My balcony is my favorite part of this apartment. It's shaded, a bit breezey due to the height, and has a nice lil' chair and table for me to relax. And since it's been so disgustingly hot here lately and I have no fans or the like to keep this place cooler, well, it's about the only hospitable part of my apartment.
This weekend I'm stuck "under house arrest" since I'm oncall. It's not been a problem so far. I enjoyed a relaxing Friday evening before the oncall started at 0600 Saturday. And then Saturday I got myself paged and paged and paged again in the morning, and kept napping, and finally collapsed into a heap of Yvette mush around 1830... Did wake up for a bit - but I feel much more human since I've spent far too many nights this week awake late - including a 5+ hour long walk home one night when I was distracted talking to a friend.
Mmmm - fresh grapes. Strawberries may have failed me, but I just went downstairs to get myself a few nibbles for around my apartment and came back with lovely fresh and juicy grapes.
Don't really have much to do today. I should look through my France plans and make sure I haven't missed anything - but shoulds are shoulds and I feel like reading my book instead.
Just a normal weekend for me. Carry on.
30 July 2006
27 July 2006
will someone bail me out of jail when i get back to the states?
I will cross the street anywhere no matter what direction the traffic is going. Walking my short jaunt home today, I realized that if I were in Seattle, I'd have been arrested numerous times within the .25mi that I walked today (yes, I'm an American - I don't do metric) - and that's a shorter walk than normal due to getting a lift part way.
I avoided crosswalks. When I was crossing at a crosswalk I never saw "the green man" - always the red man - although I think there was a hint of yellow at the second of the two crosswalks I managed to cross.
It's so sad that I've timed my walk to the best crosswalks on the way to the Luas in the morning... and on the way home in the evening there are certain ways that I've noticed are faster - including one crosswalk that you'd never expect to be so short because it's got 2 islands to pass over.
So when I arrived here, ironically I was confused as to which way to look before crossing the street. Now I look and walk without fear and, in Seattle, they arrest for that sort of behavior. So, when I get back to the US and get arrested for jaywalking, who will take my phonecall to pay my bail?
I avoided crosswalks. When I was crossing at a crosswalk I never saw "the green man" - always the red man - although I think there was a hint of yellow at the second of the two crosswalks I managed to cross.
It's so sad that I've timed my walk to the best crosswalks on the way to the Luas in the morning... and on the way home in the evening there are certain ways that I've noticed are faster - including one crosswalk that you'd never expect to be so short because it's got 2 islands to pass over.
So when I arrived here, ironically I was confused as to which way to look before crossing the street. Now I look and walk without fear and, in Seattle, they arrest for that sort of behavior. So, when I get back to the US and get arrested for jaywalking, who will take my phonecall to pay my bail?
25 July 2006
10 things I've learned living in Ireland
- Always check the milk's consistency before pouring it on your cereal - chunky smelly milk happens far far far too fast in this country for some unknown reason.
- Do not use the word "ride" in any context - you're just better off not doing it. It'll cause you greate embarassment when you find out what you've just implied. (Yeah - just did this one - still blushing from it - dagnabbit.)
- A pint is relative.
- Never underestimate the will power of an appliance; and never assume that you can use appliances you were once familiar with. Appliances in Ireland don't like cocky users and are disagreeable.
- Jaywalking is a way of life. If you've been to Vietnam before, you will be well prepared for the average Irish street crossing for nothing compares to a Vietnamese intersection and a pedestrian trying to navigate to the other side of the road. However, jaywalking is practically encouraged here and I'm out of the habit of looking for a guard before doing so - since they seem to ignore this feature. Although I don't recommend jaywalking until you have the ingrained knowledge of which way to look before crossing the street.
- Drive on the left. When crossing a street look right THEN left.
- Swearing isn't considered impolite (or even swearing it seems) when you replace vowels with 'e' or add an 'e' to the end of the word.
- Don't bother buying strawberries - they'll be moldy the second they leave the store and this will frustrate you because you're craving strawberries (ok, so this isn't an Irish thing - but it's a current frustration since I went to cut up the strawberries I bought yesterday that replaced the ones I bought Sat and again they were furrybad).
- The Spar employees don't know how to wrap a wrap. Prepare yourself for a tortilla with toppings that drip in some form of paper.
- Not all Irish accents are made equal; and sometimes they're so unequal that Irish can't understand each other even when speaking English.
23 July 2006
first is the worst, second is the best, third is the one with the hairy chest (don't ask me what fourth is)
I have overcome the pitch&putt challenge. Tracy, I kept thinking of you - how much you guys would LOVE this activity. Heck, even I loved it - the States definitely needs to adopt that one. There's part of me that wishes I could find time and companions to go again because it reminds me of my fascination with bowling: I'm ok at it, it's funny to watch, it's social, and no one's ever very good at it so no one's competitive.
So, the game really is a shortened version of golf (not mini [errrr crazy] golf). My dear friend who invited me along described it thus in an email to me:
So I walked over to get a ride and we hit the road south to pick up the other two guys who initiated this venture.
Ahhh - the Irish bloke - such a rare breed - these two were fantastic.
So, the four of us headed off to the course to rent our pair of clubs: a wedge of some indiscriminate sort (I only know that much because the guys were talking about how it was too much of some kind of wedge) and a putter (which I'm familiar-esque with from mini golf outings [Seattleites - we are so going to play minigolf when I get back]). We each got two balls and a bag of tees for the group. Equipment: check.
Now, I have never actually hit a golf ball any distance. I have never desired driving a golf ball anywhere. I am a putter (and only an amateur at that). So I begged out of the starting position and watched. Somehow, I managed not to make a complete fool out of myself on that first hit. Although I must say that I'm glad that those balls bounce since I didn't see much air for the first few holes.
To assuage curiosity:
Thanks for the fun frolic to the pitch&putt frequent friend with a broken sarcasm and rambling detector! *grins*
So, the game really is a shortened version of golf (not mini [errrr crazy] golf). My dear friend who invited me along described it thus in an email to me:
Well, it's a sort of semi-golf for people who don't or can't take golf seriously and want to have a bit of fun hitting a ball around instead of wearing silly clothes and looking all serious. Smaller course; typically you rent a pair of clubs when you arrive and you don't pay too much attention to keeping score.That really is the perfect description.
So I walked over to get a ride and we hit the road south to pick up the other two guys who initiated this venture.
Ahhh - the Irish bloke - such a rare breed - these two were fantastic.
So, the four of us headed off to the course to rent our pair of clubs: a wedge of some indiscriminate sort (I only know that much because the guys were talking about how it was too much of some kind of wedge) and a putter (which I'm familiar-esque with from mini golf outings [Seattleites - we are so going to play minigolf when I get back]). We each got two balls and a bag of tees for the group. Equipment: check.
Now, I have never actually hit a golf ball any distance. I have never desired driving a golf ball anywhere. I am a putter (and only an amateur at that). So I begged out of the starting position and watched. Somehow, I managed not to make a complete fool out of myself on that first hit. Although I must say that I'm glad that those balls bounce since I didn't see much air for the first few holes.
To assuage curiosity:
- No, it did not take me more hits than my age on any single hole.
