Slim's Speakeasy

Beer!

2008-11-23T15:10:00.005Z

Many of you may be aware that I'm a bit of a beer snob. OK. A lot of a beer snob. Frequent conversation:

Me: "Corona is undrinkable muck. In fact, any beer served with a lime is immediately suspicious."

Almost everyone else: "You're crazy. I love Corona."

Me: "Carry on wasting your life so..."

The reason I mention this is that our local off license sponsored a Slimmie-taste-friendly series of events to celebrate Oktoberfest. Each Thursday in October, we gathered upstairs at a local pub for a beer-tasting: for a fiver we tasted 20 different beers from around the world, with a European-heavy selection. Needless to say, Fridays were pretty much a waste of time in October. Following are some of my favourites from this crazy fun event.

Baltika 8 (5%, Wheat ale): This is an unfiltered Russian beer with a bit of a spicy clean finish. Very much like Paulaner.

La Chouffe (8%, Wheat ale): Is another unfiltered beer, re-fermented in the bottle (hence the high alcohol content). A Belgian blonde, it's a bit sweet and citrusy, with coriander notes and a light hop finish. Beautiful.

Baltika 6 (7%, Stout): From the same brewery as the Baltika above, this beer was a surprise favourite. A bit too sweet perhaps, it's a really rich and chocolaty porter that drinks like candy with a punch.

Bee Wyched (5%, Pale ale): A British pale with an absolutely gorgeous aroma, this honey ale really surprised me. I'm not usually one for the sweet beers, but this fairtrade, organic offering balances the honey with a long hoppy finish. It's brewed by Prince Charles' Wychwood brewery: a name that will come up repeatedly below.

Fiddler's Elbow (5.2%, Pale ale): Another offering from Wychwood, this beer is a great bitter, with subtle complex hops and a long quenching hoppy, clean finish.

Circlemaster (4.7%, Pale ale): Yet another Wychwood brew, this one drinks like a lager, with clear, sharp hops notes balanced by a citrus and malty flavour. A great crowd pleaser, especially served near ambient temperature.

Hardcore (9%, IPA): My tasting notes for this powerful and delicious Scottish IPA brewed by Brew Dog were simple: "WOW! Careful lads..."

Fuller's Discovery (4.5%, Lager): One of the thickest, chewiest lagers you'll ever enjoy, with great balance and malty, honey overtones.

Martson's Double Drop (5%, Bitter): A classic British bitter brewed using a very complex process called "double dropping", with tea notes besides its bitter hoppiness.

Goose Island Honkers (4.3%, American Pale ale): The first American on the list, this beer is an American take on the classic British bitter, with a smooth, malty delicious flavour. My notes say: "I could drink a lot of that."

Aspall's Premier Cru (7%, Cider): This British hard cider is a revelation ~ think apple champagne. Very clean and crisp, and delicious.

Hoegaarden Forbidden Fruit (8.5%, Wheat): From the world famous Belgian brewery, this fruity beer with a spicy clove aroma pulls off the impossible: a sweet taste and a dry finish. Absolutely gorgeous.

Liberty Ale (5.9%, American Pale Ale): A famous American brew, this bottle conditioned ale has a fabulous aroma, and an intricate balance of orange, tea, pepper and hops. A winner.

Suffolk Strong (6%, Strong ale): Aged for 2 years, this beer features a caramel finish and a fruitcake aroma.

Rosey Nosey (4.9%, Bitter): a simple, straightforward bitter with a fruity aroma and a hoppy bitter finish. It claims to be an excellent complement to turkey: worth trying with the holiday season approaching.

In other news, welcome to the latest Daley: Benjamin Liam Daley (how's that for a Jewish-Irish name?) was born at 11:01 am November 14th weighing 7 lbs, 10 oz, and measuring 20 inches. The delivery was quick, and Sandra and Benjamin are reportedly doing great. Big congrats and love to Sandra and Eric (and Leah)!

Slainte.

More pics

2008-11-19T10:07:00.003Z

Quality Lass did a much better job with documenting our trip to India, as seen here.

Interestingly enough, I felt great eating all that healthy Indian food, and have been feeling sluggish and loagy since returning. Back on the Irish stodge!

Slainte!

I'm back!

2008-11-15T15:47:00.003Z

From India that is. I went to all three of our outsourced partners (Mumbai, New Dehli, and Bangalore) with my programme coordinator (Quality Lass) for about 10 days. Actually got to do a bit of sightseeing to the Taj Mahal this time. And no horrific GI tract misery either. We had a really great time and ate some incredible food. If you ever find yourself staying here, I can heartily recommend the non-veg prixe fixe menu at their Indian restaurant (we sat at the table at the end of the red bowls). All the local guys with us thought it was one of the best meals they'd ever had in their homeland.

The weather was very agreeable too: Mumbai hot (38 degrees C); Delhi warm and smoggy (28C); Bangalore perfect (26C). The ride out to Agra (where the Taj is) is about 500 km roundtrip from Delhi ~ which we did in one day, leaving the hotel at 6am. Mind you, as we were visiting call centres supporting the UK (5.5 hours behind India time), we were not leaving the office until around 10 or 11pm, and getting back from dinner circa 1am. Our driver was ex-military (actually had bullet fragments in his leg from an injury sustained in Kashmir) and drove as though we were being shelled. Fast and erratic (in other words like every other Indian driver).

On the way I saw everything one associates with the sub-continent countryside: women in colourful saris with enormous clay jugs on their heads, people relieving themselves in fields, camels pulling carts, overloaded buses and trucks, lush vegetation, dry dusty villages, naked children and cows wandering anywhere they please. We also saw a few things you might not expect: shopping malls, military convoys, fast food and roadside liquor joints.

By the way, the Taj is everything you've ever heard about it: massive beyond all scale and breathtakingly beautiful. Also interesting was that a good 70% of the visitors appeared to be local. Maybe due in part to the visit incentive: it cost Indian citizens 20 rupees (about €0.30) and 750 rupees (about €12.50) for foreigners. Regardless, the visit was more than worth the 9 hours of driving roundtrip.

The gallery linked above will be expanded soon with the pics taken by Quality Lass.

Tonight PK and I are off to 007's house for Flip's birthday. A cocktail affair: I'm bringing Russian and Belgian beers as insurance...

Slainte.

When it rains it pours

2008-09-07T18:12:00.004Z

What a weekend!

First I found out on Friday that I was unsuccessful in a promotion bid I'd made the day before. It was for the position Head of Quality and Compliance for Talk Talk Group. Ahh well. The guy who got the job is great and I look forward to working with him (for him, actually).

Then Friday night was the AOL summer party, celebrating 10 years in Waterford. It was a Venetian themed masked ball in a giant marquee tent. Food. A band. A DJ. Dancing. Booze. Inappropriate behaviour. All in all, really good craic. Thought I'd be coming home on the first bus, but was still there for the last one.

Which left me in no great shape for a Saturday preparing for Daddy Mike's arrival this week. I'm afraid I wasn't much help to the PK. But I did make a mean teriyaki mackerel dinner, in my defense.

Then the main event: Waterford made the All-Ireland Hurling Finals, played today. PK and I actually went to the semi-finals in Dublin a few weeks back where the Deise took on greatly favoured Tipperary and won a close-fought, epic thriller of a match. Many pundits called it one of the best games in decades. So today they took on the Kilkenny Cats, the regining champions and overwhelming favourites. In fact Kilkenny has won 7 of the last 10 All-Ireland finals. Waterford, on the other hand hadn't made it to the finals since 1963, and hadn't won since 1959. The county has been going mad for the past few weeks, with blue and white flags and banners everywhere. Unfortunately, the Deise's run ended in a rather dramatic fashion, with the Cats walloping the good guys. We watched it at Daddy Lad's house, with his wife, child, mom, and dad in residence. Grand Daddy Lad left shortly after the half in disgust. We suffered through to the end and now eagerly await next year's chance for redemption...

The abysmal weather broke for the day and we enjoyed a bit of sun for a change, at least. Daddy Mike arrives in Dublin on Tuesday: we'll catch him up Thursday night. From there? We'll see. Stay tuned.

Slainte.

I know I know...

2008-08-25T11:34:00.002Z

No blogging in over a month. We've been having a good summer, even if the weather has been absolutely rancid. Even worse than last summer. However, we've made the best of it, as evidenced by these new photos, and these, and these, and these.

That should keep you occupied for 10 minutes or so. More soon.

Slainte.

A bit o' Irishness

2008-07-21T16:20:00.003Z

Greetings loyal blog readers. I thought I'd share a quick story that struck me as quintessentially Irish. Pre-Tiger Ireland is not gone, just hiding behind some shiny cars, Thai takeaway boxes, and 72 inch televisions.

The radio jocks on one of the national stations were going on this morning about how the singer from Clannad had recently slagged Bono for his inability to hit high notes. When one national hero gives out about another, it's worthy of comment.

Bono heard the show while driving his daughter to school and called in to defend himself. No lawsuits. No war of words in the papers. Not even any harsh words. Just a couple of lads having a laugh on national radio. Bono even went on how his father always said he was a baritone who thought he was a tenor. The fact that he'd called in was not worthy of comment.

The call-in radio show has been a way of life here for decades. A favourite on the local station here is the daily announcement of who's died, who's being removed, who's being buried. Sales, pee-wee sports, graduations: everything is announced and discussed on the national radio waves. Every station devotes prime time slots to the call-in show; and it's not uncommon for the powers-that-be to join in too: unannounced, unrehearsed, and unscripted. Even on the way to drop your daughter off at school.

Slainte.

Happy Bastille Day, y'all! (or Participate! Part 2)

2008-07-14T20:14:00.005Z

So we decided to recognize the occasion with some homemade moules frites. Fabulous. This the day after a fabulous weekend camping, complete with a bit of actual summer thrown in: sun for more than an hour and temperatures creeping up towards a cool winter in Florida. Today we hit 22 degrees C. That's low 70s in American. There was much rejoicing.

Oh, and for the North American and Alaskan marketing teams that were in a small Scandinavian country recently, we were camping to better experience BIRDS! Terns, to be specific: Sandwich, Common, Arctic, and the elusive Roseate. And a hobby (a small European falcon) thrown in for good measure. So there!

Now, where was I? Oh yes. Shivering in a field surround by 1,200 other buck nak-... First the disclaimer again. If I didn't fulfill the promise of an American R rating in my last post, I will this time. Put the young 'uns back in front of the TV if you don't want to answer some very peculiar questions.

The second set up was a bit more like traditional nude photography. Well, as traditional as a Spencer Tunick event can be. All the men were given white roses, the women red. We were paraded into a neighboring field, again with the castle in the background. We went through several poses this time, including an extended time laying on the dewy grass.

It was during this time, as we bent one way and then the other, that one was confronted with certain anatomical details at close range that might otherwise have gone unnoticed. For instance, Irish men's members are largely in tact. That is to say, they are largely uncircumcised. That's not to say that they are especially large. Just uncut. Furthermore, the fashion for pubic grooming is not confined to women. Plenty of landing strips, and less, for the ladies, as well as more than a few bald beneath the smalls for the lads. And tattoos and piercings in some unholy places for both genders.

I digress.

The second set up was quite a bit longer than the first. And you'd think that stretched out on the ground would've been even more uncomfortable. But we were much more closely packed-in this time around. And for skinny butts like mine, the greater proximity of other bodies made a big difference.

When Spencer gave us the all clear, there was more hooting and hollering and running back to our clothes. But the ladies didn't stay dressed for long; the third set up was girls only. In the meantime, there were several humorous side stories, all around a central theme: where the hell are my clothes? The organizers had given us giant plastic bags in which to stash our belongings whilst in the buff. Upon our return, several poor souls ended up wandering around for up to half an hour looking for them. I overheard the last guy to reunite with his clothes say that he didn't mind being naked at all, until he was the only person naked.

Meanwhile, the ladies went off to a separate wooded garden that was above the fields we'd been in all morning. Their disrobing location was directly above us. Several of them took the opportunity to enhance the occasion with a bit of striptease/booty shake to much enthusiastic cat calling from the blokes. Again, it took me out of the moment for a bit, but really didn't detract from the overall mood of the morning. As we couldn't see the actual photos I've really no idea what their pictures were all about, other than at least one pose involved roses in teeth.

It was then the gents' turn to go solo. Our stage was a creek. But first we had to disrobe, right smack in front of the ladies. The cat calls were boisterous and joyful, and high pitched. Back to the creek. 100 of us were chosen to stand in the creek balls naked. Except, Spencer didn't like the effect, so he then asked us to kneel. Cold? Oh yeah. By that point, however, the cold was no longer the primary concern. The rocks under my knees were much more on my mind. Luckily, the cold numbed that problem soon enough.

In the end, blue skin and indented knees were small price for the feeling of being intensely alive, and of having participated.

Slainte.

Participate!

2008-07-08T12:44:00.007Z

Where does the time go? Can it really be two-and-a-half months since my last post? Well, I've received enough complaining that maybe I should do something about it.

