goodness, manfolk

Ireland: Day 3

I cannot believe an illustration for Mr. Trout already exitst

We had another traditional Irish breakfast today, along with a dish of scrambled eggs with smoked trout, which Boyfriend immediately took to calling “Mr. Trout,” and continued with a little song, and, as the day wore on, full character description (he’s a detective who wears a fedora, has a family, and travels all over the world).  According to Boyfriend, “He’s on the case.”

After breakfast I went back to bed for a nap (my clock is still on Los Angeles time).  Boyfriend woke me up with stories of Mr. Trout.

We wandered around the city looking for Dublin Castle for a bit, and heard some enormous noise coming from the city center.  A formula 1 race was going on, so we went to check it out.  So loud!  We didn’t get to see any formula 1 cars, but we did see two very fast cars pull donuts right next to each other.

We got some fish and chips from a chain called Leo Burdock, super delicious, best fish and chips I’ve ever had.  And it looked like I got a whole fish!  Way too much food.  It was takeout only, so we popped into a hotel lobby and pretended to be guests while we ate and made use of their facilities.

We finally found Dublin Castle, bought tickets for the 4:40 tour, and visited Dublinia, the viking museum!  There were all kinds of dioramas with far too realistic-looking people (one of which is looking right at you as you turn a corner, super creepy), and a place to try on Viking clothes and helmets (which we did, with a fearsome pose).

Dublin Castle’s front door knobs were shiny lions, raaargh!

We rushed back to catch our tour of Dublin Castle, which I pictured in varying degrees of ruin, but it’s actually a fully functioning government building in most parts, and it’s just beautiful.  It lacks the gaudy, gold-plated look of older palaces of Europe, and instead has a quiet sense of cohesion and historical class that other, more ostentatious European buildings seem to be dripping with. We got to see what’s left of the Powder Tower (where the kept the gunpowder until it all blew up and burned the castle for two straight days), which was super cool.  The tour went too quickly.

We were signed up for a traditional music pub crawl at 7ish that starts at Gogarty’s Pub, so we found the place, then relaxed at an inn by the river to get tea and recharge before the crawl.  At Gogarty’s we had a cup of Guiness and a half-dozen oysters (delicious!) before we started out on the crawl.  There was a guitarist with a lovely voice, and an Uilleann piper (what he described as similar to Scottish bagpipes, “The only difference is Uilleann pipes sound good”), both of whom were very friendly and funny.  The Uilleann pipes really do produce a gorgeous sound, a deeper and more broadly ranging tone that, once it gets going, is impossible to resist stomping your foot on the floor to keep the beat.  The crawl was my favorite part of the trip so far for sure.  Afterward we grabbed more fish and chips (from the same chain, different location, since it was the only place open at 11pm on a Sunday) and wandered over to The Duke, where the piper recommended that we go to hear more live music (on our way in a woman almost ran us over on her way out.  The guy following her said to us, with a laugh, “Quick one, in’t she?  FOKKIN’ ‘ell!”).  The bar tender filled us in on the intricacies of Guiness, which tastes totally different and delicious here.  Apparently there’s a bar in Spain where the owner meticulously cleans the pipes once per week, which makes the Guiness taste “gorgeous.”  He said that Guiness is “like a baby” (very sensitive) and on a cold day the head will be smaller.

Anyway, the piper pointed out that good traditional music is played not for an audience, but in more of a jam session among the musicians, and that if you approach them to ask them to sing your favorite song, “the most polite answer you’ll get is something along the lines of ‘Well sing it yourself, then.'”

A few things I learned at the pub crawl:
-When an Irish person says ‘Irish’ it sounds like ‘Arsh’
-The Irish are “very hard to pin down” and are “notorious for never quite giving a straight answer.”  A man once asked for directions in Cork, and was told, “Well I wouldn’t start from here.”
-When drinking the two phrases commonly used are “Just the one,” and “Never again.”
-When playing that hollow drum they hold with the left arm and play with a short stick with the right, a good way to keep the beat is to say one of a few phrases in your head, like ‘Black and Decker, Black and Decker, Black and Decker,’ or for a different beat, ‘rachers and sausages, rachers and sausages.’  The piper said, “You can’t tell a child learning to play this instrument to play in four-four time with an upbeat every other measure.  The response you’ll get is, “I’m bored,” and my response is of course, “Me too, let’s go to a pub,” at which point they’ll say, “We can’t go to a pub, I’m just a child.”  So to avoid saying things that will get me fired from teaching positions, we stick with things like ‘Black and Decker’ instead.  I don’t know what we did before power tools.”
-A singalong is called a sing-song.
-The guitarist said, “If you were to kill someone with an Irish flute, you’d never get away with it because everyone plays it differently so you’d be recognized instantly.”
-One hilarious song they sang was about an Irishman who went to California during the gold rush, and was hoodwinked by a man dressed as a woman.  “She” got him drunk, took him to bed where he fell asleep, and when he awoke, he found a woman’s clothes, wig, and a shaving kit. So he puts it on, and goes outside and a man gives him a wink.  He sees how much money this man has, and offers him a drink in turn.  The chorus was something like “Her lips were red, here eyes were blue, her hair was as yellow as the gold she stole from me.”