- No, it didn't even take me double digits on any single hole.
- No, I did not lose any balls to any sort of obstacles (that was my lovely friend's job)
- Yes, I always forgot to take my tee when I was done.
- 2nd, I came in second out of four after the bloke who actually golf golfs which is just short of a minor miracle. I do not know what this is a sign of. Other than that I can twirl around in circles like an elementary school girl singing the title of this post: first is the worst, second is the best, third is the one with the hairy chest!
- No, I didn't ever fall over laughing; however, I did laugh a whole lot (my lungs are burning from the past week-ish of laughter).
- Yes, I did get a par 3 on one hole.
Thanks for the fun frolic to the pitch&putt frequent friend with a broken sarcasm and rambling detector! *grins*
pray for me - or laugh at me - take your pick
I'm sitting here surfing the web having just decided to try "something new" that sounds highly entertaining and like a possible source of great embarrassment. pitch&putt. Don't ask me what it is - for I shall tell you when I get back - although I've heard that it's a shorter less serious version of a golf like game. Although all my Googling for what this is with pictures has been to no avail. Perhaps I shall provide some if my p&p party doesn't object to dorky pictures!
I'm sitting here giggling and grinning like a Cheshire Cat yet again at the prospect of something outside on a magnificent day that is utterly new to me.
I guess I should make sure I have sunglasses or the like so I might be able to see the ball... Yeah - that might be a good thing to do.
Pray for me to have good stories - whatever your version of good stories is - when I return! *blows kisses all hyper like*
I'm sitting here giggling and grinning like a Cheshire Cat yet again at the prospect of something outside on a magnificent day that is utterly new to me.
I guess I should make sure I have sunglasses or the like so I might be able to see the ball... Yeah - that might be a good thing to do.
Pray for me to have good stories - whatever your version of good stories is - when I return! *blows kisses all hyper like*
22 July 2006
what happens in bed is supposed to stay in bed.....
....unless it's as innocently funny and entertaining as last night was!
Mind you dear readership, I know some of you may be a bit shocked by what's to come - so this is my single line of "warning" if you will.
After work I found a willing victim (to be referred to throughout this entry as my fearless companion) to go out for a Friday evening pint. We stopped by a nice old pub only to find the courtyard packed with people of the same Friday evening mind as we were: socializing over a refreshing pint. So instead of putting up with the overly stuffy and sweaty pub interior we moved on to look for another venue. My fearless companion recollected another pub he'd been to that would probably be slightly less packed and a bit more temperate. So I merrily followed along.
We arrived at what he remembered as being a jazz club and found it very quiet in comparison to the last place we'd stopped. I immediately noticed some differences in this place than what my fearless companion remembered from having been to a jazz club: the rainbow pride little flag, the Dublin Pride poster, and the lack of anyone female. I kept my talkative mouth shut about this subject, waiting for my fearless companion to chime in on his opinion for I was far too entertained (my apparent word du jour) by the setting and waiting for him to notice the surroundings. He grabbed us pints and we flopped back in comfort on these massive red couches filled with cushions made to resemble huge circular beds. Lounging with a pint of beer, talking and laughing ensued... until one of us mentioned our surroundings. Thank goodness my fearless companion was not freaked or weirded out by the new style of the jazz club. Although the setting did make for eeeenteresting jokes and conversations.
We had a few more pints while lounging on our massively huge couch with comfy cushions; we did end up staying in this same location for our entire evening until it was time for the Cinderellas to leave the ball.
There are some details of this adventure, that no matter how innocent they were, shall be left up to your imaginations (and they truly are innocent - I assure you). They just added to the ambiance of the evening to make it memorable.
We managed to have a few pints over many many hours - and I had an excellent time!
Mind you dear readership, I know some of you may be a bit shocked by what's to come - so this is my single line of "warning" if you will.
After work I found a willing victim (to be referred to throughout this entry as my fearless companion) to go out for a Friday evening pint. We stopped by a nice old pub only to find the courtyard packed with people of the same Friday evening mind as we were: socializing over a refreshing pint. So instead of putting up with the overly stuffy and sweaty pub interior we moved on to look for another venue. My fearless companion recollected another pub he'd been to that would probably be slightly less packed and a bit more temperate. So I merrily followed along.
We arrived at what he remembered as being a jazz club and found it very quiet in comparison to the last place we'd stopped. I immediately noticed some differences in this place than what my fearless companion remembered from having been to a jazz club: the rainbow pride little flag, the Dublin Pride poster, and the lack of anyone female. I kept my talkative mouth shut about this subject, waiting for my fearless companion to chime in on his opinion for I was far too entertained (my apparent word du jour) by the setting and waiting for him to notice the surroundings. He grabbed us pints and we flopped back in comfort on these massive red couches filled with cushions made to resemble huge circular beds. Lounging with a pint of beer, talking and laughing ensued... until one of us mentioned our surroundings. Thank goodness my fearless companion was not freaked or weirded out by the new style of the jazz club. Although the setting did make for eeeenteresting jokes and conversations.
We had a few more pints while lounging on our massively huge couch with comfy cushions; we did end up staying in this same location for our entire evening until it was time for the Cinderellas to leave the ball.
There are some details of this adventure, that no matter how innocent they were, shall be left up to your imaginations (and they truly are innocent - I assure you). They just added to the ambiance of the evening to make it memorable.
We managed to have a few pints over many many hours - and I had an excellent time!
20 July 2006
office + music
If the office were always this chill and entertaining, I think Dublin might be able to convince me to stay. Y'see, the friends issue is overcome-able, but the office is a different story - since my work permit only allows me to work here in Ireland and that leaves me trapped. And it's not always like this... but when the cat's away, the mice will play one coworker just said as he skipped out a bit early - and I totally agree. Although the 4 people in my end of the office who were here today should never be left in the office without supervision - we're like a class of unfocused second graders - at least from my point of view. Hilarity abounds in bad jokes, procrastination, and talking. Good times.
In the meantime, I've gotten down to the work at hand (ok, so I'm writing a blog entry at the moment) and I look so silly sitting in my chair dancing to the same song on repeat..... for hours.... Smile...it confuses people is a great CD and I really like the first single off of it: I Wish I Were a Punk Rocker (with Flowers in My Hair). At least I've finally just put the iPod on shuffle and now I'm getting some good ol' Tegan & Sara. Ahhhh...... back to work - focus... forward... steady hold....
In the meantime, I've gotten down to the work at hand (ok, so I'm writing a blog entry at the moment) and I look so silly sitting in my chair dancing to the same song on repeat..... for hours.... Smile...it confuses people is a great CD and I really like the first single off of it: I Wish I Were a Punk Rocker (with Flowers in My Hair). At least I've finally just put the iPod on shuffle and now I'm getting some good ol' Tegan & Sara. Ahhhh...... back to work - focus... forward... steady hold....
19 July 2006
Look Ma! I made a decision!!
So, I talked to my sleep deprived mother this morning (hi mom!) and talking to her always helps me make decisions even when she says nothing (so should I say talking at her?). I am not making any plans for this weekend. I'm tired of making plans. If I feel like going to Galway on Fri then I'll go. If I don't, then I won't. Either way, I'll be happy with that decision since it's not being forced outta me now. And either way I'll have an excellently spiffy weekend. Decision! Accomplishment in the morning!