As recently reported on the pollybloggy, PK and I participated in a Spencer Tunick installation in Cork last month at Blarney Castle. Before I explain any further, I should probably put all the families on notice that what follows is a PG-13 story at best, probably R in Eastern Washington, most of the expanse between St Louis and Sacramento, and anywhere else that voted for W in the last election. Over here in Europe, it'd be G; but there you have it.

PK and I, along with about 1,200 strangers, got buck-naked in public and had our picture taken.

Sorry, we got nude. This was art after all. Tunick is an American artist famous for what he calls "site specific" nudes: photos of dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of nude models in interesting locations. He's done this all over the world, from Newcastle to New Mexico and Barcelona to Brazil. I believe the largest yet was in Mexico City with 18,000 volunteers. I've wanted to be a part of one of these events for years, and lept at the chance when I heard about it.

He came for two installations in Ireland, ours in Cork, and one the following weekend at the Docklands in Dublin. We had to gather at Blarney Castle at 2.00am on a misty Tuesday morning, and await instructions. We arrived right on time and found ourselves to be early for most. Very Irish. Maybe it's a Catholic thing: manana culture is very strong here. At the gate to the grounds were a bunch of lads dressed up as priests from a popular TV comedy (Father Ted), admonishing all us sinners for this wicked behaviour; we later saw them in their altogether. All in good fun.

We handed in our legal release and went in. The crowd that followed us really was a great cross-section of the community. While there were lots of the expected college students, art students, struggling artists and the like, there were also groups of housewives, professional looking folk, aunties and nieces, and the rest of us normal workaday slobs. That's not to say that, as we discovered later, tattoos, piercings of all kinds, and other body modifications were not the norm: they most definitely were. But more about that later.

As we sat in a field beneath the castle and large flood lights waiting for the dawn, misty showers would pass by every now and again, with people scurrying under the cover of trees for protection. Everyone was dressed, mind you, and having rather a good time. Some more than others. There was music and lots of laughing, and more than once smoke wafted over us that did not have, shall we say, legal sanction.

As the sky inched bluer and our excitement (anxiety?) rose, Tunick's assistant got on a loud speaker and gave us the low down on how everything was going to work. There would be four set ups: two for everyone, one for ladies and one for men. Spencer then spoke to us a couple of times before deciding the light was right and giving the green light. Amidst hooting and hollering, 1,200 people stripped off and walked about 50 yards to an adjoining field.

A note about the weather. It was mid-June, you'd say. Surely it was lovely, you'd say. I'd say, we'd already been sprinkled on at this point. I'd say it was about 57 degrees F. I'd say it was effing wet and cold to drop trou! It was funny to see the other skinny guys (and gals) like me shaking in the chill. Trying to hold still for the photos in these conditions promoted a certain comical wobbliness in skinny rear-ends that will likely remain forever etched on mind's eye.

But aside from the bracing, mist-inflected breeze, the very next thing to strike one was the almost immediate normalcy of it all: being naked with that many people, with that many different shapes and sizes and colours, made the nudity irrelevant. As if to say, so what you're nude! So am I! So is she! So is he! And them! And those guys! The article that PK cited summed it up nicely. "Here I was worrying about my white bits, my wobbly bits and my private bits, but to be honest there were too many "bits" on view for anyone to take notice of my nakedness after the first moment." To be fair, I wasn't worried about any of my bits being on display; but the sentiment is profoundly true. The nudity was not a big deal a'tall. Aside from the cold, that is.

The first set-up was a standing shot in a field lined with conifers, and some as islands in the middle. We were arranged by loudspeaker: Spencer on a cherry picker with a bullhorn barking instructions to his assistants to move this or that person, this way or that. What seemed to be an eternity passed before the artist was happy with the pose. Then it started to rain again. It was mercifully brief, and didn't happen again for the rest of the shoot. We started facing the camera; then turned around. The final shot of the set-up inspired more than a little giggling: facing perpendicular to the camera's line of sight, he had us touch our toes. That's right ~ bend over, baby! We were thus briefly pushed out of context and reminded of our nakedness. Equilibrium was quickly restored, however, and the sniggering passed.

Hopefully that has whetted your appetite to hear more, and I promise it won't take 2 months.

Slainte.

Juneau Lass is here!

2008-04-21T08:23:00.003Z

Just a quick note to tell everyone that Juneau Lass is here safe and sound! And very tired. We left this morning with her still tucked in asleep.

A quick recap of yesterday's events: her flight arrived early and she was already out by the time we strolled in. A quick stop back at the hotel where she caught a shower and we hit the road. Stops along the way included the Moone High Cross, the Brownshill dolmen, and St Mullin's and the River Barrow. And several convenience stores looking for a breakfast roll...

A nap back at the Whittebaugh estate, another walk, her first pints of the black stuff and a scrumptious dinner at home rounded out the day. Our mission in getting her outside to help reset the internal clock accomplished successfully.

I must also give a huge special thanks to everyone who participated in Juneau Lass' little surprise party! That was incredibly sweet and fun and PK and I were blown away. Jack and Noodles: as of 7.00am this morning, there was only one Nutter Butter left... Ballard Blondie: I may have already worn out the battery!

Thanks again to everyone, and we'll get some pics up soon. Maybe even a guest post from Juneau Lass herself!

Slainte.

What's the craic?

2008-04-07T20:20:00.003Z

So, what's the craic? Slim's been busy with PK enjoying some Irishness, some birdiness, and the Very Short List.

A few weekends ago, we went to a Trad fest in Cappoquin, a small town in western County Waterford, about an hour away. Trad is what Irish call traditional Irish music. A trad fest is just what it sounds like: a festival of trad. We went for the Saturday evening festivities and sat in on three sessions. The first was an early evening event in a tiny bar called Buttons. The bar is literally in the house of the landlord, the living room serving as the pub. We got there a little late and had to squeeze in for a seat. Three musicians were splayed across a couch: an accordion, a flute, and a keyboard with them. Some of the local ladies even jigged with a little impromptu step dancing, with much clearing of bums in chairs to make some space.

While there we made some new friends: an American musician from Tacoma (!), a British expat musician, and an Irish couple down from the mountains for the music. The British musician invited us to an unplanned session at a bar across the street, The Toby Jug. PK and I enjoyed our dinner to some really fine playing, in a largely Northern Irish style. I had a real Irish meal: the infamous mixed grill. Bacon, sausage, white and black pudding, mushrooms and chips. There may have been a few other kinds of meat that I don't remember just now...

The last session was further down the main street at a larger "Tiger Bar", Central Bar. A Tiger Bar is a pub that was built or remodeled during the past 15 years of the Celtic Tiger economic boom times. They tend to have lost some character and charm in the interest of comfort and, in some cases, hygiene. I tried another Irish tradition there, Guinness served room temperature from a bottle. I have to say, it didn't appeal nearly as much as the well poured creamy masterpiece we all know and love today. As this session started at a more musician friendly 9 or 10pm, it brought a rowdier, noisier crowd. Not our kind of craic. We finished up around midnight or so and turned to the longish drive home.

Last weekend saw us out in the Dungarvan area again, looking for some recently reported rare migrants: most notably sandwich terns and alpine swift. We batted .500 (tern yes, swift no), but we saw a lot of great stuff regardless. Our local birding hero, Birder Lad, and his mates recently pulled off a big day: 99 species in the county in 13 hours! We settled for 42 in about 6.

Finally, thanks to my good friend Jack of Jack and Noodles fame, I've been enjoying the daily missives from VeryShortList.com. It's a website that sends members links to fascinating discoveries on the web. I get an email a day telling me about amazing tidbits from the interwebs. Check it out.

Oh, and it snowed this morning! About an inch of the white stuff, that had been washed away by about 10. Ahh spring!

Slainte.

Check out Iceland 440

2008-03-28T21:06:00.002Z

Hey y'all,

Slim has started a new blog: Iceland 440. All of the news regarding Slim's Icelandic birthday fest will be posted there, as well as interesting and useful tidbits we discover along the way.

Not much there yet, but Slim hopes to change that soonly.

Got your woolies?

Slainte!

Mark your calendars!

2008-03-09T12:28:00.003Z

Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, gentlefolk in general!

Tis time to announce the social event of the 2008 calendar; the not-to-be-missed shindig!

Slim turns 40 this year and has decided to embrace his winter birth and celebrate in Iceland! That's right, the land of fire and ice: where Scotland meets Alaska meets Yellowstone.

And he wants all of ye to come too! So mark your calendars now for the week of 15 December 2008 (or maybe the weekend before) and join us in the steaming cold north. Actually, it turns out that Iceland isn't all that cold: pretty similar to my old stomping grounds in Philadelphia. But a fair bit darker, and a much greater chance of snow.

We will be gathering details in the coming months, including locking down dates, so watch this space and your email boxes.

In other news we enjoyed a fabulous dinner last night in celebration of our fourth anniversary at a place called L'Atmosphere. A French style bistro, it's won a place on Bridgestones' Top 100 restaurants in Ireland for 2 years running: right here in Waterford! Who knew? PK started with a trio of crab dishes, me with seared tuna with a sesame sauce. Slow roasted leg of lamb for PK's main: incredibly tender. I had "cassoulet of confit of duck with Toulouse sausage," and it was out of this world. Easily the best dish I've had in Ireland. PK finished with a chocolate souffle and I had a creme brulee with pear confit. A really grand meal.

Tell everyone who might be interested about my birthday plans, and we'll look forward to seeing you in Iceland.

Slainte.

A Quickie

2008-03-05T22:16:00.002Z

Well. If you haven't checked out the pollybloggy recently, you should. New format. New picture. And a new career! That's right, PK has found employment again. This time as an editor for a transcription service. Super big congrats to herself! The Slim could not be more proud.

Super big thanks to the Juneau Lass for the cookies and DVDs. Muchly appreciated indeed. Can't wait to see you!

And for those of ye who were there, can you believe that it's been 4 years this weekend since our Weekend Wedding in the Woods? PK and The Slim will be celebrating at a French restaurant. Anyone headed to Quinnault?

Slainte.

A birdy note

2008-02-05T21:32:00.000Z

Howdy folks. Tis me again. We're just after getting back from Holland for a birding trip. Well, in fairness, it's been almost 2 weeks... We went to Lauwersmeer National Park, a wintering ground for thousands of geese and ducks, and a large concentration of raptors. We had several highlights. First were the Barnacle Geese, all 10 or 20 thousand of them. Truly spectacular. Life bird for both of us at that. Other lifers included snow buntings, red-throated loon, egyptian goose, and carrion crow. Polly got an eider for the first time too. The most exciting life bird, though, was undoubtedly the smew. All told we saw maybe a dozen of the stunning white and black mergansers (toothed ducks for the non-birdy out there). 61 species in 2.5 days of birding.

Northern Holland in January is not exactly a hospitable place: 50 mph winds driving some needle like rain. We did enjoy some fair skies on occasion thankfully. Our B&B was very hospitable though: much like staying at the poor relatives really. The Dutch countryside is dotted with 19th and early 20th century barns, giant things, with earlier homes attached at one end. Our B&B was such a place: a 16th century cottage attached to a thatched barn from the 1880s, we actually had to walk through the barn to go inside. Really nice folk running the place too. Big time birders who pointed us to those secret spots that only birders know about. (The birders reading this know exactly what I mean: Jaap, the husband, pointed us to a crook in a road by a pier to look for snow buntings and damned if there wasn't a big ole flock there.) Breakfast was at the family kitchen table: an assortment of whatever cereals, bread and juice were about, plus several enormous hunks of Dutch cheese. Oh and the local liver sausage: think liverwurst with cloves. A really fine way to start a day of birding on a cold blustery January morning.

Back home in Ireland, the big news items are more priest scandals, gangsters and cocaine, and the US primaries. It is sometime hard to fathom how excited the rest of the world is at the fact that Bush Jr cannot be re-elected. There is a palpable sense of relief at the 7 years of bewildering nonsense and arrogance coming to an end. I'd call it something akin to joy. The Irish in particular want to like America and with W in charge they can't. As if the Bush administration and it's excesses weren't bad enough, the sub-prime mortgage thing rippled across the Atlantic and washed ashore as a hurricane. America sneezes and the world catches a cold... And the drama of the primaries so far has just entranced a lot of people over here.

Finally, what I'm listening to these days.

The Once soundtrack, if you haven't seen it look it up. Your man Glen Hansard, the singer-songwriter star of the film, is something of a national hero over here. Irish know him for his band The Frames: you know him as the awkward red head bass player from The Commitments.
White Stripes, Elephant. Lo-Fi goodness.
Martin Sexton, Black Sheep. More singer-songwriter goodness.
Hank Thompson, A Six Pack to Go. Beer-swilling, honky-tonkin', country goodness.

Finally finally, work is crazy busy, the Irish rugby team is struggling again, and Jared just turned 6! Happy Birthday, amigo!

Slainte.

