn’t been properly equipped to pay homage to my new favourite beach upon discovery the previous day, Bo and I decided to nibble at some of the day’s available time to get some early spring swimming under our belt. The water was freezing and the current pulling us away from the beach surprisingly strong, but the twenty-odd seconds in the water were an experience well worth it. More running and splashing through shallow waters, wearily observed by hikers in jeans and sweaters, and back to the car for the afternoon programme, off to Loch Eske.

The last night of our trip was responsible for about half the entire journey’s expenses. The reason why was well worth it however. As we were told by Rachel, our chatty and attentive waitress over dinner, Loch Eske Castle was all ruins from an 18^th century sacking from which the former times’ stronghold never recovered... until six years ago, when the entire castle was rebuilt in the old style. When Michael, the butler, opened the oak wooden doors to our room for the night, there was no need to look at Bo to know that she was thinking the exact same as I was. I had never stayed in such a luxurious place before. Apart from the hotel room and all that it entailed (we guestimated that it was bigger than Bo’s former apartment in The Hague), the castle grounds boast a luxurious spa and top notch restaurant. Furthermore there are numerous lounge rooms decorated with oak wood tables, plush chairs, walls covered with shells full of books, ornate mirrors, soft carpets, huge paintings in gilded frames, elegant side tables, thick curtains, wooden panels covering the walls, open fires burning in the hearths… all you need and more to pick up a book and soak up the atmosphere around you. Breakfast was delicious and filling, dinner even better with oysters and lamb. The 21 hours we spent on the grounds were the 21 most lavish hours of my life, and are well worth the upcoming week of living off white rice and uncooked beans to make this month's budget close.

The weather - what else

It’s a dark and dreary day in Dublin and incessant drizzle has engulfed the city, affecting all who venture outdoors like a contagious disease.  Thick clouds hovering close to chimneys and roofs make that dusk seems imminent shortly after I leave the office, as if the clock has been turned an hour back rather than ahead last Saturday. It’s an evening to go home swiftly and bolt the front door for the night, as surely one would not leave the warmth and safety that comes with being at home. Sitting in my favourite couch at the window facing the streets, I see the fog and gloom ominously pressing against the glass, as if attempting to intrude my safe haven. It’s the perfect night for writing a blog post.

Luckily murky weather as this goes as quickly as it comes and tomorrow could be a whole different day. In fact, singling out some standalone moments over the past week I may as well have imagined myself being in the Mediterranean. Our weekly Tuesday afternoon football sessions don’t get any better than yesterday’s, with a brilliant blue sky and radiant sunshine blessing our small-time endeavours. And also last Sunday, hiking around the Howth peninsula in a t-shirt, climbing rocks and walking past large estates with gorgeous sea-views, flashbacks of a similar saunter in Capri (summer 2008) were not altogether inappropriate. The sniffing and running nose that I have entertained my colleagues with today are the keepsake of the first frisbeeing of the season yesterday evening. Having enjoyed such a gorgeous midday escape from the office, and still not quite having learnt my lesson when it comes to the whimsicality of the Irish weather, I convinced Bo to go to the beach after work to release some of the impatience of being locked up in an office for too many hours a week. Sniffing or no sniffing, I did enjoy the hour or so spent on soggy sand tremendously, running and jumping around in efforts to catch the orange frisbee carried on the Eastern sea winds. And how better to follow up on such delights than to watch a Champions League quarter final match in one of Dublin’s countless pubs, while savouring a pint of Carlsberg and filling the stomach with fried cod and chips. As such staying in tonight is really quite the exception, as also Saturday, despite slightly less encouraging weather, Mark and I braved the elements and set off on an afternoon of playing golf at Elm Green. Again our perseverance and good faith got rewarded with some hours void of any rain and a rather empty golf course. The treat we rewarded ourselves with afterwards may sound rather familiar by now but I assure you that pub food and a pint of draught in combination with a decent football match on a big screen never gets boring!

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!