17 July 2006
exhausted decisions
I think I've finally hit a combination of culture shock, lonely homesickness and exhaustion.
Walking home today I kept people watching per norm. I did my normal ridiculous amount of jaywalking while humming to myself (literally). And all of a sudden, I walked by a stream of people who just made me say "Toto, we're not in the States anymore." I've hit culture shock twice before in my life: once about the 2.5 month mark of Semester at Sea - somewhere on the ocean between Kenya and South Africa which culminated with Thanksgiving on the way out of port; the other happened about 2 weeks after I got back to the States from Semester at Sea. I guess 2.5 months is about the time it takes for me to realize that I'm living somewhere entirely different but oh-so-similar to my "old life." I find myself being more restrained, yet feeling like I'm an oddity at the zoo. I feel flamboyant here comparatively which is very odd. So there's the culture shock of it: it's just time for it and it's not good or bad, it's just a piece of travel that you've gotta get through when you're in a new place for long enough. Guess this means I'll get to look forward to American culture shock again too, eh?
Lonely homesickness: well, that one's pretty self evident. But again, par for the course and I can deal with it. I have met some good people in and out of work - so that's good.
And then there's the exhaustion - I've been going like mad for the past 2.5 months between traveling and work, it's insane. I have 3 more weekends here and in my head today I put together what to do over that time and came up with the fact that if I'm going to make it to Western Ireland, I have to go this weekend. And I think of that and sigh with frustration because I'm tired of going. I know I'll be back to Ireland someday - but when? Do I take my chances and skip it on this trip? Or do I push myself through the exhaustion and go. I have plenty of options for day trips this coming weekend if I don't head to Galway. So we shall see. Right now, I'm not making any plans; I'll give myself another few days and follow my gut. It's not like I haven't done anything while I've been here!
And there's always more culture shock for me to find even if I stay close to Dublin. I can go plenty of places to stare at people in confusion and feel like a flamboyant outsider. Heck, even in the office I feel like the alien. Then again, there's a lot of back story there not to be published in any forum, however, the entirely male dominated atmosphere makes it "interesting." I can't quite describe how it differs from the male dominated atmosphere of the Seattle office, but it definitely does. I guess it's got that "all boys' club" feel to it - and being one of only three women in the entire office (and the only one on my end of the office) makes that very obvious - especially when the guys get to cracking jokes. Now, I'm not saying that I'm uncomfortable or weirded out - frankly, I think they're absolutely hysterical and I end up laughing so hard I can't see my computer screen at my lil' corner of the boys' club world. But being the gushy girl who ooo's over Cute Overload or adores hugs more than anything in the world, well, let's just say that I don't have enough of the one-upping attitude to not feel like the freak in the circus.
So I can end this on a more upbeat note (I promise Tracy - I'm smiling more than frowning - don't be saddened), I shall leave you with a link to a picture on the aforementioned Cute Overload that had me melting with cuteness into a lil' gooey gushy Vette: Blobule!
Walking home today I kept people watching per norm. I did my normal ridiculous amount of jaywalking while humming to myself (literally). And all of a sudden, I walked by a stream of people who just made me say "Toto, we're not in the States anymore." I've hit culture shock twice before in my life: once about the 2.5 month mark of Semester at Sea - somewhere on the ocean between Kenya and South Africa which culminated with Thanksgiving on the way out of port; the other happened about 2 weeks after I got back to the States from Semester at Sea. I guess 2.5 months is about the time it takes for me to realize that I'm living somewhere entirely different but oh-so-similar to my "old life." I find myself being more restrained, yet feeling like I'm an oddity at the zoo. I feel flamboyant here comparatively which is very odd. So there's the culture shock of it: it's just time for it and it's not good or bad, it's just a piece of travel that you've gotta get through when you're in a new place for long enough. Guess this means I'll get to look forward to American culture shock again too, eh?
Lonely homesickness: well, that one's pretty self evident. But again, par for the course and I can deal with it. I have met some good people in and out of work - so that's good.
And then there's the exhaustion - I've been going like mad for the past 2.5 months between traveling and work, it's insane. I have 3 more weekends here and in my head today I put together what to do over that time and came up with the fact that if I'm going to make it to Western Ireland, I have to go this weekend. And I think of that and sigh with frustration because I'm tired of going. I know I'll be back to Ireland someday - but when? Do I take my chances and skip it on this trip? Or do I push myself through the exhaustion and go. I have plenty of options for day trips this coming weekend if I don't head to Galway. So we shall see. Right now, I'm not making any plans; I'll give myself another few days and follow my gut. It's not like I haven't done anything while I've been here!
And there's always more culture shock for me to find even if I stay close to Dublin. I can go plenty of places to stare at people in confusion and feel like a flamboyant outsider. Heck, even in the office I feel like the alien. Then again, there's a lot of back story there not to be published in any forum, however, the entirely male dominated atmosphere makes it "interesting." I can't quite describe how it differs from the male dominated atmosphere of the Seattle office, but it definitely does. I guess it's got that "all boys' club" feel to it - and being one of only three women in the entire office (and the only one on my end of the office) makes that very obvious - especially when the guys get to cracking jokes. Now, I'm not saying that I'm uncomfortable or weirded out - frankly, I think they're absolutely hysterical and I end up laughing so hard I can't see my computer screen at my lil' corner of the boys' club world. But being the gushy girl who ooo's over Cute Overload or adores hugs more than anything in the world, well, let's just say that I don't have enough of the one-upping attitude to not feel like the freak in the circus.
So I can end this on a more upbeat note (I promise Tracy - I'm smiling more than frowning - don't be saddened), I shall leave you with a link to a picture on the aforementioned Cute Overload that had me melting with cuteness into a lil' gooey gushy Vette: Blobule!
16 July 2006
non sequitors supreme
Ok - so painkillers with caffeine apparently have made my brain a bit hyper and jumpy today - it's highly entertaining. (Yes, I managed to somehow get my back hurt in my Fri night stair-slide - BAD YVETTE - bad Hoegaarden).
My non sequitors of the day that just keep rattling through my head begging to get out:
My non sequitors of the day that just keep rattling through my head begging to get out:
- Never ever stay up till 5am talking to friends from the States and then expect to get up at a reasonable hour the following day.
- I guess this means that getting out of the city will have to happen another weekend. C'est la vie. However, I only have 3 more "unplanned" weekends in Ireland and two of those I have to stay in Dublin (oncall for one of 'em and packing the other one). So how am I going to do the things still on my list? I guess I need to get myself to Galway that one other weekend - time to plan - except I can't remember what weekend I'm oncall - excellent.
- I really really really want a cheese burger.
- I want to go to Montana if I can right after I get back to the States - I just wanna relax there and see family. Yes, I'm insane to want to travel more right when I get back home.
- I can't decide if I want to blog when I return to the states. The original intent of this blog was to avoid sending mass e-mails when people wanted updates - to let everyone choose what to read. However, it's been rather fun to blog here. So something to ponder ponder ponder.