Christmas Play-by-play

2007-12-24T17:56:00.000Z

Well. Giving thanks that we decided to stay put this Christmas, given the weather in England this weekend: "travel misery eases."

Welcome back to the running commentary on our first Christmas in Ireland. Christmas Eve continued with PK upstairs at the wrapping station, and me making sausage rolls. Christmas Eve dinner this year was sausage rolls, homemade mushroom soup, and Fuller's London Pride. Fabulous.

After the traditional Christmas Eve hoovering of the house, PK and I settled in to watch the Grinch and hoovered some ice cream. We briefly considered going to the pub for the Christmas Eve craic, but decided against it in the end. Kitty thanked us for our company by curling up on PK's lap. We also discovered that our turkey is not quite as thawed as we had hoped. Thankfully we have 12 hours or so to remedy that.

Now it's time to open a pressie: it's addressed to both of us from Santa via Auntie Hank. Off comes the paper, feels like a book, and it is: Whole Food, 300 recipes to restore, nourish, and delight. Thanks Auntie Hank, I mean, Santa! There's some good sounding stuff in here.

Now it's time to wander the 'hood and see what the neighbours are up to with decorations and the like. PK will be next on the Christmas blog play-by-play; so be sure to check out the pollybloggy. But not until tomorrow, when it will be Christmas!

Nollaig Shona!

PS, to all our little nieces and nephews, be sure to get to bed early! That way you can wake your folks up real early to open your presents! Tell them Uncle Slim said it was OK! Try a saucepan and big metal spoon to get the sleepy heads out of bed if they linger too long; they'll appreciate your attention.

Happy Holidays!

2007-12-22T20:47:00.000Z

Well. It's happened. The holidays are upon us. Slimmie no workie again until 3 January 2008. But the holidays season has been crazy round here. No different than anywhere I guess, but I'm looking forward to some R+R just the same.

The month began with a night out organised by my team at work. 15 or so of us ate out at a really nice Italian restaurant. I had a gorgeous crab risotto. Two nights later was the AOL Broadband Christmas party, an annual highlight on the Waterford social calendar. All the bars in town know when we'll be kicking it up. We take over a place called The Forum, a nightclub and performance space. This year's agenda included a Dixieland marching band, acrobats, Tarot card readers, an all percussion band, an 80s cover band, and a nationally syndicated DJ. The usual assortment of alcohol abuse, karaoke, and general silliness abounds of course. A late night. Very late by my standards. But a real gas; some craic.

Next was a contest at work called "Pimp your Pod". The work stations are organised into "pods," round groups of up to 6 staff. Each team was assigned a country to represent, and we got Spain. We decorated in gold and yellow to the hilt, threw in a few caganer (google it), and then threw a tapas party. I made caldo gallego, a traditional soup served at Christmas time in Spain. Stole the show. We swept the contest and earned ourselves a party on the company with a budget of 100 euro a head. Super fun.

In the midst of all this I turned 39: entering my 40th year! Egad! To celebrate, Polly whisked me away to Dublin for a three day weekend (we get our birthday off). We stayed at our favorite guest house, drank some meaty pints, ate some delicious sushi, and wandered the streets of the capital. One of the unexpected treats was running into a Starbucks and discovering that they have eggnog lattes! Much rejoicing. Eggnog doesn't seem to be much of a thing here in Waterford: ain't seen it anywhere. Contemplated making my own, but a mixer would really help. We had a blast, despite the fact that I was just getting over a cold and PK was in its grip.

Now we're winding up for the main events: Grosserman and Frau Doktor will be coming over for an orphan's Christmas dinner. Christmas seems really quite similar here to back in the States. Turkey and ham dinner. Lots o Santa Claus (often called Santy) everywhere. Maybe a tad bit more emphasis on the liquid variety of Christmas cheer... We've accumulated a garage full of wine ourselves.

Thanks to everyone who've sent packages and cards. It's really great to get little pieces of home. We're just about ready. It's Irish tradition to clean the house down to the floorboards in preparation; I always did that myself anyhow, and that should occupy a good part of Christmas Eve eve. PK's much adored Christmas shrub, er, excuse me, "tree," is trimmed and the presents are piling up.

Well. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a great New Year to all of ye. We miss you all and hope to see some of you in 2008.

Nollaig Shona!

A quick word

2007-12-04T21:29:00.000Z

Howdy y'all.

If any of ye back in the home country feel the need to send on holiday or birthday packages that won't fit through a mail slot in the front door, please don't send them to our home address. It's just as likely as not that we won't get it.

So send one of us an email and we can give you an alternate mailing address.

The wind continues to blow here, although the temperatures are mild at least. Tomorrow (Wednesday) night is our department's holiday dinner out. We're going to a really nice, surprisingly nice, Italian restaurant. Should be fun. And then Friday is the AOL holiday party: a really fun do. I got to go last year and had a blast; and am looking forward to a similar experience this year.

That's all for now.

Slainte.

Birdy post

2007-11-19T22:09:00.000Z

Hey birders. A quick birdy post. The past 2 weekends we've been birding, looking for the autumn returnees. 58 species over the 2 weeks. We started at the Wexford Slobs: a marshy reserve set aside for wintering geese: mainly the Greenland White-fronted geese. 6000 of them. We also saw the much rarer Pink-footed goose. 3 of those. And a few whooper swans thrown in for good measure, with about 500 mute swans. And PK finally saw the elusive Lapwing.

This past weekend we slopped through mud and muck to look at waders, what we used to call shorebirds. More lapwings. A great crested grebe. Dozens of oystercatchers. Hundreds of dunlin. A fair few curlew. A shelduck or two. Flocks of brent geese (pale-bellied). PK saw a raptor make off with something small and feathery. The star of the show, however, was the Curlew Sandpiper; a lifebird for both of us. It took about 30 minutes to identify, but there it was. Or there they were. The next 30 minutes were spent trying to determine if the beautiful bird sewing the mud right in front of us was bar tailed or black tailed...

A word on wellies. We recently bought wellingtons. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, we bought big, vulcanized, rubber boots. Why it took us so long to do so is unfathomable. They are the 4x4 of the shoe world. Mud, sopping grass, sand, standing water. These things are no longer barriers to us. Of course, the first time I tried them on I should really have been wearing waders. But no matter. I got out without a bootful of swamp. And at the end of a day of birding in the rain and cold, you can't ask for much more than that.

Slainte.

2007-11-12T15:10:00.000Z

Autumn is in full swing! And I'm back online. Apologies.

We've had some of the best weather of the year: my favorite kind of weather. Cool, changeable, crisp. Life has been pretty changeable for me too. September in Italy, October in Britain and India. An unsuccessful bid for a directorship thrown in for good measure.

Italy is covered in the pollybloggy. Or at least partially so far. Highlights: seeing some Seattle friends, the Duomo, coffee, the ballet at La Scala, anchovies, Miky's in Monterosso al Mare, hiking the trails of the Cinque Terre, Pio Cesare, and the first real sandwiches since I landed in Europe. Many, many thanks to our friend the Seattle Foodie for pointing us in the right direction in many places.

In October I was off to Britain on a, mostly, business trip. First stop, Warrington, an old steel town between Liverpool and Manchester in the Northwest. Our parent company has another broadband brand called TalkTalk, and one of their call centres is in Warrington. I met my counterpart for Talk Talk and learned a little about how they do things. The main event, however, was a call centre trade show in Birmingham. 2 days meandering aisles and aisles of call centre technology, outsourcers, and consultants. Learned a lot; and the boss took me out to dinner to boot.

As the weekend approached I hopped a train to Charlbury and ended my 22 year absence from that quaint village, home to some dear relatives. Over 3 days I got caught up on 2 decades worth of gossip, met the next generation for the first time, and generally enjoyed the hell out of myself. I look forward to many more such sojourns in the near future.

A quick stop in London at TalkTalk HQ and I was back home in W'ford, just in time to go to India. We have 3 outsourced call centres in India and myself and 2 others went to all 3 in 5 days. Exhausting. And I caught the infamous stomach bug: had a fever of 104 and lost 8 pounds in 2 days. Even had to stay in India an extra day as I couldn't travel. That's not to say that I didn't have a fabulous time, though. The people we work with are really friendly and everyone tried to show us a good time. The food was incredible, as would be expected; although we did see a lot of Domino's pizza at lunch time. And we stayed in some amazing places, most notably the Leela Palace in Bangalore, recently voted the best business hotel in the world by Conde Naste. I hope to have some pics from the trip posted soon.

The trip was mainly hotel to office to dinner to hotel, so we didn't see much of the country to be honest. But I reckon I'll be back early next year and will try and schedule a little extra time to see more.

The day before I left for India, I applied for my boss' job: Director of Skills and Quality. She's a contractor, and has been here much longer than expected. She's finally moving on, leaving an opportunity to move up. I dithered mightily on applying: we have some very large changes coming down the pike and I wasn't sure I wanted to be in charge for them. I went for it. My application went to the wire, three interview rounds, including the executive director and a gal from the mother company. Alas, they decided to bring in another contractor with loads of experience in the call centre industry; and to give me another shot at it in June. Those big changes will be 2 months in the rear view mirror by that point, and I'll have another 6 months' experience in the industry. As the Louis Prima song sings: "Next time!"

In related news, PK and I held a going away party for the Boss this past Wednesday. Just our team and a few select others. I made churrasco with chimichurri sauce and my famous brain-splitting margaritas. Ma will be delighted to know that old Irish rebel songs were sung. The final revellers climbed in their cab at an evil hour, gone 2.30am. On a school night no less. The absences at work the following day were shameful. But it was a right proper send off for herself.

Oh, and we went a birding this weekend with our German friends. The White-Fronted Geese are back in their thousands, as are the Lapwings. 46 species all-in-all for the day. Pink-footed Geese were the specialty treats of the day. But I'd say seeing the lapwings were my favorite.

Autumnwatch is 2 hours away! So don't call!

Slainte!

2007-08-05T09:15:00.001Z

I had to get the calendar out for this one. How can almost 3 months have passed? I was just saying to someone yesterday that I haven't time for the blog because we've been so busy doing stuff.

First things first. The rain continued. We haven't had so much of an Irish summer as a Seattle winter. Which I suppose is not far off from a Juneau summer really. Rarely, if ever, have we crept out of the sixties either. Most recently, however, it's been turning nice.

So, where were we?

We celebrated the fourth of July. Guess what happened? It rained. We bought a disposable, one use barbecue, made burgers, and drank Sam Adams. PK also made a terrific Happy 4th sign for me to come home to. Everyone at work offered me a "Happy Independence Day"; when was the last time someone said that to you? Just guessing, but probably 1976...

We went hurling. That's not to say we suffered reverse peristalsis, but rather we attended the Munster hurling championship between counties Waterford and Limerick. Hurling is an incredibly fast-paced sport which looks like a hybrid of lacrosse and field hockey; one of the traditional Irish sports supported by the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). It's important to note that the players are all "amateurs" in as much as they are not compensated for their efforts. They all have day jobs.

I'd have to say that this match was one of the highlights of our time in Eire to date.

My work colleague, Deishe-boy, is an avid fan of sport in general, but GAA in particular, and hurling most especially. He secured tickets for PK and I to come along with his brother (Deishe-bro) to see the beloved Deishe of Waterford take on the villainous Limerick something or others in Thurles, Tipperary.

It was a typical Irish summer day, warmish and sorta sunny for a bit, followed by this curiously soaking mist. PK and I were prepared; Deishe-boy was not. We were in the standing stands at the end of the field (think behind the end zone). No seats for the wicked! The atmosphere was not in the least dampened by the weather though. While there were separate sections for the opposing teams' fans, supporters from both sides were mixed in amongst each other. Good-spirited ribbing and "giving out" abounded, but nothing nasty. (This is one of the great things about the GAA; love of your team is outweighed by love of the sport. Almost.) Flags waving. Chants and cheers. And absolute, unbridled pandemonium when anyone scored: I have never seen anything like it.

Long story short, Waterford thrubbed the villains, earning the Munster crown. The crowd rushed onto the field and went nuts. Epilogue: Limerick beat Waterford in the All-Ireland semi-finals several weeks later. Ahh well.

We went camping with the lads. And the lads' ladies. And brothers. And sisters. Turns out Engaged Lad is from a rather large family. And where we were camping (in the Knockmealdown Mountains outside of Lismore, County Waterford) was not far from that family's homestead in Tipperary. So ma and pa and a few of the young 'uns still in the nest came by. And a few others were already a part of the party.

The rain more or less relented for the weekend. We escaped with only 2 serious downpours. PK and I made breakfast Saturday morning: sausage and "American pancakes". What Europeans know as pancakes you and I would call crepes. Much fanfare and praise followed, of course.

Wood was burned. Beer was drunk. And a cooler was stolen. About 5am Sunday morning, the lads disturbed my slumber to inform us that someone had unzipped the front door to their camper tent, poked in, and nicked off with the cooler with the Sunday breakfast supplies. Unable to fully awaken, I was unable to join in their blood lust; they calmed down and everyone went back to bed with a great, but bizarre, story to tell.

