My Dublin

After a long absence (how has it been more than a year?!), it is time to pick up the blogging gloves again, get my hands dirty and get back into this blogging business. With few illusions of grandeur and trying to avoid the 'this is it' philosophy, please bear with me in my aim for casual writing and don't expect too much. I don't - this time.

One of the things that spurred the blogging bug again, was reading through some old editions of the Dubliner, one of my favourite magazines and one that seem to nurture the same relationship with our city as myself: we do love Dublin, but we can still slag her off in a friendly banter, and while we recognize some of her flaws and dirty habits, we have a big soft spot for her and think that we may just end up together after all. In the Dubliner (read some here, although the online version lags far, far behind the proper paper piece), they have the fabulous column 'My Dublin', where famous and familiar faces give us an insight in their personal version of the Fair City. Realising it is unlikely that I will be picked for any upcoming editions, I choose to self-publish my confession of what makes my Dublin my Dublin: 

MY DUBLIN Hilde Watne Frydnes

OUTDOORS Becoming a keen cyclist, feeling the fresh wind on your face in Phoenix Park on a sunny Sunday is heaven. Still haven't figured out when the deer are where though! Also the little harbours near Dalkey and wonderful Killiney Hill are all magical on a warm spring day. Evening walks zig-zagging the bridges are still a favourite; and even if it is not really Dublin, horse riding around Glendalough is a heavenly experience in all weathers.

SHOPPING While I hate clothes and shoe shopping, TopShop is great for long jeans, and when the mood takes me (rarely!), there is something to be said for the opportunities in Dundrum. The kind of shopping I like, however, can be done in Kitchen Complements off Grafton Street, perusing Conn's Cameras for stuff I can't afford, feeling sporty in The Great Outdoors, or browsing Mujii for things I don't need. The Saturday food market in Meeting House Square is delicious, and Winding Stair is great for both dining and book shopping. Oh, and Hodges & Figgis has all a book lover could want for!

EATING With the recession and rising unemployment in near family, eating out is not a frequently enjoyed activity. Cheap and immensely cheerful is a chai latte, blueberry muffin and The Dubliner (or equally enriching magazine or Martin McDonagh play) in Iveagh Gardens. A favourite is also matpakke in some secluded and sunny spot after a hefty cycle to Dalkey or beyond. But great vegetarian food out can be had in Cornucopia, scones and tea in Bewley's, deep fried ice cream (and preluding Mexican dinner, anything with corn) in Acapulco, amazing Thai in Saba or Diep Le Shaker, and a great place for guests visiting is Jo'Burger in Rathmines, both for the burgers and for the menus and games. Good fun.

DRINKING For some unknown reason I have built a reputation as somewhat of a connoisseur of pubs and watering holes in Dublin, and while I have done my bit to 'Save Your Local', there are still plenty of the 700 pubs in the city I have not tested. Some favourites are described in Publin, others include Waterloo, The Stag's Head, and on a good and not too work-crowdy day: Ocean's Bar.

DUBLIN UPS The weather is usually great: moody and rainy or sunny and charming. I like both. The proximity to everywhere, sea, mountains, country, the world (excluding Norway, which takes forever to get to). The pubs. The streets. The parks. The people. The craic. The variety. Andrea Roche (sic!) said it nicely; "[Dublin] is a perfect combination: a big city with the friendliness of a small town."

DUBLIN DOWNS Cycling here can be an extreme sport, and not in the good way. The city struggles with poverty, alcoholism and social division issues. Girls tend to be orange, and they are not allowed abortions (the two are not linked, however). The traffic is mental. And Ireland as a whole has not got a great head for money - or feminism.

PRESS There are so many horrible publications, particularly including the ones who ran Jade Goody on the front covers for about 3 weeks. However, there are bright lights in a journalistic bogland: The Dubliner is great, The Irish Times has great additions but a lousy online paper, The Observer is English but adored on Sundays, and other than that I need to start reading more papers.