- I tried and failed to see Pirates of the Caribbean 2 when I went out wandering today. Maybe some night this week since I'll need to unwind from oncall hell. Hopefully it'll be another quiet week like the last. But 2 weeks of back to back secondary is not my idea of heaven. Oh well, my primaries are smart and capable so hopefully I won't be needed for more than drudgery and question answering. *fingers crossed*
- I'm going to go enjoy my dinner on my balcony now - it is absolutely brilliant out.
15 July 2006
one makes mistakes
We always make our own mistakes in life - for one reason or another - and there are things be learned from them. There are days I wish I could teach others via my lessons so that they don't end up with my mistakes. But that wouldn't work out.
Why am I thinking about this now of all times? Well, because I'm supposed to be spending my last day doing "touristy stuff" in Dublin today and figuring how to get out of the city tomorrow for the day... However, I'm sitting gingerly on my couch shaking my head and laughing at myself. My derriere is sore, my embarrassment from a good night of drinking is enormously high, and I'm still smiling. Y'see, I'd love to teach all my younger relatives that I'm so protective of that making a fool of yourself when drunk is what tends to happen.
And I shall elaborate on two tales of why I should be and am embarrassed:
Ok - time to psyche myself up and get out into the sun to wander and do something with myself. It's another quiet and alone weekend for me so I might as well go people watch. Anyone wanna teleport in to keep me company in my ramblings? I promise, I don't need any alcohol to prove highly entertaining (which is a good thing, because there's none in my near future - I'm protective of my lack of dignity).
Author's Note:
In walking around the wonderful city of Dublin today doing some window shopping, and reading in the park and exploring other corners, I realized that my embarrassment from last night shall remain with me longer than just it's normal "morning after". Unfortunately, I shall not forget my skid down the steps at the bar last night - either in my mind or in my body. No amount of padding makes sitting on the hard ground comfortable. Aye yai yai. This author is damaged goods.
Why am I thinking about this now of all times? Well, because I'm supposed to be spending my last day doing "touristy stuff" in Dublin today and figuring how to get out of the city tomorrow for the day... However, I'm sitting gingerly on my couch shaking my head and laughing at myself. My derriere is sore, my embarrassment from a good night of drinking is enormously high, and I'm still smiling. Y'see, I'd love to teach all my younger relatives that I'm so protective of that making a fool of yourself when drunk is what tends to happen.
And I shall elaborate on two tales of why I should be and am embarrassed:
- Yvette walks into a glass door. Like the birds I used to giggle at flying into the front of my parents huge house of windows, I was the bird who stepped back and shook my head and started laughing and then turned that laughter into tears of laughter when I couldn't get enough oxygen and admitted my gracelessness to my other erstwhile companion of the evening. Unfortunately, there was a witness who knew me so I'll never live it down - so I might as well enjoy laughing at it. I can't believe my silly witness bought me another beer after witnessing that.
- The reason I have a sore bum is that I forgot my purse inside the last pub of the evening and had to go back down the stone steps to get it. Unfortunately, when one's wearing slippery flipflops and has no sense of balance, one falls down said stairs on her rear. As they say in one of my favorite musicals RENT, "I regret this news." Ouch. I think my other erstwhile companion witnessed that one but was far far far too kind to laugh at me then about it (then - we'll see if this gentlemanliness is maintained). I definitely think it's a good thing I'd decided to put myself to bed before this incident because it means maybe I was kinda able to think at the time. And to bed I went - after walking home that is - I didn't join any bums on the street.
Ok - time to psyche myself up and get out into the sun to wander and do something with myself. It's another quiet and alone weekend for me so I might as well go people watch. Anyone wanna teleport in to keep me company in my ramblings? I promise, I don't need any alcohol to prove highly entertaining (which is a good thing, because there's none in my near future - I'm protective of my lack of dignity).
Author's Note:
In walking around the wonderful city of Dublin today doing some window shopping, and reading in the park and exploring other corners, I realized that my embarrassment from last night shall remain with me longer than just it's normal "morning after". Unfortunately, I shall not forget my skid down the steps at the bar last night - either in my mind or in my body. No amount of padding makes sitting on the hard ground comfortable. Aye yai yai. This author is damaged goods.
my toaster; my friend
I have not encountered any problems with my toaster in Ireland - it has been the one appliance that's tried and true and that even this American can figure out. I'm happy it relenquishes my bagels/bread when I poke it's little red button. So toaster, for my last month in Ireland, keep working WITH me, not against me. Thank you lil' toaster.
13 July 2006
what to do... what to do.... wax philisophical and thoughtful perhaps?
I'm all pondery (yes, that is a word - I don't care if it's in the dictionary or not) now that I'm leaving Dublin. I don't feel like a failure at my job here (I'll tell you in a week or so if I feel like I've been a successful disseminator of knowledge and "stuff") - so that's good - mission one mostly accomplished. However, there were 2 other reasons that I moved to Dublin that were more important to me than the job (I mean, the job only pays the bills, right?):
In some ways I did. I've been to London twice, to Northern and Southern Ireland, I'm going to France, I've explored the city of Dublin pretty thoroughly - and all this in 3.5 months - so that's doing pretty well there. If I had my full 6 months + here, I would've done more (Scotland, Germany and Barcelona being the three objectives).
And I did get to try living in a different culture - it's been an absolute blast. What I've seen, I've liked - but again - not long enough. Not long enough for things like being called "love" by shop attendants to not make me giggle - not long enough to register the abnormal for an American as normal for my little sphere in the world. I haven't made friends outside of work and I just recently started making friends inside work - there's just not enough time for that in 3.5 months with everything else.
So, time is my enemy in this case. I'm choosing to go to my "home" since that's what Seattle is to me now. Ireland doesn't get to be it - so when I say "home" I mean Seattle - the city I know, love and enjoy. For 3.5 months, I did a lot. I've laughed, traveled, worked my butt off, learned a ton and then some, picked up some new phrases (to everyone's amusement),
I have a little over one month left. In that time, my only plan thus far is to spend 9 days in France in August traveling all over that country (it's something I've always wanted to do and I don't know why - so I'm going to do it dagnabbit!) However, these past few days I've questioned what it would take to make me really happy that I came here - what's left for me to do? I have things I might do, but I want to make a list of things I really really don't want to miss out on:
Seattle, I'll see you sometime Monday Aug 21 - the same day I say "until we meet again" to Irish soil. Ireland, I'll be back - have no fear.
Aren't you entertained by my first "thoughtful" entry in this blog? How abnormal compared to travel-logs, ineptness with appliances and funny stories. I shall have more of those another day.
- getting to travel as much as I feel like to places I'd really like to go but don't normally have the opportunity to go for a "long weekend"
- getting to try living a different life - not just the kind of swap I've had when I moved from NY -> NH -> MD -> WA, but a swap in a big sense where historical differences make it a different culture and the diversity is entirely different
In some ways I did. I've been to London twice, to Northern and Southern Ireland, I'm going to France, I've explored the city of Dublin pretty thoroughly - and all this in 3.5 months - so that's doing pretty well there. If I had my full 6 months + here, I would've done more (Scotland, Germany and Barcelona being the three objectives).