We ate a fancy French dinner. Engaged Lad and Daddy Lad and Musician Lad all had birthdays within 3 days so we celebrated with a big dinner out. 8 courses and a killer hangover. I introduced the lads to Manhattans. And four bottles of wine into it, a little trigger went off and I was suddenly very inebriated. One minute fine, next minute sloppy drunk. An epic night regardless.

We went to Cork. We were planning on spending a Saturday in Cork shopping; but I secretly made arrangements to stay and whisked PK off to town on Friday night. We ate at our favorite Japanese noodle place (Wagamama), stayed at a nice guest house, shopped at the English Market, and generally had a great time. PK was thrilled.

That's July covered. August will have to wait.

Slainte!

Major league catch-up

2007-07-02T17:27:00.000Z

Yeah, it’s been 3 weeks since our stuff arrived, and I last wrote. So sue me. Things have been going swimmingly: literally. It’s been raining. A lot. Locals have been saying things like, “I can’t remember a worse June.” It hasn’t been as bad as Britain, where flooding has killed 4 people; but sodden nonetheless.

So back to the big move. When the truck pulled into our little cul-de-sac, 15 weeks after its contents had been packed in Seattle, we thought there was no way it was going to make it the last 20 yards down to our house. Indeed a car parked in the road seemed to have the way blocked. We rang the door at the three houses on that side of the road to no avail. As I turned back to the sidewalk, yer man had tried the door on the offending car, opened it, and was pushing it out of the way. My cop neighbour witnessed the whole affair, laughing.

The moving van was a 40 foot straight truck, towing a 20 foot trailer. It originated in Britain and had been making deliveries across Ireland for several days: we were its last stop. The crew was a 17 year old kid and the 30 something driver. Both had incredible cockney accents but were very pleasant. They were also pretty displeased with the job the original movers had done back in Seattle in packing some of the stuff. They’d taped the cardboard directly to the furniture, for instance, leaving sticky glue marks on several things. We also lost some glasses and cups and the like; and several picture frames were cracked or chipped. But all in all, our stuff made it here in pretty good shape.

The unloading was unremarkable for the most part. It did result in an unbelievable amount of packing materials. There was also the incident with the man who owned the car that the mover moved. Shortly before 6 this huge bald guy (think Rob Halford of Judas Priest) shows up looking for whoever moved his car. I told him it was the mover, but asked was there a problem. The problem was how disrespectful it was for a stranger to muck around with his private property. Sure, wasn’t he just in town doing his shopping and if no one was home at the three houses we tried why didn’t we try any of the houses across the street, for they all had his mobile number… and so on. All we could do was apologize and hope he left soon. (Folks from HAL will not be surprised to read that I actually saw L.A.S.T. in my mind’s eye) The mover lost patience before I did. Nothing really came of it except now there’s someone on the street who won’t even acknowledge us as we walk by. Ahh well. We’ve found the Irish on the whole to be a pretty grumpy, but friendly lot. Bound to meet the just grumps eventually.

Getting the truck out was even more interesting than getting it in. Our circle is too tight for it to pull through, so the driver had to break the first rule of backing (don’t) and back the sucker all the way out. A different car was in the way behind this time. The movers went knocking on more doors to no avail. But the old woman who owned the car was in the middle of the circle watching the spectacle. Her daughter put two and two together and told her to get out of the way and the truck snaked out of its hole.

When everyone was gone and the dust began to settle, we celebrated with pizza and champagne.

Things I’m most happy to be reunited with, in no particular order: our good cookware, the butcher block, my hiking boots, our good sheets and duvet, and my Get Fuzzy comic books.

So what’ve we been up to since? Quite a bit, really.

We had a date to see a salsa band at our local that turned out to be a standard dance song cover band. But they had a trombone player. Always redeeming.

We went to see a percussion concert at Christ Church Cathedral. The church is an 18th century Georgian masterpiece with truly remarkable acoustics. The quartet was from Britain and played everything from the standard trap set to marimbas, to Japanese bowls, to invented instruments that I cannot begin to describe.

We climbed the highest peak in County Kilkenny, Brandon Hill. It’s about an hour’s drive from here, and about a 2 hour climb from there to the 1500 foot summit. It’d been threatening to rain the whole trip up, but waited until we got to the summit. Having gained a great view of the surrounding countryside and distant harbours, a gale blew in, pushing the otherwise fine mist into liquid sandpaper. We beat a hasty retreat back down the mountain into the woods for our well-earned midday repast: that Waterford standby of blahs with red-lead.

We raced in a treasure hunt around county Waterford. It was a fundraiser for a school for autistic kids sponsored by a pharmacy where our German friend “Frau Doktor” works. She was on a team of co-workers; PK and I joined her husband, “Grossmann”, and the Daddy Lad. Almost 3 hours of scurrying all over the county, through torrential rain to pubs, graveyards, mountain tops, old churches, copper mines, and beaches in search of clues and answers. We came in second. To Frau Doktor’s team. On a technicality. We were back first in both stages and had the best time overall, but they got some hotly contested bonus points. The winning team earned a half day’s off from work; we won coupons to the pharmacy worth 35 euros each.

We took driving lessons. We are both still on provisional licenses, the moral equivalent of learner permits, and have yet to be assigned driving test times. We thought we should get some formal instruction and insight into passing the test. Turns out I would’ve failed; PK might not have fared any better. We both have to relearn how to clutch when approaching a stop. And despite having a convex mirror, we must check our blind spot. I’m feeling pretty good about it; PK’s feeling less confident.

We had the boss over for dinner. And her daughter. My boss lives in England and commutes during the week to Waterford. For the past two weeks she’s brought her 15 year old daughter along for some work experience. We made them homemade guacamole, herbed pork loin with smashed chipotle sweet potatoes on spring greens, and PK’s famous banana gooey cake.

I went into the hospital today for some tests on me gut: not much improvement there to be honest. Should know more by Tuesday. So fasting all day yesterday: fun! Hard to imagine that some people do this of their own accord. No figuring.

Sun’s out. Gnocchi's done. And so am I.

Slainte.

Whew: it's all here

2007-06-10T18:47:00.000Z

Sunday evening and all is well. The truck with our stuff arrived yesterday afternoon at about 3.30pm. 3 hours later it was backing back out of the circle, void of our belongings. Some damage: the insurance may have paid for itself. But nothing too major or heartbreaking. The kitchen is unpacked and put away, as are our clothes, and the living room is half way there.

Pixie has already re-discovered her bed and put it to good use.

I'll relate the whole story later, replete with pictures. But I'm feeling a bit knackered at the moment and am anxious to get in the shower.

Slainte.

Waiting waiting waiting

2007-06-09T12:32:00.000Z

Hi y'all. The moving van was scheduled to arrive yesterday: it's now 1:30pm the next day (Saturday) and no van. We can't really go anywhere or do much except wait. So wait we must. I've been hogging the computer so PK is getting really bored. She's going to try out watching "hangover TV": one of the channels shows these really silly sitcoms from the past and ridiculous reality shows all day Saturday and calls it hangover TV. Pretty funny until America's Next Top Model comes on.

Big Brother is back in the news again. Another racist tirade or some such nonsense. We've been continuing to watch Springwatch: reality TV at its best. They added a camera on a hen harrier nest this week. Incredible stuff. There was also a mad rabbit attacking a baby owl that had fallen on the ground.

And that's our television viewing habits: guess I'm bored too.

I'll let you know when the van gets here and what our stuff looks like.

Till then, slainte.

Saturday Speakeasy

2007-06-02T10:44:00.000Z

Yo. Blowing fog today. Wind and fog. Very San Francisco. Wind has stirred up the ubiquitous scent of dairy product production, that is to say, manure. A frequent reminder that we no longer live in the city...

My four day week shortened to three days after another strange stomach bug: between headaches and funky belly it seems I've been ill more the last 5 months than the last 5 years.

We've been watching Spring Watch on BBC2 this week. Each autumn and spring BBC devotes an hour a night for three weeks to check in on how spring is getting on. This year they're on a farm in Devon and on the Scottish island of Islay (pronounced eye-la), home of some truly wonderful single malt whiskies and wildlife. Including a Golden Eagle aerie. If you check out the website, you'll get to see lots of the wildlife we've been following this week. In our garden Spring Watch, the local birds have found the feeder again. Greenfinches, gold finches, chaffinches, and blue tits have been busy picking at our wares. Nice bit o' colour.

In case you missed it, Ireland held national elections last week, with the incumbent party coming out on top. Not enough on top to be able to go into government solo, so the horse trading has begun. Bertie Ahern, the Taoiseach (pronounced TEE-shock) or Prime Minister, is in for a third time: unprecedented in the Republic's history. All the more so given the fact that he's up to his ears in financial scandal. Despite all the hub-bub, people vote for him because he's such a likable guy. In several polls asking which candidate would you rather share a pint with, Bertie thrashes the competition. Hence his popularity and electoral success. We've actually had pints in his favourite pub and haunt, Fagan's in Dublin. If you've ever heard us tell the story of Desmond the retired cop and "Polly, the most beautiful girl in the world," then you know about Fagan's. Great craic.

We're busy on a tidying day: preparing for the imminent arrival of our stuff, scheduled for this coming Friday. Finally! Fingers crossed that it actually happens. PK is particularly excited for the rest of our wardrobes arriving. She's been in one suitcase worth of clothes since March, and is, well, restless. I'm excited for the butcher block and real cookware. And me hiking boots.

Speaking of, PK is busy tidying without me so I will sign off.

Till next time, Slainte.

Welcome back birdies and birders!

2007-05-28T19:44:00.000Z

Can't believe it's been over 2 weeks since I last posted anything. If anyone is actually reading this: my apologies for the delay.

We've been keeping busy since Jack and Noodles left: work has been crazy, we've taken a couple of day trips around Southeast, getting some birding in, and PK set up her own blog called "the pollybloggy," check it out. Some of our further adventures have been documented here.

The first trip was to the heritage town of Lismore. The settlement dates back to the 5th century or so, but is today dominated by a 19th century castle. We arrived a little early and had to wait for the visitor center to open. The "award-winning" video was the first of it's kind we've seen in Ireland: that is to say it was worth watching. We learned about the ecclesiastical history of the town and how it eventually came under the control of the British Duke of Devonshire, who still owns the castle and stops by on occasion. Sir Walter Raleigh actually owned the estate at one point, and Robert Boyle, of Boyle's Law (for a fixed mass of ideal gas at fixed temperature, the product of pressure and volume is a constant), was born there. We took a walk along the River Blackwater that brought us to a bohereen, or ancient highway of sorts, and a perplexing tunnel under nothing. Another highlight was the 12th century cathedral. I think PK is planning an entry on this trip though: watch the pollybloggy for more.

Another daytrip, this past weekend, was to Kilkenny, about 45 minutes north of here. Kilkenny is known as the prettiest inland town in Ireland, with much of its medieval heritage in tact, it's castle most famously. Another Norman building that has been appended in the intervening centuries, it has been restored to the 19th century style the Butler family enjoyed. A fabulously wealthy family, their name, and riches, derived from their ancestor's position as butler to the King of England. Cromwell left his typical calling card here as well: the wall that would enclose the site is missing, leaving a three-sided structure. We took a tour of the castle and learned some of its secrets.

The other amazing site in town is St Canice's Cathedral and Round Tower. Amazing stained glass, early Gothic arches, and the tombs of 15th and 16th century lords and ladies decorated with marble effigies of the deceased dressed as befit the time. Important Butlers through the years feature prominently. The tower dates to the mid-ninth century, during the peak of the Viking raids. It is the first such tower we've come across that the visitor can actually climb. However, as the top is open, that kind of visit is limited to fine weather; which we definitely did not enjoy. No tower top visit for us.

PK's lunch, advertised as "roast sandwich of the day", was a slab of beef on bread. Tasty, but a bit uninspired. Having been chilled by the rather unpleasant meteorological changes, an afternoon pint was in order: PK enjoyed the local brew, Smithwicks (pronounced SMITH-ix, available in the US and most every pub in Ireland), and all was well. My ravioli at dinner were tortellini. The tiramisu afterwards helped.

By the way, the English Premier League championships were last weekend: Manchester United versus Chelsea. This is not the recent match where British fans were clubbed and gassed by Greek police in Athens: that was the European championship. The English Championship is thought to be watched by 500,000,000 people: that's almost 10 times the number of British people! The Lads, especially the bachleor lad, are Man Utd fans. At a crowded pub in Waterford, we witnessed a very boring game of soccer, with the wrong team on top after two overtime sessions.