TV AND RADIO I start the day with doom and gloom from Morning Ireland on RTÉ Radio1, and when the sport comes on I know I am late. Lyric FM is on in the living room most days, or Raidió Na Life for Irish inspiration and a chance to go 'agus! I know that!' Otherwise TodayFM keeps me semi-entertained while showering, and Newstalk gets an ear in quite regularly (and I even listen to Off The Ball to keep up to date with insanely uninteresting sports facts). TV has recently been banned to try to keep the household more cultured, but I sneak a peak at Americas Next Top Model when I can, or Scrubs if it is on when I turn on the telly. I also recently discovered and fell in love with CountryFile on BBC!

FAVOURITE SUBURB I have to say Dalkey or Greystones. Not because I dream of living there, or imagine myself in one of the amazing houses with the sea view, or envy the harbours and the quirky shops and cafés (The Happy Pear in Greystones is superfantastic, but the white hot chocolate is too sweet even for me), or because I can practically see myself happy as a pear there with architectural and dry, well-built rooms...oh, wait, that's exactly why! Oh, sweet suburbia and suburban wallets...

SPORT Hands down, playing Sunday footie in Herbert Park. I also intend to see a proper match in Croker one of these days, and some country event in hurling, if I can.

PETS If you don't count the Ape, a sneaky cheek eating our leftovers and chocolate, or the mice/rats/ghosts who lived in our wall for a while, there is no room for pets in The Shire, my current residence. I dream of getting myself a horse, however, so I guess I have to move to either Smithfield or nearer Wicklow for practical reasons. Or just go straight for the castle with stables.

THEATRE I love the Ibsen-esque atmosphere in the Gate Theatre, and they are amazing at stage scenery. The Olympia is a cool stage, although the seats are not for long lengs. The Project Arts Centre has good non-classical stuff. I don't particularly like the Gaiety, mainly after seeing 1. Drunk Orange Girls on a Saturday night detour and 2. The Worlds Longest Play on the very back row, in the middle of a heat stroke inducing summer, after a long day at work.

ARCHITECTURE Dublin is great at pretending and mimmicking, but I still like they features of  the great yard in Trinity College, the look of the Custom House on a dark, still evening by the river, red bricked George's Street Arcade, and of course the Cake Building.

Gratulerer SuperIngvild

Hurra for deg som fyller ditt år, jejeje. Håper du har en super dag, med super kake, super øl, supre venner (jeg er der i ånden!) og superballonger! Gleder meg til å treffes neste gang, håper du nyter dagen og kaker og alt.

Stor bursdagsklem!

Gratulerer med dagen!

Gratulerer med dagen, kjære lillebror!

Håper du får en fin dag.

Her er en fin gave: http://www.sendenlege.no/

Windy city

Apparently, what everyone does when they either get older, run out of things to talk about, or just need something to fill that awkward silence with while shuffling your shoes in the lift or waiting for the cashier to bag your items; talk about the weather. I don't know which of those categories I fall into right now - most likely it's the getting older-part that is getting to me, regardless of many "I-am-nearing-thirty-you-are-so-young-I-remember-what-it-was-like-when-I-was-carefree-and-youthful-like-you!" moments from my friends lately - but I feel it is time to give some comment on the latest weather development here in Ireland. This might have been sparked from the last few weeks' focus in my Irish class, where we have pondered the many varieties of describing cloudy, windy, cold and rainy aimsire as Gaeilge. Supposedly the Irish does not have a phrase to describe "It is always sunny", which strikes me as one of the many endearing quirks of a language which neither has yes or no, and where letters are added, subtracted or lesioned by rules that seem governed by an ancient someone's initial reaction rather than a logical system, or at least not by a logical system graspable after six weeks. I truly adore it none the less, however.