And I did get to try living in a different culture - it's been an absolute blast. What I've seen, I've liked - but again - not long enough. Not long enough for things like being called "love" by shop attendants to not make me giggle - not long enough to register the abnormal for an American as normal for my little sphere in the world. I haven't made friends outside of work and I just recently started making friends inside work - there's just not enough time for that in 3.5 months with everything else.
So, time is my enemy in this case. I'm choosing to go to my "home" since that's what Seattle is to me now. Ireland doesn't get to be it - so when I say "home" I mean Seattle - the city I know, love and enjoy. For 3.5 months, I did a lot. I've laughed, traveled, worked my butt off, learned a ton and then some, picked up some new phrases (to everyone's amusement),
I have a little over one month left. In that time, my only plan thus far is to spend 9 days in France in August traveling all over that country (it's something I've always wanted to do and I don't know why - so I'm going to do it dagnabbit!) However, these past few days I've questioned what it would take to make me really happy that I came here - what's left for me to do? I have things I might do, but I want to make a list of things I really really don't want to miss out on:
- enjoy the people around me
- get myself over to Western Ireland to Galway and the surrounding area (so I can say I've been all over this island)
Seattle, I'll see you sometime Monday Aug 21 - the same day I say "until we meet again" to Irish soil. Ireland, I'll be back - have no fear.
Aren't you entertained by my first "thoughtful" entry in this blog? How abnormal compared to travel-logs, ineptness with appliances and funny stories. I shall have more of those another day.
11 July 2006
back to seattle?
So, although I'm officially an Irish Immigrant who can work her washer on the first try and oven too - well, I'm flying back to Seattle in mid August (19 or 20). It's time I guess. It's a bittersweet return to the states that I'm very torn over. I didn't give Ireland the chance I wanted to as a place - and I was just starting to get used to living here and having fun in the process. So I'm very disappointed at that. On the other hand, I'm returning to amazing friends. The technical details are still WIP - but I'm not changing employers. Tis just time for me to go back to Seattle (sad and happy).
How do I feel? If you couldn't tell by now - I'm shocked, happy, sad, disappointed, looking forward to my friends and altogether just trying to make the best of it.
To my Seattle friends reading this, see you in a little over a month!
Update: My flight to the states gets me in on 8/21 in the evening.
How do I feel? If you couldn't tell by now - I'm shocked, happy, sad, disappointed, looking forward to my friends and altogether just trying to make the best of it.
To my Seattle friends reading this, see you in a little over a month!
Update: My flight to the states gets me in on 8/21 in the evening.
10 July 2006
World Cup Semis: France v. Portugal - with the French!
I'm lying on my couch like the lazy bum I am this weekend watching the Men's Finals of Wimbledon: Nadal v. Federer. I don't know who to cheer for!! Eeep - I love both of these players - so I'm just cheering for a good game.
I feel like I've been a massive sports fan lately - y'see, I'm in Europe and both the World Cup and Wimbledon are going on. I watch more tennis than I do football/soccer - but it's impossible to avoid World Cup hype in Ireland eventhough the Irish football team didn't even come close to qualifying for the qualifiers. To be PC and on of "the cool kids" at work, you have to know who's playing when, which coworker's rooting for what team, and have at team to cheer for. Google's been my friend in helping me track matches on my Google Homepage; I knew who my coworkers were rooting for; and I chose to cheer for England for no reason other than why not? (although now I'm cheering for France in the finals - but we'll get to that in a sec).
So - when in Europe do like the Europeans - and watch the World Cup Final! (I'd better so I know if mom's going to get stampeded in Italy when the Italians play France tonight... poor Mom - she might be traumatized if she still doesn't have luggage and deals with her first trip to Europe with the Italians winning/losing to the French [I'm not sure which would be more traumatic to my poor mother]).
So, like the other night - I'm off to cheer for France. Now, I'm only cheering for France because (a) my name's French, (b) my boss is French and so into football and the World Cup, (c) I know a cheer in French 'allez les blues' (or however you spell that - "go blue!") and (d) I might be killed if I go to Sinnott's to cheer and cheer for Italy - and I really don't feel like having a hot Frenchman murder me - not the way to go.
For the semis the other night when France played Portugal, I went to see the game with my grinning boss, another one of our coworkers and bossman's friends. It was an absolute riot. We shoved our way into Sinnott's Pub: the place to watch France play if you're a French fan in Dublin. 45 mins before the game, the doors were shut and no one else was let in (thankfully) because it was packed that full; 45 mins before the game I was sweating like I was in mile 10 of a marathon and listening to the French sing their "fight song" and learning how to properly cheer for the French (and I must admit, I can say 'allez le blue' and hum the fight song after that match). We were sardines and we smelled horrible. But we swayed, cheered, sang and drank Guinness as one (ok - so I drank Kilkenny - the brewery had been going strong at work that day so I was too naucous thinking of Guinness). The French fans were absolutely fabulous and I had a great time screaming at the big screen tv's with them, going through some good ol' Irish pints and laughing as bossman shook his head at the tv in the second half muttering that the French were "crap". Such an envigorating evening.
So, I figure to get in tonight for an 7pm kickoff, I should get there around 4. However, I really want to see the end of the Nadal v. Federer tennis match - so I'm going to take my chances, get ready on commercials and scurry up to Sinnot's right after the final point of this championship to cheer for the French. Now, what clothes are comfy for jumping around, getting beer spilled on me, getting friendly with my neighbors and probably dying of heatstroke while watching football? Hrmmm - the problems of being a female football fan in Dublin!
I feel like I've been a massive sports fan lately - y'see, I'm in Europe and both the World Cup and Wimbledon are going on. I watch more tennis than I do football/soccer - but it's impossible to avoid World Cup hype in Ireland eventhough the Irish football team didn't even come close to qualifying for the qualifiers. To be PC and on of "the cool kids" at work, you have to know who's playing when, which coworker's rooting for what team, and have at team to cheer for. Google's been my friend in helping me track matches on my Google Homepage; I knew who my coworkers were rooting for; and I chose to cheer for England for no reason other than why not? (although now I'm cheering for France in the finals - but we'll get to that in a sec).
So - when in Europe do like the Europeans - and watch the World Cup Final! (I'd better so I know if mom's going to get stampeded in Italy when the Italians play France tonight... poor Mom - she might be traumatized if she still doesn't have luggage and deals with her first trip to Europe with the Italians winning/losing to the French [I'm not sure which would be more traumatic to my poor mother]).
So, like the other night - I'm off to cheer for France. Now, I'm only cheering for France because (a) my name's French, (b) my boss is French and so into football and the World Cup, (c) I know a cheer in French 'allez les blues' (or however you spell that - "go blue!") and (d) I might be killed if I go to Sinnott's to cheer and cheer for Italy - and I really don't feel like having a hot Frenchman murder me - not the way to go.