But as promised, we've also been doing a fair bit of birding recently. Sunday the 20th of May was National Dawn Chorus day. For the uninitiated, the dawn chorus is the concert that songbirds regale the waking world with each day. Starting before the sun is up, birds announce that they have made it through another night. Birdwatch Ireland and other like-minded conservation organisations sponsored bird walks across the republic, all starting around 4am. Our local walk went to the woods around Ballyscanlon Lough. The first bird of the day was a cuckoo, at 04:05. And despite the fact that this was a life bird for us, it's voice was unmistakable. The walk lasted about an hour before we moved down the road a ways to Fenor Bog, where our guide had some moth traps set. By 06:30 the sun was up and we headed to Brownstown Head to dig up some reported manx's shearwaters. Alas, no shearwaters, but plenty of other stuff to keep us busy. A fierce wind was blowing for much of the time, so we hunkered down in the sun on the cliff and watched the gannets, guillemots, gulls, terns, and other seabirds stream past. By the time we gave up for the day, about 12:30, we'd ticked 53 species. Considering that the total record list of birds spotted in Ireland is only about 400, that's not a bad day. Besides the cuckoo and gannets, some other favourites (life birds all ~ at least for one of us) included: sandwich tern, sedge warbler, whitethroat (another warbler), chiffchaff, goldcrest, linnet, and redpoll.

This past weekend we again headed for County Waterford headlands looking (unsuccessfully) for manx shearwaters. On a two mile cliff walk near Ardmore, we did get to see a great black-backed gull chick, a small kittiwake colony, and nesting fulmars. However, it wasn't just the wind this time: the skies got angry and soddened us to the bone. It's over 24 hours since we returned and PK's shoes are still wet. Definitely worth the damp, but we were very soggy.

Finally, I just enjoyed a Memorial Day break by writing this blog, after a decent sleep-in. Normal Irish folks don't get the pleasure until next weekend. As I work for a call centre that supports a British product, my calendar is British. Hence the holiday.

Slainte.

Jack and Noodles in Eire 3

2007-05-10T17:48:00.000Z

The Copper Coast. A stretch of magnificent Irish coast that you've never heard of. Jack and Noodles have now. We drove to Dungarvan, about 30 miles west of here via the major road and then meandered back via the Copper Coast, all in County Waterford.

The Copper Coast is a UNESCO European Geopark, one of 17 designated Geoparks in Europe and is the only one in the Republic of Ireland. 20 miles of spectacular cliffs, deserted coves, and picturesque villages, the Copper Coast gets its name from the 19th Century copper mines that lie at its heart. Locals had known about the high grade copper veins for centuries, but the large scale exploitation of the reserves didn't begin until 1824. Fifty years later, the seams were played out and the mines closed. Some of the mining buildings are still visible at Tankardstown, where some of our Copper Coast photos were taken (for instance, this one or this one).

We also explored one of my most favorite hidden Ireland locations: Dunhill Castle. Or rather, the remains of Dunhill Castle. Dating back to the 16th century, it was demolished by Cromwell's forces in 1649 after a "spirited defense." That really is Cromwell's calling card, the blown up shell of a castle. Everywhere you go in the Irish countryside you can almost read the landscape in these old buildings: "Cromwell was here." The central vaulted ceiling of this castle survived the Lord Protector's onslaught, however, and is really something to see.

We finished our near perfect day at Jack Meade's Under the Bridge Pub, about 10 minutes from Villa Whittebaugh. Meade's dates to 1705 and is exactly what it sounds like, a country cottage pub under a bridge. We enjoyed our pints in the garden, basking in the late afternoon sun. Fantabulous.

PK then whipped up a new favourite recipe, lamb sherry soup and some of her delicious brown soda bread. Jack likey the bread.

The following day was much lower key. PK and Jack turned the living room into an internet cafe of sorts to start the day and then we explored Waterford City by foot. But first we went to a kebab take-away that we've been meaning to try for lunch. Of all things, they didn't have any doner kebab (a gyro-like sandwich that is emblematic of Turkish kebab). But the party was not spoilt: messy deliciousness ensued. We were all a little sick for our efforts. No noodles for Noodles, alas.

Waterford is blessed with a great deal of its medieval walls in tact. In fact, after the city withstood a siege by a pretender to the British crown, King Henry Tudor bestowed upon Waterford the motto: Urbs Intacta Manet Waterfordia, "Waterford remains the untaken city." Even Cromwell was repulsed in 1649. He came back a year later, however, with more men and more guns and finished the job.

The most impressive piece of the wall that stands today is Reginald's Tower, which we went into for the first time with Jack and Noodles. Reginald's real name was Regnall, a Viking lord and son of Ivor the Boneless, who had constructed a fortification there in the 10th century. The tower that stands today was built in the 12th century and expanded in the 15th century. Over the years it has served as defensive fortification, prison, and currency mint. The museum in it today was well done and really interesting; though we were glad to get back into the sun.

After a nap at home we headed back into town for the usual Thursday night with the lads at Downes'. PK and Noodles stayed only for a short while, while Jack and myself proceeded to drink way more than was strictly necessary. Especially given the facts that I was to go back to work and Jack to fly onto Venice the next morning. But some late night fried chicken steadied our stomachs and sure we were grand.

Their visit over too soon, it was time to part ways with Jack and Noodles. So after dropping me at work in our newly repaired car, PK delivered our visitors to the Waterford Regional Airport. We had a great time with them and look forward to seeing more of you here soon.

Slainte.

Jack and Noodles in Eire 2

2007-05-08T17:37:00.000Z

When we left your heros, we were languishing in our B&B room, trying to digest too much food, waiting for our traveling partners to finish the make up or hair or dissertation writing or whatever it was that was taking them so long...

On the road again, in our rented Opel Vectra. I know what you're thinking, "Wait a minute. You own a car, Whitten." Well, 4 adults and luggage would be a bit much for our 1.2l engine, never mind the trunk space... Besides, it was in the shop getting the ding fixed.

So, on the road again, again. On the road heading directly north to the ancient settlement of Cashel, about an hour and a half's drive (about 60 miles). Cashel is known for the Rock of Cashel, a limestone outcrop that rises above the fields of central County Tipperary. It has been occupied since at least the 4th century A.D. (not a typo ~ that's the 300's, folks), the traditional seat of the Kings of Munster, the southern province of Ireland. At the dawn of the 12th century one of those pretenders to the throne of Munster outwitted his opponents by forcibly taking the Rock and then donating it to the Church, thereby insuring that it's strategicness would never be used against him. And for the next 600 years it was the most important ecclesiastic centre in Ireland. The ruin of that centre is now one of Ireland's most evocative sites, and probably my favourite.

The oldest remains on the Rock are of Cormac's Cathedral and a round tower (the dark ages' bomb shelter), both dating to the 12th century. A massive cathedral was added in the 13th century; a belltower and a keep in the 15th. By the mid 18th century, the Archbishop of Cashel decided that the drafty accomodations on the Rock were a bit out of date (never mind expensive to maintain), he moved the diocese in town, and the buildings mouldered into decay.

See the Rock and other images of Jack and Noodles' visit here. We spent perhaps 2 hours on the Rock, absorbing the history and falling quietly into our own reveries. The place has that effect: everyone talks in whispers, even in the wind in what is essentially an outdoor attraction. We wandered around town a bit afterwards, and found a really cute pub, full of local business types. Jack was perplexed by the fact that his open-faced sandwich was served cold and with shredded cheese. He did however enjoy his Bulmer's cider: a most refreshing afternoon tipple. Slim snarfed his fried scampi, a delectable treat. Also washed down with Bulmer's. My wife, who has not always been about the bacon, enjoyed mightily a BLT. She is now "all about the BLT". Noodles ate something too; not noodles, though.

An afternoon drive through pleasant Tipperary and beautiful Waterford followed. Jack and Noodles found Villa Whittebaugh much to their liking, and kitty welcomed them heartily. As our shipment of furniture has still not arrived, the house is a little barren. The sheets on their bed? New. The pillows on their bed? New. The duvet on their bed? Borrowed (from our German friends around the corner). The towels in the bathroom? Mismatched, but clean.

We walked to our local for dinner, enjoying the best pint of Guinness yet.

Then they went to sleep again. And slept. And slept. And slept. Ok, so did we, but still. Out of the house by the crack of noon, after a hearty repast of PK's home-baked raspberry buns (tasty most!), and we were on our way to Waterford's Copper Coast. See the pics now; hear the story the next time you check-in.

Slainte.

Jack and Noodles in Eire

2007-05-05T14:43:00.000Z

Jack and Noodles have left the Emerald Isle for the odors and other charms of Venice. Eire lived up to it's green reputation for them, however. Their visit was heralded by the most terrific electrical storm on Monday morning: Polly was reminded of her time in D.C. Aside from a squall or two while we were in transit, however, the weather couldn't have been nicer. Ireland's green fields sparkled.

There was some trepidation surrounding their arrival: they had a very tight window to transfer flights in Dublin for the final leg to Cork, where we were planning on meeting them. Thankfully they made it and their flight arrived twenty minutes early: put another way, we were ten minutes late. Having found each other, and happy reunion out of the way, we headed into town. Some low key sightseeing followed a pizza lunch (a place downtown has pretty decent slices, even by my standards), featuring most prominently a visit to Cork's famous English Market.

The English Market is an indoor market that traces it roots back to the early 17th century, when the traders were required to be of English extraction. Today it features an extraordinary selection of meats, produce, seafood, and other County Cork products; including fine examples of the County Cork fascination with offal. For the uninitiated, offal usually refers to the parts of an animal not fit for human consumption, the viscera. The most famous expression of this culinary interest is tripe and drisheen: the former being the stomach lining of a cow, and the latter a dark, thick sausage made from sheep's blood. Jack and Noodles each enjoyed a piece of fried black pudding (blood sausage); before they realized what it was. Slim received muttered admonitions for his efforts to broaden their culinary horizons. The present market building dates to 1786, although it received extensive rehabilitation in 1980 when a fire gutted the place. PK and I like to do a little shop-up when we're there as the market carries such a variety of imported goods as well as local product. We stocked up on Asian ingredients this time.

After any trip to a market, a pint is called for. We found a traditional pub in the city centre, where our visitors enjoyed their first Irish Guinness.

After any afternoon pints, a quick nap is called for: so we retreated to my now traditional B&B in Cork, The Blue Dolphin. For dinner we headed to Wagamama for Asian noodles. It's something else PK and I do when we visit Cork, as such repast is not easily available in Waterford. Noodles was, not surprisingly, very happy. We then capped the day with a visit to one of my favourite pubs, The Oval. Great character, better than average music, and a decent pint of Murphy's stout.

Next morning Noodles and Jack were introduced to the heart attack on a plate that is the traditional Irish fry. Jack dispatched his breakfast in a particularly expedient fashion. Thus fortified, we sat around and waited for our visitors to complete their morning routine, a surprisingly lengthy affair to be honest, before heading off to County Tipperary. But that will have to wait for another post.

Slainte!

Happy Birthday, Mum!

2007-05-03T10:27:00.000Z

Hey everybody, it's Patricia May's birthday today! 21 again! Quite a streak she has going... Happy Birthday, Mum! We miss you! XOXOXOXOXO

Jack (aka Ryan) and Noodles (aka Lara) are having a most excellent time: although we've decided that Noodles is part feline. She's a sleepy kitty-person. The weather has held for them, and actually improved if anything. We pushed 25 degrees C yesterday. We'll post more about their travels soon (pictures too, Ma!). Highlights include the Rock of Cashel, Waterford County's Copper Coast, and Jack Meade's Pub under the bridge. Downes' with the lads tonight after carousing around town.

Today we're picking up the car: it's after getting fixed, finally. Took me ages to take it in.

Shrugs and whispers from Jack and Noodles to everyone back home! Time to push them out into the world, before the crack of noon.

Slainte!

She's motoring!

2007-04-27T08:25:00.000Z

We are now fully mobile. Polly aced her driver theory test last week and received her provisional license a few days ago. As I write, she is on her second driving venture. She reports that the act of driving on the opposite side of the road juxtaposed against the fact that the gear box pattern and the pedal alignment are the same as the US is confusing. Fortunately, she has not yet found herself in 1st gear at 80 kph.

Good timing, too. Our first batch of friends are coming: Ryan and Lara are arriving Monday for a quick visit. Having 2 drivers will help. Ryan is studying German in the Fatherland and is doing a little traveling between courses. Lara is over for the break as well. We can't wait to see them.

I'm a little fuzzy this morning after Thursday night with the lads: we kicked off our once monthly movie Thursday with a blu-ray version of Casino Royale. That is quickly becoming my favorite Bond film of all time. Craig is the perfect update to the character and franchise. The lads I hang out with are pretty techy: they all have the latest game consoles, HD tvs, surround sound systems, etc. The sound last night was impressive, I must say. When movie night comes to our house, we'll probably enjoy Kurosawa's Aka-hige, if I can find it.

That won't happen for awhile yet, as our stuff still hasn't arrived. The ship, Ever Decent, is due to arrive in port in the UK tomorrow: from there our stuff will take 7-10 days to clear customs, then a further 7-21 days to be delivered. In the interim, we've had to borrow a comforter for Ryan and Lara's bed...