nicer than our room by a lot

We crashed in bed and played Draw Something for a little while.  I’m actually writing this in the lobby the following morning (day 4), with some Italian tourists in the couch nearby since we have trouble getting a wireless connection in our room on the lower level.  Yesterday started with rain so we went out to look for ponchos.  I asked a couple of guys who were wearing some cheap ones where they got them, and they took them off and gave them to us.  So nice, such generosity.

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Ireland: Day 2

Day two in Dublin started with sun and ended with rain.  Apparently the weather change happens a lot here.

otters are the best

Boyfriend and I saw the Book of Kells today!  What a whimsical, incredible work of art.  There are all kinds of bizarre animals, like a bird with its feet in its mouth for a prominent “D”, and an otter with a fish caught in its mouth, which is now obviously my favorite part.

After that we exited into the Long Room, which houses all kinds of neat old books (I was told yesterday that “neat” is a distinctly American word).  I love old books, and the high ceiling is so pretty.  There was also a really cool wrought iron spiral staircase which Boyfriend and I really wanted to take a photo of, but alas, no photos allowed (but I found this one online that doesn’t quite do it justice).

note to self: WANT

We grabbed some sandwiches at Neary’s (smoked salmon, and chicken), then walked back to get a tour of Trinity College from a very funny graduate student.  It had started to drizzle, so when we got home we relaxed and forgot we had to be at dinner by 6 until 610.  It was 1.3 miles away.

We zoomed over in a taxi and were put in with the 7pm dinner group.  It was at The Brazen Head, Dublin (and possibly Ireland’s) oldest pub.  There we had a three course meal over a pint and coffee with dessert, and enjoyed some folklore and local history.  There were loads of Americans there, and the songs were great.

We didn’t end until 1030, and by then it was raining.  We mapped out a route home and got wet all the way.  I was getting into a bit of a sour mood until I reminded myself that this was Dublin.  It rains here all the time.  I should really just get used to it.  Then Boyfriend pointed out that we could put our clothes on the heater when we got back to the hotel room, and I got super excited.  Extra warm clothes for a cold day?  Yes please!

Breakfast this morning was delicious, by the way.  We’re having breakfast every day at the hotel, and it’s just lovely.  One of us ordered crepes with fruit, and the other got an egg with sausage, bacon, half a tomato, and pudding (some kind of oatmeal cake, not bad).  I’m looking forward to that tomorrow.  Plus, Dublin Castle!

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Ireland at last

we sat on the top level while our driver almost hit just about everything and everyone on his way to the city center (the German tourists up there with us were laughing and freaking out)

I’m in Dublin, Ireland!  I traveled for 27 straight hours, finally got to the hotel with Boyfriend and passed out immediately for an hour.  Then we had to go meet our ambassador, a local Dubliner who brought some vouchers and took us out for tea and croissants and scones, and told us about his city.  There was a quick mix-up at the Little Dublin Museum, and they apparently forgot all about us while we poked around and looked at some old U2 photos, so the head of the whole ambassador program took us out instead.  Thank you, Simon, you were really cool.

He gave us some great advice, then went back to work.  Boyfriend and I decided to get an early dinner at a French place he recommended (Guileton?) early so we can get a good amount of sleep. I got the best sausage I’ve ever had, and Boyfriend got lamb.  Our hotel room is small, with simple but pretty wooden furniture.  Although it sounds like some people are digging gravel outside right now… Anyway, I’m exhausted and excited about tomorrow.

I brought my ukulele with me, and made some friends at JFK as a result.  I totally hypnotized a little Indian girl, who watched me play for a good half hour before I left to pee and find some food.  She informed me, “I have a small guitar at home.”  I let her strum the uke, making different chords for her to play while a porter looked on, smiling.  Eventually he came over and chatted about how I reminded him of some woman on the kid’s show he watches with his little girl, Yo Gabba Gabba.