For the semis the other night when France played Portugal, I went to see the game with my grinning boss, another one of our coworkers and bossman's friends. It was an absolute riot. We shoved our way into Sinnott's Pub: the place to watch France play if you're a French fan in Dublin. 45 mins before the game, the doors were shut and no one else was let in (thankfully) because it was packed that full; 45 mins before the game I was sweating like I was in mile 10 of a marathon and listening to the French sing their "fight song" and learning how to properly cheer for the French (and I must admit, I can say 'allez le blue' and hum the fight song after that match). We were sardines and we smelled horrible. But we swayed, cheered, sang and drank Guinness as one (ok - so I drank Kilkenny - the brewery had been going strong at work that day so I was too naucous thinking of Guinness). The French fans were absolutely fabulous and I had a great time screaming at the big screen tv's with them, going through some good ol' Irish pints and laughing as bossman shook his head at the tv in the second half muttering that the French were "crap". Such an envigorating evening.
So, I figure to get in tonight for an 7pm kickoff, I should get there around 4. However, I really want to see the end of the Nadal v. Federer tennis match - so I'm going to take my chances, get ready on commercials and scurry up to Sinnot's right after the final point of this championship to cheer for the French. Now, what clothes are comfy for jumping around, getting beer spilled on me, getting friendly with my neighbors and probably dying of heatstroke while watching football? Hrmmm - the problems of being a female football fan in Dublin!
09 July 2006
Q is for Queue; T is for Tennis; W is for Wimbledon
Q is for Queue - a line.
I spent a significant chunk of my 48 hours "doing Wimbledon" in queues of various fashions. Let us see what they were: queue for plane boarding pass; queue for security; queue for boarding; queue for Wimbledon (this one gets 10x the queue points since I slept in this queue); moving queue for Wimbledon (it gets a second mention since I walked 2 miles in this queue); strawberries and champagne queue; ice cream queue x 2; water queue x infinity; bus queue; hotel check in queue; boarding pass queue; security queue; boarding queue; immigration queue; bus queue.
Q is for Queue - a very very ginormously long line. And my new favorite word because it's bloody brilliant!
Friday June 30 I had a flight booked to fly from Dublin to Stansted (the furthest airport from London's center that's still a London airport) and get in at 9pm-ish. This would mean given the getting to the center of the city and then out the other side would take me 2 hours. So I should be in line by 11pm with my sleeping bag, Pringles, Crazy Creek Chair and water bottle. Did you notice the convenient use of the word "should" in that last sentence? I did.
Instead, my flight was delayed 45 mins on the ground in Dublin before we could board. We then sat for over an hour on the plane waiting for London airspace to clear enough for us to take off since they knew otherwise we'd just circle over London. I was a bit apprehensive since I knew that the Tube stops running at 12:30am and that was my planned route to the grounds. I managed to get into the terminal at Stansted London at around 11:30 and had to catch a 45-50 min train down to the center of London next. Excellent. Done. It's now 12:20am Sat morning and I'm in Liverpool Station in the center of London asking if there are any more trains running in the Tube that night. A lovely woman told me there would be one more Westbound train running although it wasn't going where I wanted - but it did get me a whole lot closer. I went to the platform.
On the platform with a lot of random people (and a lot of drunks) I stood apprehensively checking my map trying to figure out where I would exactly end up in the city if I got out at the various stops on this line. I also was trying to figure out if I was going to chicken out and get out and find a hotel for the night rather than the line - knowing I still had an hour to go. And the train didn't come... and it didn't come... and it didn't come.... Finally, the couple standing next to me went to the "Help?" phone and dialed the terminal attendants who told us that they "couldn't find the train, but were trying to locate it". Ummmmm - how does this happen exactly? How do you lose a train? Especially a train in underground tunnels that has an electronic tracker? Was Liverpool Station one of the points on the London Triangle where tube trains disappear? 10 minutes later they announced that the last train was cancelled and they were closing the station and we should please leave. WHAT? Oh, and the reason that they were canceling the last train was that it had hit a person at the previous station so was out of service for the night. Ok, someone was definitely having a worse night than I was.
Plodding towards the stairs with the herd, I grabbed my map to figure out where I was and try to figure out what I was going to do - I honestly had no idea. The couple next to me was muttering about something and I asked them a question about the best way to get to point X (I don't remember where it was - but it was a place I'd located that looked like it would get me on my way to a hotel - I was giving up.) However, a young man next to me told me about the "night buses" and they were the best way to get around London at night. He asked where I was going and when he found out Wimbledon, he offered to escort me most of the way there since he was heading home and was taking the bus himself. We started talking about tennis and music (he was heading home after playing with his band that night) and had a grand ol' time walking to the bus stop. My lovely tour guide in the middle of the night in the middle of London was a 19 year old musician who lived with his parents named Amir. Very nice guy. We got to our first change and he showed me where he was going on the map and where I was going on the map (same line, different stops - mine was further than his). He also showed me how to read the various schedules. The bus came....... and the driver wouldn't let me on because I didn't notice that this was a place where you had to pay in advance. My little tour guide Amir continued home and I was stuck somewhere in the middle of London at a crowded bus-stop alone at 1:30am.
Can't go home, nothing to do but continue. Thank you Amir for teaching me how to read the bus lines. I grabbed the next bus going to the area of Wimbledon and stared intently out the window trying to read the bus stop signs with frustration (it was dark, I was tired and they were all in random places). A drunk got on who was also going to the stop I was (I'm a good eavesdropper) so I started watching him and the signs. I got off at the stop and there I was in the midst of a dark town with no one around wondering where to go. I couldn't figure out where to go - but after looking at every possible sign and talking to a woman sitting on the street corner (don't ask how that happened - I was too tired to notice) I found the long long queue of tents and sleeping tennis fans. I walked a mile (calling my mother on this walk to reassure her that it was all fine after all and that her daughter would be sleeping on the street that night - the reassurance every parent wants to hear in his/her lifetime). And finally, I came to the end of the queue, got my queue number and my "A Guide to Queuing at Wimbledon" booklet (a souvenir I will keep for as long as possible). It was 3am. After giggling at the length of the line (I was #804 in my line - only the first 750 are guaranteed the option of getting tickets to a showcourt) with the woman Tamara sleeping next to me in queuing sidewalk slab #805, I passed out for a whole 2 hours of sleep.
They woke the line around 5:30am to get everyone to pack up. Those of us "towards the end" (not at the end anymore - by the time I woke up at 5:30 the last person in the queue had a card numbering over 1000) were to be ready to move in 15 mins as the moved the line forward. Mind you, I didn't realize this at the time, but we had a 2 mile queue walk in front of us since they no longer form the queue at the gates.
We rambled up to the place where we would sit for an hour while the stewards got the ticket situation sorted out. From 5:30am-9:30am in the queue, I met some great friends who I'd see all the rest of the day at Wimbledon. We were the middle-of-the-night queuers: we weren't as insane as the Centre Court Queuers (those who were at the front of the line and would be guarenteed the option of Centre Court) and we weren't as ambivalent about our tennis watching as the Clean Queuers (those who arrived that morning and got in the queue after the 2 mile walk). We were a merry band: me, Tamara - the Italian from London, Jo & Yvonne - the Scotts, Nadia - the Aussie, and a merry band of Aussies and Brits whose names I can't recall. When we sat down at 7:30 for our "break in the moving queue" we got out our various stashes of snacks and breakfast foods for our version of a continental breakfast: Pringles (my contribution), jelly beans, cherries, strawberries, crackers, some chocolate-y M&M like things, and other junk foods. Breakfast at Wimbledon has an entirely different meaning for me.