The perfect spring weather continues, despite a 2 day break with fog and rain this week. We've had over a month of beautiful, un-Irish weather: the day the fog rolled in, you should have heard the bitching in the office. Very similar to Seattle-ites' relationship to the rain actually. Of course, the weather is supposed to deteriorate on Monday: sorry Ryan and Lara!

Slainte!

How to visit us

2007-04-23T09:53:00.000Z

From our humorous overlords at Google.com...

1. go to www.google.com
2. click on "maps"
3. click on "get directions"
4. in the two boxes cut and paste - from "seattle" to "waterford, ireland"
5. scroll down in the directions to number 18 and read.

We recommend, however, flying in through Cork.

Slainte.

In the world again

2007-04-20T10:18:00.000Z

Apologies for the blackout!

Polly here, coming to you live from Collins Ave - internet access happily supplied this morning by your man (your man, very common saying here, used when we would say the cable guy or he, of course context is everything to know who your man actually is). Can't tell you how liberating it is to once again be connected to the world. What did we do before email and blogs?

However, I'm going to keep this short because I promised that I would start my own blog when I had access at home. I just need a good name...suggestions welcome!

Just a few updates, we stayed in Waterford last weekend except for a lovely walk around Cheekpoint, a tiny village about 20 minutes east. Cheekpoint looks out over where the Nore and Barrow rivers dump into the Suir (pronounced "sure", as in "sure your man was here setting up internet access this morning"), which then dumps into Waterford Harbour. I'll go into more detail on my blog on this and more about our Waterford surroundings.

Also this week, I met with a recruiter and passed my driver theory test - 100%! Just waiting for my Lerner premit to come in the mail, then I'm set to drive! And we had the opportunity to see a cooking demonstration by a very well known Irish chef, Darina Allen (who was in the US over the summer promotion her book, so not just Ireland famous). It was great - she showed up six dishes using a whole chicken (with carving demonstration as each dish used different parts) - we are excited to try them all!

On the plan this weekend, joining a beach clean up in the Gaeltacht region near here. It is so sad to see and say, but there is a litter problem here. Not nearly as bad as New Jersey (that was awful), but more than I'm used to seeing. So, we are becoming part of the solution. There is a place about an hour west of here on the southern coast that is called the Ring Peninsula. The primary language in the area is Irish (thus it is called a Gaeltacht region - you would not say they speak Gaelic though, that is a misnomer as Gaelic is a family of languages that includes Irish, Manx, Scottish and others). Hopefully we won't be the only English speakers, so far the only Irish we've learned is hello and how to properly pronounce Dublin (which isn't called Dublin in Irish, it's Baile Atha Cliath - any guesses?)

Apologies, Birders!

2007-04-05T11:51:00.000Z

Sincere apologies to all my birder friends. Polly mentioned a while back that Penny asked her before she left: what about the birds? Or something to that effect. Well here's the long and the short of it, my Ireland bird list for 2007, as of April 5. Bold are life birds. Parentheses indicate a different name in the US.

Great Northern Diver (common loon). Little and Great Crested grebes (in courtship display!).

Mute, Bewick's, and Whooper swans.

Pink-footed, (Greenland) White-fronted, Greylag, Snow, Canada, Barnacle, and Brent (Brant) geese.

Shelduck, (Eurasian) Wigeon, Gadwall, Teal, Mallard, (Northern) Shoveller, Pochard, (Greater) Scaup, Surf scoter, Goldeneye, Red-breasted merganser, and Ruddy and Tufted ducks.

(Ring-necked) Pheasant. Everywhere.

(Northern) Gannet. (Great) Cormorant.

Little egret. Grey heron.

Marsh harrier. Hen harrier. Sparrowhawk. Kestrel (bigger than a Merlin). Merlin. Raptors in general are few and far between. Where my Pacific Northwest birding friends would be looking for a red-tail, the fields are eerily still here.

Moorhen. (European) Coot.

Oystercatcher. Ringed, Golden, and Grey (Black-bellied) plovers. Lapwing (see picture above). Sanderling. Dunlin. Black-tailed and Bar-tailed godwits. Snipe. Curlew (must be different than the N. American variety ~ they seem much smaller). Redshank. Greenshank. (Ruddy) Turnstone.

Black-headed, Ring-billed, Common, Herring, and Great Blacked-backed gulls. Kittiwake.

Woodpigeon and Collared and Turtle doves.

Kingfisher (much smaller and brighter than the North American cousin).

Tree, Meadow, and Rock pipits. Grey and Pied wagtails. Wren. Dunnock. Robin. Stonechat.

Blackbird and Song and Mistle thrushes.

Sedge warbler.

Blackcap. Chiffchaff. Goldcrest (a kinglet). Long-tailed, Coal, Blue, and Great tits.

Magpie, Jackdaw, Rook, Hooded crow, and Raven. Starling.

House and Tree sparrows.

And finally, Green, Bull and Goldfinches (the latter very different than the American version).

In other news Polly and I are taking off for Kenmare in County Kerry this weekend for the Easter break. It is from there that we will explore the famous Ring of Kerry: a drive around the mountainous Iveragh Peninsula in southwestern Ireland. Driving the Ring is required material for any tourist; and most do so in coaches. We're hoping to get out in front of the crowds by going this weekend in our little car.

In true Irish fashion, most of the locals spend the 3 or 4 day weekend (depending where you work, 4 days for me) drinking. Although companies that require attendance on Good Friday are in turn required to allow for folks to go to mass... The pubs, surprisingly, will be closed. So the off-licenses (liquor stores) will be doing a brisk trade tonight!

Cheers and Happy Easter!

Erin go bra!

2007-03-30T14:20:00.000Z

Back to the story of how I got here - this is getting a little ridiculous now that I've been here almost a month, I know. But it's a pretty wild story, no?

Tuesday:

Another cold, beautiful day dawns in the Garden State. Will it be the day I leave the Garden State? Time will tell…

Check-out time was noon, but I requested an extension – I had until 2 pm. I packed, so I would be all ready to head to the airport as soon as I got back from my third trip to the city. I headed in – the trip was quick, so I stopped a Starbuck’s for a latte – a good coffee before heading to the land of tea. I walked the last few blocks to the passport agency, went inside, had to wait for the desk to become open, then sat down across from the woman from Saturday, the woman from Monday was also there, as well as a young man. They checked the file, checked the list…

“That will be here at 1.”

“AT ONE!!!!”

You know the story – I won’t reiterate it again, but I did for them. AND, I have to get my stuff out of my New Jersey hotel by 2. I cannot be here at 1! It was going to be in the 11 o’clock pick up from the State Department – not actually at the office by 11. How many times did I ask if it would be AT the office at 11 (see previous post)? They were starting to look scared that I was going to have a complete fit. "We’ll call and find out if it is ready," they say. They call, have to get a call back. We wait, call comes back, yes it is ready (okay, that was a huge relief – it was ready – it existed – awesome!). They decide to send me over with the courier.

I never found out the courier’s name. She was a woman, probably a little older than me. We headed out of the office and to the nearest subway station. She headed through the turnstiles and started to walk away. “Excuse me – I’m from Seattle, I’ve been stuck here four days, I need a little help!” My tone was pretty snotty at that point, but can you blame me? My courier friend turned back, explained how to get a ticket ($2, exact amount, or credit card with a charge – of course, I did not have $2). Courier lady got a little friendlier after that, we chatted on the subway, she has relatives in Seattle and Vancouver, blah, blah, blah. We changed trains (how was I going to find my way back?) then came out in some industrial area in the bitter cold.

We go into the State Department, which is a mass of people, screaming babies, security guards ordering people around – craziness. Courier lady gets on the cell, “Eric, there is a big line, you need to bring down the passport for Polly Radebaugh...No, you need to bring it down...No, she needs it now, bring it down...Okay.” I feel like a movie star! Yea, Eric, bring it down now, she is jetting to Moscow for her next film! Eric brings it down, I peruse to make sure it is all correct (what would I do if it wasn’t?) then bid goodbye to Courier lady – who hugs me! Out on street I’m almost jumping for joy – I once again am a woman with proof of my identity – you don’t know how great that is until you life without that. Quick call to hubby to say it is in my hands, then across the street to the subway (Courier lady had explained how I get back – just one train, very handy). Back to HoJo’s, collected kitty and all my stuff (have I mentioned exactly how much stuff that was?). Back to the airport…

Flight was at 8:10. Okay, before you think I’m a freak for being at the airport 5.5 hours before my flight, where else was I to go? Had to be out of the hotel room by 2 with my 23 pound cat carrier and three other bags. Kitty and I hung out in front of the Continental International desk until 4 then headed for check-in. The helpful Continental worker herding people into the lines tried to turn me back telling me that I should really check the cat in first – OH NO lady, you don’t understand. I’m checking in now – I can barely manage the cart piled with my stuff and need to get rid of some of it. I made my point.

After checking in the bags, I had to wait another hour to check in kitty. More hanging out in Newark, then into Continental’s cargo office. One of the men that had witnessed my freak out on Friday was working and remembered me – I didn’t think that was a very good sign. But, he was sweet to ask me if I’d gotten my passport, so I gave him a very brief version of this story. He took the paperwork then went to the back for several minutes – don’t panic – finally he returns, explaining that he wasn’t sure about the vet forms (darn Nutley vet), but he thought they’d be okay (please be okay…). Checked her in, then I was off to find a snack.

As you can imagine, I was obsessively checking my passport every 5 minutes or so until I actually boarded. I did not return to the horrible Portuguese restaurant either. I got some sushi rolls that I ate at the gate.

About 7:45 our plane finally pulls up for our 8:10 flight, so obviously we are leaving late. We wait and wait, then finally are told that this plane is being pulled from service. They have another plane, but it is at a different gate – at the other end of the terminal (could I really be kidding). Before rushing off with the herd, I check in at the desk – I can see the pet transfer van outside and want to make sure that Pixie gets to the new gate. I get a very patronizing answer – I refrain from screaming – then head to the other gate.

Again, we wait. The wait is broken up by a man screaming at the desk agent because we have to show our passport at the desk, he already showed it where he started the day. I’m thinking, “oh, oh, you can see my passport, here, here, here’s mine!” (Also thinking, “funny thing about you showing that passport at your original destination – let me tell you a story Mr. Yeller.”) Finally we board, four days and 90 minutes late, but I’m on my way to Ireland!!!!

And arrived safely the next morning in Dublin, with my loving husband there to greet me - sweet reunion. We headed for the vet, waited only 30 minutes or so - after months of sweating and anxious worrying, it was 30 minutes for the inspection - then we were free to go.

And to get current, I now have my PPS number, which means that I can start looking for work - will keep you posted on that adventure!

Twofer: Sunday to Monday

2007-03-22T15:00:00.000Z

Polly here again, just so you can get the right voice in your head...

First, to catch you up on St. Pat's Day in Ireland. Quite nice - not a huge deal, although many stores sell unbelievable ugly decorations made in China - the loveliest of which are these shorts with a fake butt that says "Kiss my ass" in Irish.

We went to downtown Waterford to find the farmer's market advertised in the paper. No farmer's market - there were five stalls on the wrong street, only one with produce, but that was it. So we walked around people watching until the parade. Mostly the kids were dressed up - orange, white and green Viking hats, green hair, fun stuff. Then we headed over to the parade route and were soon joined by David's drinking friends, their partners and baby Pippa (daughter of one of the lads). The parade was what we expected - lots of scout troops, the local Harley Davidson club, a couple funky homemade floats. Then we went over to Darren's to watch the rugby match. Their apartment is very cute - and small, they live right down town. It isn't really small for here, but not what us Americans are used to! They have a screen that pulls down with a projector, so it was quite an amazing place to watch the match.

Ireland won the match, but they lost the tournament because they didn't win by enough points - heartbreaking.

And in other news, I became official yesterday! I registered with the Garda (police), who handle the immigration services in Ireland. I also applied for a PPS number, equivalent of a Social Security Number, so I can get a license, job and health insurance - that should come in a week or so.

Now back the story of my adventurous journey here:

Sunday: Sleep and a $18 Heineken

Taking advantage of the fact that there was nothing I could do on Sunday, I caught up on sleep and relaxing. I had picked up some Raisin Bran in the city on Saturday, so I got a cup of milk from the café and enjoyed breakfast in my room ($2 – I was getting the hang of NY on the cheap!).

Mid-afternoon I got tired of watching movies, reading and that tiny room and decided to venture out. I got online in the lobby and found out what was nearby – not much. I was in the middle of a very industrial area, but there was a Sheraton about a ½ mile down the road, so I set off.

I haven’t yet mentioned one of the difficulties of this adventure, the Howard Johnson’s was dry. I’m not a big booze hound, as you all know, but after the experience of the last few days, a beer sounded quite nice. I headed out into the cold – it had been snowing on and off that day so it was quite chilly. It was a lovely walk – the only thing between my hotel and the Sheraton was the Continental employee parking and some empty lots – really lovely (ha).