Nothing much else to report, except that tomorrow will be awesome, and I’m happy to see Boyfriend after so long a time.

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Clan Gordon

I pulled over to check out an estate sale the other day, and bought a few things for super cheap: a solid pewter stein for my Renaissance Faire costume, a few pieces of silver, and an old book.  The book had an ownership label on the inside cover with a Latin phrase on it.  Turns out this book once belonged to Basil Gordon of Clan Gordon, the second oldest clan in Scotland.

So I found them online and emailed them about the book, offering to bring it with me on my travels to Edinburgh, and maybe pass it off to them there.  I heard back promptly (they have no interest in the book), but the member of the clan I’m in contact with (Kevin Gordon) was very nice, and said he was here in the states.  I wonder where he is…

I went back and got a little silver baby cup for my mom (she collects them), and some more old books, one of which has a copy on Ebay for $125.

I love old books.  As a kid, when I couldn’t sleep at night, I would get up and set next to the bookshelf in the computer room, and just pore through the old books my folks had.  Their age, the way they smelled, the strange little stories they told were so soothing.

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My heart is fond enough, thank you very much

Yesterday was Sister’s graduation party, and today she graduated from law school.  We’re all so proud of her, and it’s pretty amazing she did so well considering that law school is hell, plus she hates reading and writing, and that’s all there is in law school.  The party was fun, lots of old family friends whom we haven’t seen in a long while.  They all came in just to congratulate our family on Sister’s success.  So sweet.

Boyfriend couldn’t make it (again); he left for a job in Spain, which will allow him to be around for my trip to Ireland and Scotland.  It was a pretty heart-wrenching parting.  I always cry a little when he leaves for a work trip, but this time was tough.  Recently we’ve been talking about how happy we are together.  Boyfriend said he’s more in love with me than ever.  We were sitting on the bed between his preparations for his trip, just chatting, and it struck me how lonely I’ll be without him.  My face must have crumpled like a piece of paper, and I couldn’t hold it in.  Boyfriend did what he always does: he said, “Don’t cry, girlfriend!  Soon we’ll be in Dublin together and everything’ll be great!”  He started listing all the fun stuff we’ll do abroad, but it didn’t seem to help.  I love him so much.  He’s my best friend.  I still look forward to seeing him every day, even after more than four years.  I’m proud of him for getting so much work recently, and excited that it’s allowing him to go abroad, but I miss him something fierce every time.

He said that if I cried, he would cry, and after a while, he did (a little).  At the very least it’s nice to know that he misses me as much as I miss him.

At the graduation party last night, I was sitting and chatting with my cousins, and I randomly thought about how nice it would be to see Boyfriend later that night.  Then I remembered that he was probably already on the plane, and I cried a little (again).  I can’t remember being so effected by one of his trips since the first one.  I should be excited to see him in Dublin, but I’m so lonely without him.

He said that we wouldn’t be apart very long, not even for as long as the trips he usually takes to visit his family on the east coast.  He said the distance didn’t matter.  I corrected him; it does matter, and he’s so far away.

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The good kind of pressure

I haven’t had time to write recently.  Planning this trip to Ireland (and Scotland) has been eating up all my spare time.  I’m leaving May 31st, and returning June 13th.  I have to be ready for school (which starts on the 18th) by the time I get back, but I’m not sure if I’m eligible for the tuition breaks I thought I’d get when I applied for the graduate program.  I still need the reading materials, and I need to finish the online orientation.

I’ve been reading Rick Steve’s guidebooks about Ireland and Scotland, and I’m totally wiped out on research mode.  I’ll be spending five days in Dublin, three days in Edinburgh, three days on Oban, and one day in Ayr near Irvine with a friend I made during my time in Romania.  Then it’s one night near the Dublin airport somewhere so I can leave around 11am the next day.

Boyfriend will be in that part of the world on work, so he’ll be with me in Dublin and Edinburgh, then I’m on my own.  I’m excited to spend time in the Highlands.  I’m staying in a bed and breakfast in the little coastal town of Oban.  Apparently they make great whisky (one B&B I found offered a shot of whiskey every evening upon returning to retire).  I’ll day-trip out to the Isle of Mull, then to Iona.  I can’t wait to relax among some beautiful scenery.  Also, horseback riding!  I’m excited about doing this stuff on my own; taking it slow after spending the majority of the trip in cities (with Boyfriend).  I’m really looking forward to spending time abroad with Boyfriend.  We’re going to have so much fun.