Finally, I found out I would be able to purchase tickets for Court 1 if I'd like. Now, the lineup for the day's matches included what would turn out to be some amazing matches: Agassi v. Nadal, Mauresmo v. Perry & Roddick v. Murray. Mauresmo v. Perry was on Court 1 - so I took that. And I soon found out that buying queue tickets for Wimbledon gives you absolutely the best seats in the house - equalled only by those given to the family boxes. I was sitting right at the net line in the front row of the ground level on Court 1. It was absolutely unreal.
Around 10am we got into the grounds and our gang of sidewalk queue sleepers decided who was going where - I ended up being the only one going straight to "the hill" (aka Henman Hill or Murray Mound) because since I didn't have a Centre Court ticket, I wanted prime hill seating to watch what would eventually turn out to be Agassi's last Wimbledon match. I didn't make it to the hill till 11am due to the queue system. This was honestly the most amazingly organized queue system I have ever encountered. Maybe it's the name? Or maybe it's the queuing brochure?
I sat there watching people, the monitors and taking in the 30C weather. It was marvelous - absolutely brilliant. I struck up a conversation with a lovely mother/daughter pair behind me who were having a bottle of champagne and some strawberries before lunch and their venture onto Centre Court to see the Agassi match. Hearing that I was so envious of them for seeing Agassi, and the fact that I was a rare individual - an American Agassi fan (it wasn't a lack of Agassi fans, it was a lack of Americans) in the crowd - they offered me a glass of champagne. Mmmm... Then I went to get real food for lunch and came back only to befriend the massive table to my right on the top of the hill. We all had prime viewing spots - and suddenly after eatting my lunch they're making a champagne run and ask if I'd like to get in on this - sure! I'm at Wimbledon - the place where the Brits joke that the hoity toity people go to drink champagne and eat strawberries all day. So I grabbed us some cheese and crackers to add to our strawberries and champagne feast as the match of the day started: Agassi v. Nadal.
The fans at Wimbledon are a different breed of sports fans - respectful and ridiculously loud. They are devoted and happy and nice people. I had an amazing time cheering, watching the match, talking to my newfound friends, drinking, eating, lathering on sunscreen (it was disgustingly sunny) and just having a merry time.
I saw Nadal beat Agassi; I saw Mauresmo beat Perry; I saw Murray beat Roddick. I caught a glimpse of Venus Williams practicing before her match on one of the back courts and I saw a game of Martina Navitalova playing. I was in T for Tennis heaven.
At the end of the Roddick v. Murray match, I was exhausted. I'd slept only 2 hours in the past 40 hours - and I had to go find my hotel. So Tamara (who I'd spent a good chunk of the day with) helped me find the tube station and I made my way back up to Stansted Airport since I was staying at an airport hotel that night for my Sunday morning flight out. This time, the transport was much easier and I made it to the hotel without more than a few average queues.
I flew home Sunday after some more queues on an airline I hope to avoid in the future (they were delayed 2 hours getting me back to Dublin - not a great track record - and they had the rudest employees I've ever encountered on an airline).
So, my W for Weekend at Wimbledon was absolutely superb. Would I do it again? Of course! Like you have to ask? You and I both know I'm crazy - especially since next time I'd get to the queue earlier in the day to enjoy more of the queue evening picnic and party atmosphere and to have a chance at Centre Court tickets. But even if you're only going to be a Clean Queuer and aren't insane like me and aspiring to be a Centre Court Queuer, I recommend going to Wimbledon if you ever have the chance. Amazing tennis - amazing atmosphere - just a great time!
I spent a significant chunk of my 48 hours "doing Wimbledon" in queues of various fashions. Let us see what they were: queue for plane boarding pass; queue for security; queue for boarding; queue for Wimbledon (this one gets 10x the queue points since I slept in this queue); moving queue for Wimbledon (it gets a second mention since I walked 2 miles in this queue); strawberries and champagne queue; ice cream queue x 2; water queue x infinity; bus queue; hotel check in queue; boarding pass queue; security queue; boarding queue; immigration queue; bus queue.
Q is for Queue - a very very ginormously long line. And my new favorite word because it's bloody brilliant!
Friday June 30 I had a flight booked to fly from Dublin to Stansted (the furthest airport from London's center that's still a London airport) and get in at 9pm-ish. This would mean given the getting to the center of the city and then out the other side would take me 2 hours. So I should be in line by 11pm with my sleeping bag, Pringles, Crazy Creek Chair and water bottle. Did you notice the convenient use of the word "should" in that last sentence? I did.
Instead, my flight was delayed 45 mins on the ground in Dublin before we could board. We then sat for over an hour on the plane waiting for London airspace to clear enough for us to take off since they knew otherwise we'd just circle over London. I was a bit apprehensive since I knew that the Tube stops running at 12:30am and that was my planned route to the grounds. I managed to get into the terminal at Stansted London at around 11:30 and had to catch a 45-50 min train down to the center of London next. Excellent. Done. It's now 12:20am Sat morning and I'm in Liverpool Station in the center of London asking if there are any more trains running in the Tube that night. A lovely woman told me there would be one more Westbound train running although it wasn't going where I wanted - but it did get me a whole lot closer. I went to the platform.
On the platform with a lot of random people (and a lot of drunks) I stood apprehensively checking my map trying to figure out where I would exactly end up in the city if I got out at the various stops on this line. I also was trying to figure out if I was going to chicken out and get out and find a hotel for the night rather than the line - knowing I still had an hour to go. And the train didn't come... and it didn't come... and it didn't come.... Finally, the couple standing next to me went to the "Help?" phone and dialed the terminal attendants who told us that they "couldn't find the train, but were trying to locate it". Ummmmm - how does this happen exactly? How do you lose a train? Especially a train in underground tunnels that has an electronic tracker? Was Liverpool Station one of the points on the London Triangle where tube trains disappear? 10 minutes later they announced that the last train was cancelled and they were closing the station and we should please leave. WHAT? Oh, and the reason that they were canceling the last train was that it had hit a person at the previous station so was out of service for the night. Ok, someone was definitely having a worse night than I was.
Plodding towards the stairs with the herd, I grabbed my map to figure out where I was and try to figure out what I was going to do - I honestly had no idea. The couple next to me was muttering about something and I asked them a question about the best way to get to point X (I don't remember where it was - but it was a place I'd located that looked like it would get me on my way to a hotel - I was giving up.) However, a young man next to me told me about the "night buses" and they were the best way to get around London at night. He asked where I was going and when he found out Wimbledon, he offered to escort me most of the way there since he was heading home and was taking the bus himself. We started talking about tennis and music (he was heading home after playing with his band that night) and had a grand ol' time walking to the bus stop. My lovely tour guide in the middle of the night in the middle of London was a 19 year old musician who lived with his parents named Amir. Very nice guy. We got to our first change and he showed me where he was going on the map and where I was going on the map (same line, different stops - mine was further than his). He also showed me how to read the various schedules. The bus came....... and the driver wouldn't let me on because I didn't notice that this was a place where you had to pay in advance. My little tour guide Amir continued home and I was stuck somewhere in the middle of London at a crowded bus-stop alone at 1:30am.