I arrived at the Sheraton around 2:40 and inquired about the bar. It was in the back of the lovely glass ceilinged lobby and opened at 3. No problem, I found a discarded Wall Street Journal and a comfy couch with a view of the bar doors. After 25 minutes, I went to the front desk to confirm the 3 o’clock opening. Yes, I was told, 3, it should be open now. Okay, back to the back of the lobby, nope, doors still locked. I flipped through the paper again, but was getting anxious. There was no way I wanted to do that lovely walk back to HoJo’s in the dark. 3:15, I headed back to the front desk.

Front desk clerk: “Still not open?”

Me: “No. Any idea what’s going on?”

Manager arriving from back: “You watch the desk, I’ll take her back to check things out.”

Manager and I walk back to bar, where the doors are still shut.

Manager: “Yeah, it’s not opened”

(Set of large wood double doors bolted shut – yes, I am so stupid I didn’t know that that meant they weren’t open, thank goodness he cleared that up for me.)

We head into the restaurant next door.

Manager: “Why isn’t the bar open?”

Hostess: “The guy that was supposed to open quit.”

I am laughing at this point – I mean can this be real? Manager and hostess work out that they will serve me “a drink.” Great. I’m seated in a fancy restaurant – the only person in that restaurant. The waiter comes over: “You can have beer or wine.” Luckily I wanted beer, but nice of them to mention that when they decided to seat me. My choices, Bud, Bud Light, Michelobe, Coors, Coors Light and Heineken (okay, that probably wasn’t the exact list, but close). So, Heineken I guess. Oh and some spring rolls – might as well have some decent food while I’m here. They came on some greens, so I called the whole thing dinner.

Back home to kitty and an exciting evening of more TV and turning in early. I had to get up early for my big day of vet visiting and passport retrieving.

Monday: Nutley Dreaming

Up early Monday to be ready to make vet phone calls at 8. If I was going to make the vet appointment in Manhattan, I had to leave the hotel at 9, so timing was critical. I called around and found a vet that could get me in that morning in Nutley, which is north of Newark, but that is about all that I can tell you (I think that was the name of the people that built the house that we lived in by Lake Samish - right mom?). I gathered up the cat and her paperwork and called a cab. The car service that the hotel had called for me Saturday charged me $20 for the ride between the hotel and Newark’s Penn Station, but the cab back was only $12. So, I was not going to rely on the hotel again for arranging my rides. I went out to the lobby with about 30 minutes until my appointment, and the vet had told me the ride would be 15 minutes. I waited for the cab that I called – about 25 minutes. Finally I gave up and had the hotel call me a car. We passed the Newark Penn Station about 5 minutes, then continued on another 20 minutes or so, so I was dreading the bill.

I arrived at the busy Nutley Vet Hospital and checked in – only $40 – seemed like a small amount at the time. They asked if I had the paperwork, and I said no, but I had the phone number that they could call to get it faxed. It was an Irish number, so they couldn’t call from their phone (so they said). There were signs all over the lobby about not using cell phones, so I asked if I could use my cell phone to call to get the paperwork, which I was allowed to do. Another 20 minutes, they took her back, then I was called back. I tried to talk the vet through the paperwork – which was making me very nervous. After six months of carrying around the USDA endorsed forms, then this random vet fills the new forms in wrong – arghhh!

Another half an hour waiting to pay the bill – again, not bad, they only charged me for the meds and not the office appointment – very nice. Car service had returned to collect us, and we headed back to HoJo’s.

A couple hours of relaxing, then into Manhattan for my passport. This time, I tried a new route – hotel shuttle to the airport, sky train (monorail – so Seattle) to the airport train station (which is actually across the highway from the airport), then NJ Transit into the city. $14 each way, 75 to 90 minutes. I arrived at the passport agency about 5 minutes early, so waited until 5. Went to the passport desk, sat down facing someone different than I had talked to Saturday. Gave my name, it wasn’t in the file (don’t panic), what’s the name? “Radebaugh.” “Polly?” “Yes!” (They know my first name – good sign?).

“It’ll be here tomorrow.”

What???? "Tomorrow, my flight’s tomorrow...I’m staying in Newark...it takes me an hour and a half to get here...you told me today...my passport was stolen...I’m moving from Seattle to Ireland...are you freaking kidding me!"

"It will be here tomorrow at 11 am."

"11 am – you sure, it will be here at 11 am?"

"Yes."

"If I come back tomorrow, that would be Tuesday, at 11 am, it will be here."

"Yes."

I wanted to ask for a signature in blood, but though that might get me arrested.

I had planned a celebratory dinner in Manhattan, but didn’t want to jinx things. I decided a Guinness at the Irish pub that I passed down the block, would at least help. I mean, if I couldn't be on the way to the country, this was the next best thing right. In fact, the two gals working there were from Ireland, so I got to practice understanding the accent. Next door was a deli – I had to have a big deli sandwich in the Big Apple, right? So I did – turkey, pastrami, salami and coleslaw. So delicious! Seriously, it was good!

What now? It’s evening, I’m in New York City – what to do?! It just so happened that the Empire State Building was between me and the train station. I had never been to the top – why not? I headed into the herding maze of the lobby, paid my $18 and headed up the elevators. Perfect timing – the sun was setting on a beautiful day! City lights came on under a pink sky. I wind storm was brewing and it was unbelievably cold, but gorgeous!

I had heard someone mention a game at the Madison Square Garden, so I headed over to see if it was basketball or hockey. Bummer – it was the Rangers, I would have loved seeing the Knicks at the Garden. They were playing Tuesday night – they were hosting the Sonics! Bitter – I would (hopefully) be getting on a plane Tuesday night. If the cat wasn’t with me, I would have been tempted to call Continental to check on the availability of a Wednesday flight!

Coffee and dessert in the city, then back to Newark.

We are off to Cork for the weekend. Had planned to meet our neighbors from Seattle in London, but it turns out Waterford to London is very expensive, or a very long day, or a nasty overnight bus ride with no bathroom. So, down to Cork instead for shopping and eating. Kinsale is a village just south of Cork that is well known for its great restaurants. Tell you about it next week!

Saturday: I'll Take Manhattan

2007-03-16T11:42:00.000Z

Before I left the airport Friday night, I had rescheduled my Dublin flight for Tuesday night. I had been told that I could not get a passport until Monday, and I had to redo one of the (have I mentioned MANY) steps for importing the cat, which had to be done the day before we flew. So, I had four days to fix this…

Saturday’s first plan was to order a new passport. I asked the front desk to call me a cab. Instead a car service arrived. I hopped in and asked to go to Newark’s Penn Station. $20 later (yes, another $20, at least this drive seemed further!). Then I hopped on New Jersey Transit, went two stops and hopped off at New York’s Penn Station – that was about $3 in case you are keeping track. And no, that wasn’t a mistake Newark’s station and New York’s station are both called Penn (there is one in Philly too). I never found out how they all keep that straight! Walking out of the station, I noticed a store that did passport photos, so I stopped to get some, as I knew that was one of the things that I needed. Outside to the cab stand, another $12 later, and I was at the emergency passport service, which is actually a couple desks inside of a Liberty Travel (liberal snooping for Holland America Line sales materials was involved).

I filled out all of the paperwork, including a file search request because I did not have a copy of my birth certificate with me. This was one of the major lessons that I took away. I’ve heard many times that you should carry a copy of your birth certificate when you travel, but never having experienced anything like this, I didn’t realize how important it is. So, kiddies, lesson for the day, carry a birth certificate copy in your most secret pocket when you travel. What still confuses me about that, is that I did have a copy of my passport. I piece of paper with foot prints from 35 years ago is more valid ID than a copy of something with a photo from this decade – makes perfect sense right?

I then ran over to the post office, where they have a passport desk that is only open until 11 am – the emergency passport office had opened at 10, so it had to be quick. At the post office, was again told that I needed a birth certificate. I responded that I thought the file search form was in place of that. The friendly(!) clerk says, “that isn’t guaranteed.” Now you tell me that! I was not told that Friday night when I could have actually done something to get my birth certificate. What could I do at that point? The clerk happily took my $157 anyway – wasn’t that nice?

Back to the passport agency where they happily take my $189 (“don’t you have exact change?” “Ah, no” I got the cash from an ATM, they took the trouble to tell me cash, but not exact change – seriously people!). Then tell me that I can pick up the passport Monday – at 5 pm! Five – argh, I have to wait until five – glad I made the reservation for the Tuesday flight and not Monday!

Then back to lovely Newark, stopping for kitty grass (a little treat for Pixie) and litter (I don’t know if they put her in a litter box in Newark, but I hadn’t seen her go since 3 am the previous morning - freaky). I walked back to the train through Manhattan – it was a beautiful day, but cold.

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to find a vet in Newark that would see us on Monday. Here is the deal, the last step to importing a cat to Ireland is a tick and tapeworm treatment that has to be performed between 24 and 48 hours of leaving the states. They are very strict about that timing, so we needed to see a vet sometime between Sunday night and Monday night, did I mention, in Newark, where I had never been in my whole life.

First off, there aren’t any vets in Newark or the closest towns, that I could find. So, using several maps, yellow pages, USDA website and several minutes on the calling card, I made an appointment for Monday in Manhattan. I didn’t know how I was going to get the cat into Manhattan, but none of the New Jersey vets were open. I decided that I would try again Monday, but at least I had an appointment somewhere.

Sometime Saturday something hit me - the clasp on the pouch that my passport was stored in was actually ripped. That fact had not penetrated my sleep deprivation of the previous night. And, the passport never showed up in my four days in Newark. These two facts have convinced me that the passport was indeed stolen. It was in a black billfold, that I'm sure looked like it contained money. I am also sure that when the evil thief discovered that it was just a passport, threw it in the nearest trash. All that for nothing - but do not fear, it did not leave me with a bad taste of the US. Just New Jersey, sorry Chris.

The evening ended with a terrible pizza at the Howard Johnson café – luckily it was free courtesy of Continental airlines. That was my last voucher in the café, so it was the last time I ate there – so bad!

By the way, I'm not official in the country yet. The immigration office (notice no s) for Waterford is on holiday for the week. No applications will be accepted until next week. Ah well, another week to study for my driver's theory test!

I'm sure you are all wondering about our plan for our first St. Patrick's Day in Ireland. I am excited, although I know that it is not nearly the party fest that it is in the states. Here it is a celebration of the patron saint of Ireland, so I've heard that it is a little more reverent. Our plan is to go down town for the farmer's market and parade, then head to a pub to watch Ireland and Italy play a big rugby match, where I'll scream "Go on!" with the rest of the patrons whenever Ireland is running down the field for a try - a great fun!

More next week - have a great weekend everyone!

Polly speaks!

2007-03-14T11:34:00.000Z

Yea! Polly here! Okay, a week now, but we don't have reliable internet service at home yet. And I've been busy sleeping 'til noon and watching Mad About You and such (one of my favorite shows - on for 2 hours during the day here - nice!). I'm at the local internet cafe - in the video store about 10 minutes walk from home. It is a gorgeous day - has been for the last three actually.

So obviously I've got a lot of catching up to do. I won't do it all today - my fingers will get too tired as they aren't used to all of that work anymore. And, we have to go to the Garda station today. That's the police - foreigners have to register with the local office. My plan is to give a list of things that I like so far - here is one of them, I'm not an "alien" here, I will be (after our visit to the Garda, fingers crossed) a resident, non-citizen. Much nicer term than in the states I think.

To get to the story of getting here! Everything went smoothly from Seattle to Newark (barring waking Caroline up). I left between 3 and 4 in the morning for the airport - checked bags, took cat to off-site cargo office, came back for what I thought would be my last Starbuck's latte for a while, boarded, watched "Mrs. Henderson Presents" (cute movie), uneventful flight until the landing - very bumpy due to wind, but a great view of the Statue of Liberty. As we were waiting for the doors to open, I actually saw them taking Pixie out of the cargo hold and could see her looking out the front of her crate. Things were good...

I had just over four hours in Newark. I made some phone calls - including one to my sis-in-law where we discussed horrible people who steal. Then decided I wanted to sit down for dinner - no trying to drag my bags whilst balancing a tray of food - and of course I would not leave my bag unattended. I found just one sit-down restaurant, and it happened to have the worst service ever. I waited around 10 minutes for a seat without any of the staff so much as looking in the general direction of the line of people wanting a seat. Finally I went for a seat in the bar. It was crowded, and the only place for my bag was behind me. I ordered a so-so grilled chicken salad - after making a bit of a scene as the bartender again ignored me over people who came up afterwards - seriously, this place was terrible! Checked my bag once during the meal, then headed towards my gate to check in.