Meanwhile, my room is a disaster area, I’m nervous about starting school again (plus the online aspect of it), I haven’t traveled in a long time so I’m worried about keeping my itinerary straight… frankly I’m a little overwhelmed.  I just keep reminding myself that everything loading me down is stuff I’m also excited about.  I guess that’s a sign that I’m pushing myself out of my comfort zone.  I wonder if this is what progress feels like.

It kinda sucks.  hahaha

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I love you, Fiat

I hit 12,000 miles in my Fiat the other day, and I’m as much in love with it as ever.  My little Fiat is the best.  I’m such a fan.

But I’ve only had it eight months, which means I’ve been driving 1,500 miles per month.  Of course this is probably because I live on the Westside, work near downtown in the morning, and in Redondo Beach in the afternoon (about 50 miles) an average of three days a week, plus the weekend Redondo Beach drive (35 miles round trip).  That’s almost 750 miles per month just for work.  And that’s assuming I’m not covering for any other Sensei’s, or attending an event on a day off at Office Job.

This is part of the reason why I bought this car; I was doing a ton of driving, and hating every second of it because I hated my car.  Now, driving is a pretty pleasant experience.  Thank you, Fiat.  I love you.

driving home from karate job

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Way too cute

Boyfriend is visiting his family on the east coast until next Wednesday.  He sent me these texts when he left.  So cute.

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Too hot to handle

glyph I saw on a stela at La Milpa, Belize

I woke up yesterday feeling good.  I got an email a couple weeks ago from a friend and professor at UCLA, asking if I could lead his class through the ancient Maya exhibit at LACMA.  Of course I accepted, and it went great.  I was nervous the day before, but I pulled the class in front of a stela, and my mouth just started moving and I was awesome.  So much fun!  Once again (just like when I landed Karate Job), it was a small dream come true: I got to teach a group of college students about the ancient Maya.

I got home to dote on Diminutive Roommate, who is recovering from some minor surgery.  Her mom came into town for it, and she’s the best.  DR is healing quickly, and being a real champ about it.  I think it really helps that her mom is here to be doctorly and motherly.  She’s pretty great.  We played Epic Spell Wars: Duel at Mount Skullzfyre, and had a little caramel Bailey’s.  I can’t imagine my mom rolling with that kind of plan.  She’s so full of judgement.  Plus, we’d have to get her out of the house first.

Anyway, Diminutive Roommate has been sick for a couple of weeks, and I’ve been keeping my distance whenever I could to make sure I didn’t catch anything (although the kids at the dojo have been pretty nose-picky lately).  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  My throat started hurting around 8pm.  Within an hour I was sore everywhere and exhausted.  I woke up this morning with a fever of 100.1.  Crap.  I emailed both jobs and said I wouldn’t be coming in.  I’d just be arriving at Karate Job right now if I’d been healthy today.

Sister shared a memory with my family a little while ago that once, when I was sick with a fever, she covered me with blankets just like my folks told her to when they left for work.  When they came back, I had a fever of 105 or something, and they got mad at her for putting all those blankets on me.  We were just kids, she didn’t know any better.  Still, she was next to tears when told us about that.  I don’t remember that at all.  She obviously still feels responsible.  Poor Sister.

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Healthy and horrified

basically a weekly visitation from this guy

When I spent a month in the jungles of Belize doing archaeology, digging an ancient Maya ballcourt, I had to get all kinds of vaccines and take malaria medication once per week for a few weeks before and after, and every week during my stay there.  When the doctor told me of the side effects (dizziness, upset stomach, etc.) he neglected the one that would have caught my attention: nightmares.  It also happens to be the most common side effect, so common, in fact, that almost every other member of the archaeology team who was on this medication experienced them.

These nightmares were exceptionally graphic, bloody and violent, and everyone had them.  Once we realized what was happening, we instinctively made little support groups.  The people who took their malaria pills on Tuesdays would wake up on Wednesday morning and huddle together at breakfast comparing horrors, and so on throughout the week.  I can only remember two, and they both include my family doing horrible things.

Kitchen knives
My mother and sister have me cornered in the kitchen in the house I grew up in (near the toaster).  Whenever I try to slip out of the corner, they calmly slash at me to keep me there.  They’re smiling and laughing at my futile escape attempts.

Pool of Parts
I’m in a swimming pool that has been dyed red with the blood of freshly hacked-up body parts that have been put there (or maybe they’re swimmers who got chopped up before they could escape).  I’m attempting to get out of the pool, but my mom, sister and dad keep pushing me back in with long wooden poles.

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