Can't go home, nothing to do but continue. Thank you Amir for teaching me how to read the bus lines. I grabbed the next bus going to the area of Wimbledon and stared intently out the window trying to read the bus stop signs with frustration (it was dark, I was tired and they were all in random places). A drunk got on who was also going to the stop I was (I'm a good eavesdropper) so I started watching him and the signs. I got off at the stop and there I was in the midst of a dark town with no one around wondering where to go. I couldn't figure out where to go - but after looking at every possible sign and talking to a woman sitting on the street corner (don't ask how that happened - I was too tired to notice) I found the long long queue of tents and sleeping tennis fans. I walked a mile (calling my mother on this walk to reassure her that it was all fine after all and that her daughter would be sleeping on the street that night - the reassurance every parent wants to hear in his/her lifetime). And finally, I came to the end of the queue, got my queue number and my "A Guide to Queuing at Wimbledon" booklet (a souvenir I will keep for as long as possible). It was 3am. After giggling at the length of the line (I was #804 in my line - only the first 750 are guaranteed the option of getting tickets to a showcourt) with the woman Tamara sleeping next to me in queuing sidewalk slab #805, I passed out for a whole 2 hours of sleep.
They woke the line around 5:30am to get everyone to pack up. Those of us "towards the end" (not at the end anymore - by the time I woke up at 5:30 the last person in the queue had a card numbering over 1000) were to be ready to move in 15 mins as the moved the line forward. Mind you, I didn't realize this at the time, but we had a 2 mile queue walk in front of us since they no longer form the queue at the gates.
We rambled up to the place where we would sit for an hour while the stewards got the ticket situation sorted out. From 5:30am-9:30am in the queue, I met some great friends who I'd see all the rest of the day at Wimbledon. We were the middle-of-the-night queuers: we weren't as insane as the Centre Court Queuers (those who were at the front of the line and would be guarenteed the option of Centre Court) and we weren't as ambivalent about our tennis watching as the Clean Queuers (those who arrived that morning and got in the queue after the 2 mile walk). We were a merry band: me, Tamara - the Italian from London, Jo & Yvonne - the Scotts, Nadia - the Aussie, and a merry band of Aussies and Brits whose names I can't recall. When we sat down at 7:30 for our "break in the moving queue" we got out our various stashes of snacks and breakfast foods for our version of a continental breakfast: Pringles (my contribution), jelly beans, cherries, strawberries, crackers, some chocolate-y M&M like things, and other junk foods. Breakfast at Wimbledon has an entirely different meaning for me.
Finally, I found out I would be able to purchase tickets for Court 1 if I'd like. Now, the lineup for the day's matches included what would turn out to be some amazing matches: Agassi v. Nadal, Mauresmo v. Perry & Roddick v. Murray. Mauresmo v. Perry was on Court 1 - so I took that. And I soon found out that buying queue tickets for Wimbledon gives you absolutely the best seats in the house - equalled only by those given to the family boxes. I was sitting right at the net line in the front row of the ground level on Court 1. It was absolutely unreal.
Around 10am we got into the grounds and our gang of sidewalk queue sleepers decided who was going where - I ended up being the only one going straight to "the hill" (aka Henman Hill or Murray Mound) because since I didn't have a Centre Court ticket, I wanted prime hill seating to watch what would eventually turn out to be Agassi's last Wimbledon match. I didn't make it to the hill till 11am due to the queue system. This was honestly the most amazingly organized queue system I have ever encountered. Maybe it's the name? Or maybe it's the queuing brochure?
I sat there watching people, the monitors and taking in the 30C weather. It was marvelous - absolutely brilliant. I struck up a conversation with a lovely mother/daughter pair behind me who were having a bottle of champagne and some strawberries before lunch and their venture onto Centre Court to see the Agassi match. Hearing that I was so envious of them for seeing Agassi, and the fact that I was a rare individual - an American Agassi fan (it wasn't a lack of Agassi fans, it was a lack of Americans) in the crowd - they offered me a glass of champagne. Mmmm... Then I went to get real food for lunch and came back only to befriend the massive table to my right on the top of the hill. We all had prime viewing spots - and suddenly after eatting my lunch they're making a champagne run and ask if I'd like to get in on this - sure! I'm at Wimbledon - the place where the Brits joke that the hoity toity people go to drink champagne and eat strawberries all day. So I grabbed us some cheese and crackers to add to our strawberries and champagne feast as the match of the day started: Agassi v. Nadal.
The fans at Wimbledon are a different breed of sports fans - respectful and ridiculously loud. They are devoted and happy and nice people. I had an amazing time cheering, watching the match, talking to my newfound friends, drinking, eating, lathering on sunscreen (it was disgustingly sunny) and just having a merry time.
I saw Nadal beat Agassi; I saw Mauresmo beat Perry; I saw Murray beat Roddick. I caught a glimpse of Venus Williams practicing before her match on one of the back courts and I saw a game of Martina Navitalova playing. I was in T for Tennis heaven.
At the end of the Roddick v. Murray match, I was exhausted. I'd slept only 2 hours in the past 40 hours - and I had to go find my hotel. So Tamara (who I'd spent a good chunk of the day with) helped me find the tube station and I made my way back up to Stansted Airport since I was staying at an airport hotel that night for my Sunday morning flight out. This time, the transport was much easier and I made it to the hotel without more than a few average queues.
I flew home Sunday after some more queues on an airline I hope to avoid in the future (they were delayed 2 hours getting me back to Dublin - not a great track record - and they had the rudest employees I've ever encountered on an airline).
So, my W for Weekend at Wimbledon was absolutely superb. Would I do it again? Of course! Like you have to ask? You and I both know I'm crazy - especially since next time I'd get to the queue earlier in the day to enjoy more of the queue evening picnic and party atmosphere and to have a chance at Centre Court tickets. But even if you're only going to be a Clean Queuer and aren't insane like me and aspiring to be a Centre Court Queuer, I recommend going to Wimbledon if you ever have the chance. Amazing tennis - amazing atmosphere - just a great time!
02 July 2006
My new words Alphabet
A - arse
B - bloke, brilliant, bop, bookmaker, bugger
C - craic, chips, crisps, chipper, cheers, carpark
D - dodgy, daft
E - Eire
F - feck, football, fiddle
G - gents, guinness, gab, grand
H - holiday
I -
J -
K -
L - ladies, lad, loo
M - mobile, motorway
N - nappies, nick, nip
O -
P - pint, pub, post
Q - queue, quay
R - roundabout, ruggers, rubbish
S - snog, salud
T - toilet
U - underground
V -
W - WC
X -
Y -
Z -
B - bloke, brilliant, bop, bookmaker, bugger
C - craic, chips, crisps, chipper, cheers, carpark
D - dodgy, daft
E - Eire
F - feck, football, fiddle
G - gents, guinness, gab, grand
H - holiday
I -
J -
K -
L - ladies, lad, loo
M - mobile, motorway
N - nappies, nick, nip
O -
P - pint, pub, post
Q - queue, quay
R - roundabout, ruggers, rubbish
S - snog, salud
T - toilet
U - underground
V -
W - WC
X -
Y -
Z -
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