I was told in Seattle that I would again have to present my ID in Newark. I never have a problem with airport procedures (they are for our safety, right - more on that later), so went to pull out my passport and... I cannot describe the sheer terror that categorizes the next hour. I ran all over looking for the passport, staff made announcements throughout the terminal, I retraced my steps several times, nothing. I really didn't know at the time if I had left it somewhere or if it was stolen. I had seen it while in the Newark airport, so I knew I had it there. But it was gone. I dumped the entire contents of my carry across the floor of the gate. I ran down employees trying to leave begging them to check the lost and found box. Finally my flight was boarding, and I knew I was out of luck. They pulled my bag, and I screeched at them about getting the cat off. For those of you that haven't heard the long story, one of the MANY requirements for importing a pet to Ireland is that they have to be accompanied. I don't know what they would have done if she had shown up here alone. Also, I wanted my cat!!!

I was in complete hysterics - I'm sure the Continental staff thought I was a full on nutcase. What they didn't understand of course was that I was watching a couple years of planning wash down the drain - that is how it felt anyway. I worked my £(* off that last couple weeks especially. Plus of course, the three nights before had involved a total of about 12 hours sleep, about 15 minutes of that the night before the flight.

Finally defeated I headed down to baggage claim. I saw my bags, but needed a cart, as they were huge. That took a while, then I was in desperate need of a bathroom, then as I came back for the bags, they were gone! So, more tears and begging and tracking down and "I just saw them on the carousel" and finally I had them. Then off to the cargo office for the cat. I walk in one door and am told that I need to go to the other door for pick-up. I explain at the other door - guess what, I was at the right door in the first place. Back to that office - I can now see the cat and all I want is to get her. But for some reason they are just milling around. At one point I say, "just give me my cat!" And the answer is, why can't you have your cat? I don't know, she is right there, give her to me! I'm not kidding!

But finally I find the true hero of this story - her name is Roz, and she works at Continental Cargo. She got me the cat and listened to my horrible story. She then found the number for the emergency passport service in NYC, explained how I got there, walked around the airport with me (with the cat, I needed two carts), helped me get a hotel that took cats (one night on Continental's tab with food vouchers - which came at the price of another employee admonishing me for not having my phone number in the passport - so helpful - snort), took me out to the taxi stand, made another person in line help me with my carts and gave me her cell phone number to call if I got lost in New York. An angel if there ever was one.

$20 taxi ride later, and I was at the Howard Johnson's across the highway from the airport (yes, I said $20). I waited up for a few hours to call David - no point in waking him in the middle of the night - anything he could do would be done better with a proper night's sleep. Then kitty and I settled in for a few hours rest.

That is probably enough for one day! The moral of this story is that when I choose Continental because of the cat, I made a great decision. The cargo people were truly wonderful and helped me more than anybody else there. I'm now a believer in Continental!

So here is what I like so far about Ireland:
Grocery carts - our local grocery advertises that they have seven types of trolleys (as they are called here). Seven! Really, I don't know what you'd need all of those for, but I love that I have so many choices. And on the ones that I have tried, the wheels turn all ways. So, you can push the trolley sideways - great for tight spaces (and everything here is tight spaces). And you pay a Euro to use it - well rent really, because you get the coin back when you return it. That part I don't really like or dislike, I just think it is interesting.

Here is what I don't like:
No Gilmore Girls. I'm going through withdrawals - somebody please, catch me up (I won't name names as I know you don't want to admit that you watch it).

Off to the Garda station with my brand new passport - I'm not giving anything away, you know I had to have one to get here, but it is still a pretty amazing story. Twenty years from now it will be pretty funny actually, but it will take that long!

Sweet Reunion!

2007-03-08T08:25:00.000Z

Sorry for the news black-out. Polly had some hiccups along the way and spent 4 days at the Newark Airport Howard Johnson's. I'll let PK relate the details of her New Jersey saga once she gets her bearings; suffice to say for now, that she had her passport nicked and had to secure new proof of citizenship. Meanwhile, I labored with a ferocious chest cold, missing work and, thus, the opportunity to update me blog.

And though my cold lingers, it's still old news, because POLLY IS FINALLY HERE! Herself and the cat touched down safely at 08.35 yesterday (Wednesday) morning. The weather was perfect. No hassle from immigration. And the pet check-in process was a breeze. We were on the road to Waterford by 10.30 or so.

I left her sleeping off weeks of sleep deprivation this morning. A well-earned rest.

More soon.

3 Days and a wake-up!

2007-02-27T18:11:00.000Z

To complete the previous post: Ireland dismantled England. Hardly even a contest. The historic nature of the event was echoed in the historic drubbing handed to the Brits.

But the big news is that yesterday the movers came and packed up our Seattle apartment: Polly reports that after arriving almost 3 hours late (they got lost in Ballard), the movers then spent 6 hours crating up and removing our worldly possessions. We should see our stuff again sometime in the second half of April, on the other half of the world.

I will see Polly (and Pixie) again this Saturday: 3 days and a wake-up as my old man would say!

Now hopefully I can stave off this cold before she gets here...

Croke Park Cracker

2007-02-23T12:23:00.000Z

History will be made this weekend in North Dublin's famous Croke Park. Croke is the high temple for Gaelic sports, principally Gaelic football and hurling (a very fast-paced mixture of field hockey and lacrosse ~ see www.gaa.ie). It is also the scene for one of the darkest days in modern Irish history.

During the late 19th century, Irish nationalists stirred republican sympathy and awareness in a movement called the Celtic Revival, breathing new life into a lost Celtic identity. Some of the most famous Irish authors, poets, and artists were products of this period. Revitalizing interest in Gaelic sports was another expression of this nationalist impulse, leading to the formation of the GAA ~ Gaelic Athletic Association. By the second decade of the 20th century, the GAA owned Croke Park, and Gaelic games were the only sports allowed on the field.

Early on November 21st, 1920, at the height of Ireland's war for independence from England, Irish republicans assassinated 14 British spies, soldiers, and Black and Tans, notorious police irregulars used to bully the Irish. Dublin police and British soldiers responded by marching onto the pitch at Croke Park before a scheduled match and firing into the crowd. 11 spectators and 1 player, Tipperary man Michael Hogan, were shot dead, and 2 more were trampled to death in the rush to escape the attack. The event is remembered today as Bloody Sunday. An English team has not been in Croke Park since.

Tomorrow, Saturday, 24 February 2007, England's and Ireland's rugby teams will face off in Croke Park! The traditional national stadium is under repairs and renovation right now, and is not available for this match. It was only just over a year ago that the GAA voted to allow a non-Gaelic sport to be played at Croke: the first game being a rugby match between Ireland and France a fortnight ago (Ireland lost). The teams are evenly matched, and both quite good, but the play is hardly a topic of conversation.

For many die-hard Gaels the very presence of Brits on the pitch is cause enough for boycotting (in fact, some Northern Ireland republicans plan on demonstrating outside the stadium). Even worse for these folks is the fact that the English national anthem is going to be played prior to the match. From a recent article on the AP:

"There is widespread disbelief over what is going to happen in Croke Park," said J.J. Barrett, a Gaelic footballer from the 1960s whose late father, Joe, was one of the sport's first superstars. Barrett withdrew his father's 23 sports and military medals from the Croke Park Museum in protest.

"The arrogant, war-mongering words of 'God Save the Queen' ringing out over Croke Park is surely pushing the boundaries of tolerance and common sense beyond what is expected in any republic on earth," Barrett said.

Heady stuff indeed. On the other side of opinion, however, is this chap:

"When our English neighbours are made warmly welcome next Saturday in such a splendid stadium in the capital of a mature and sovereign republic, the innocent Croke Park dead of November 21, 1920, will be honoured, not insulted," wrote historian John A. Murphy. "Who could take issue with all of this? Only some nationalist flat-earthers who like to wallow in vicarious victimhood."

And leave it to one of the Irish players to cut to the heart of the matter:

"We are not fighting for history. We are fighting to stay in the championship and beat England."

And Croke Park is widely recognized as one of the most exciting places to watch sports in all of Europe, having recently undergone an extensive remodelling. Here's to fine weather, good sport, political tolerance, and an Irish win! Up Ireland!

A (slightly less) new car!

2007-02-22T09:11:00.000Z

So I'll cut to the chase. Tuesday morning, day 3 of new car ownership, a co-worker did not quite judge the angle of turning into her parking spot correctly, and grazed the front left corner of my car. Scratches on both sides of the tyre (note Irish spelling!) and a ding behind the tyre. And a quick €400 worth of damage.

Damn.

I've now heard that Irish drivers have a thing with fixed objects: as in they like to hit them. Another American who's been here 2 years has witnessed 4 such transgressions: 3 to his car, 1 while he was in it. Now he's probably just unlucky, but still.

Ahh well. Got the first one out of the way, right? And on someone else's tab.

In other, car related news, I'm renting a mini-mini-van to pick up my wife in just over a week! With Pixie (the cat) in tow in a rather large travel crate, our little vehicle would not accommodate. Hence the rental. A well-spent €45 in my book any day.

9 days and a wake up!

A new car!

2007-02-16T17:50:00.000Z

Oh yeah. I finally bought a new car: a 2007 Opel Corsa (Club) 1.2. Cute, huh? And it's not just a pretty face. It's got a whole 79hp! LOL. It does, however, get 5.8l/100km (41mpg) combined, and 4.7 on the highway (that's in the neighborhood of 50 mpg, folks...). Verily, it but sips petrol... Ahh, but what about safety you ask? How about driver, passenger, side and curtain air bags? Or 4 wheel ABS and cornering brake control? It also has the largest cargo in class (good for when Herself and the kitty arrive in 14 and a wake-up). Fog lights, 15" alloys, and 6 speaker stereo.

Sure, she's a grand little car. I pick it up tomorrow.

Crrrack! and a fond farewell

2007-02-15T10:44:00.000Z

Down came a migraine on me yesterday, spoiling an already lonely Valentine's Day. I'd plans to go out with some other folk with partners at long distance, but stayed home with Thai chicken soup and curtains drawn...

Not out of the woods yet, but better today.

Valentine's is as much a Hallmark holiday, er, celebration in Ireland as back in the states. Instead of flowers and candy, however, colleens around the country received flowers and teddy bears. Parts of our office were decorated with Mylar Pooh-bear balloons in fact. We also had "space hopper" races with representatives from each department. A space hopper is the giant rubber-balloon-ball-like thing with handles that little kids of years past rode around the neighbourhood. The two champion racers were king and queen of the day and were allowed to bring their respective courts into the canteen to enjoy the chocolate fountain and other treats before anyone could.

Interesting Irish-ism that someone with a customer service background would notice. When at a shop or restaurant or the like, instead of being asked "how can I help you?", customers are confronted with a rather abrupt "are you alright?" Almost as if to question why I am there in the first place: "something must be wrong with you if you're shopping here. You want a Big Mac? Really? Are you ill?" The more downscale the establishment, the more likely the 3 words are condensed into 2 barely decipherable syllables, "yaroit?", or even just a nod.

The big news today, however is this: today is Polly's last day at Holland America Line! Having spent 2 years as a driver/guide in Juneau, 4 (5?) years at Gray Line of Seattle, and 2 (3?) years as product manager, her tenure there has been long, varied, and successful. I know she's going to miss the place, and people, a lot. A bittersweet farewell.

For my part, I'm proud of her accomplishments during her career at HAL, sad she's losing her favorite boss ever, and excited as all get-out that she's almost here! So if you didn't hear the crrack of my head exploding yesterday, maybe you'll hear one today as she walks out the door.

Slan.

Welcome to Slim's Speakeasy!

2007-02-13T09:38:00.001Z

Welcome to Slim's Speakeasy. As I get more comfortable with the medium, I will be posting news and stories of me new life in fair Eire (pronounced AIR-uh). Polly will be contributing here as well, at least until she gets her own blog.

In the meantime, life is humming at "AOL Broadband". We recently changed our name to that from AOL-UK. We're one of the leading internet service providers in the UK: I work as Quality Manager at the Member Services call centre (like that spelling?) in Waterford, Ireland. When you call a company and get the message "your call may be recorded for quality," it's my team that does that. I also manage a variey of other insights into the member experience. I have 19 people on my team: 17 analysts (folks who record and score calls), 1 team leader (who manages the team for me), and 1 coordinator (who helps me manage the program details and our outsourced partners in India). We work with three companies in India, one each in New Delhi, Mumbai, and Bangalore. I'll be heading off that way before too long.

As for Waterford, it's a town of about 40,000 souls on the southeast corner of the island, http://www.mysecureform.com/iismaps/smallmap.jpg. Situated on the River Suir (pronounced like sure), it's the oldest city in Ireland, having been founded by Vikings in the 8th century. It's modern claim to fame, of course, is Waterford Crystal: the factory and museum-cum-gallery is about 500m from my desk at work. If you're hoping for cheap factory-outlet prices, you won't find them here. Nor will you find any seconds at discount: if it ain't perfect, it's smashed, remelted, and made again. The artists are paid by the piece...

For those of you planning a visit, Cork airport is the way to go. There is a small regional airport here, but it's only serviced through Luton (London), Manchester, and somewhere in France (summer only). And Dublin is just a big pain in the arse.

In other news, I've made the switch to tea, although mainly because the coffee is so bad. And it's time for another cup...