But the subject was supposed to be weather, not Irish. It is maybe characteristic that my thoughts are spurred rather by a lack of the one feature everyone connects with Ireland than the supposed presence of it; the rain. I came over in the hope and belief that I would get my fix of proper soakings here, dark nights by the window with lashing storms and striking rainfalls, long walks soaked as a sheep wet to the skin, and sparkling streets glittering from light reflected in the wet asphalt. What has rather prevailed these last few months has been surprisingly sunny or mindblowingly windy, admittedly to some disappointment for yours truly. Rain has been scarce apart from the week I arrived, and some half-decent days here and there, but I got more rain during my week-long stay in Bergen than I've done in all the time since I've been here. Many of my acquaintances cite the wet weather as one of the reasons they do not wish to stay permanently in this magical city - whereas I would only migrate of climatic reasons in search of more rain; and less of this blasted wind! The last week has been exceptionally annoying, with winds seriously disturbing normal passage through the days. On Tuesday I was very nearly hit by a bus, being blown harshly off the footpath and right into the street by a particularly vicious gust of wind crossing a bridge. Going to work takes longer than usual because the wind forces you to slow your step, and because it continuously threatens to remove you from the path onto the street or into the dodgy mudwaters of the canal. Dangerous stuff. I've seen kids and cyclists literally unable to move forward due to the immense opposition from the horizontal forces thrown at them, and umbrellas all across the city end up broken and discarded, providing no protection for their owners and proving rather dangerous for taller pedestrians like myself navigating through crowded streets, being right in my eye-height as they usually are when they are knocked off position. Back home in the Shire, our sturdy red brick house is creaking on its foundations, while our hobbit door threatens to jump off its hinges every few minutes.

I really, really do not like wind - it is the most useless weather of all, and serves no pleasure or practical purpose whatsoever, unlike more agreable forms of weather like life-affirming rain, mood-lifting sun or beautiful snow and frost. Wind just messes with peoples heads, messes with less solid structures and with everything that is good in this world. Give me some vertical, windless downpours any day, and I'll be as happy as a pup in a playground, but these windy days break my spirit. I hope for some proper rough days when I migrate to Donegal for St Patrick's day, but in the meantime I will stay inside and curse the gails that continue to roam around every corner without subsiding. Grrr.

Going west

Although Dublin is a lively and lovely place to be, it is sometimes nice to leave it behind for a period of time and explore some of the other attractions of the Emerald Isle. Ireland has so much to offer the wayfarer and the discoverer, and I have made some efforts to get around and see bits and pieces, notably the west coast, which is amazing and astonishingly beautiful, some of the north east, which is less stunning but quite interesting, and a bit of the immediate south, including the Dublin and Wicklow "mountains". A lot is yet to come, and I can especially not wait to see Donegal, where I'll head for Paddy's Day, and Cork, which sounds amazing. This weekend saw me however in Galway, the enigmatic centre of the west, combining a young university crowd, rowdy tourists and elements of the surrounding Gaeltachts in a way that makes for a great weekend outpost.

Slightly out of character for Norwegian Hilde, but as it seems more in line with the emerging Irish version of myself, a rash decision was made on Saturday morning to jump at the chance of joining three colleagues on the train heading westwards. Cutting through the countryside where the landscapes varied between green fields, green hills, greenish bogs, green trees, gray spots of town centres, sheepish-looking livestock and more green fields, my old love of training (!) re-emerged, and provided an excellent start to the weekend adventure that I for a couple of hours presumed to be a day trip, causing my overnight equipment to be somewhat lacking finesse. But never one to turn down a great suggestion, I accepted my fate as a hostel lodger for the night, and spent a truly entertaining day and a half in the party capital of western Ireland.

Galway has many charms, but an astonishing number of sights and activities is not one of them. The surrounding area, including the Burren, Cliffs of Moher and other magnificent strokes of genius by Mother Nature, is of a lot more interest than Galway city centre when it comes to scenic appreciation. On two 20-minutes walks starting from the imaginatively named Shop Street, where most shops are found, most of the elements of any interest were covered, including Eyre Square, the Spanish Arch, the Cathedral with the ridiculously long name, the multitude of giant acrobatic swans and the nice bridges and walkways across and around the flowing river Corrib and parallel canals.

Apparently most people visiting Galway do it for the cafés, clubs, pubs and nightlife, however. So who were we to turn our backs on it? It being a rugby night, most places were crammed with green jerseys and, for this match in particular, bucketloads of old men in kilts, but pleasurably poured and even more pleasurably cheap pints could be had in the charming yet immense "super-pubs", including the King's Head, built in honour of English Charles I's Galwayian assassin and the Quay's, conveniently located directly across the road from our hostel. In course of the evening we also had a taste of the local cuisine, with delicious lemon sole in McDonagh's (although the mash was atrocious) and the good intention of having oysters, but deciding to save that pleasure for a rainier day. On Sunday I also spotted my new gastronomical Mekka, unfortunately closed at the time, but a venue I will hunt down on my next trek west; the Couch Potata's, where all dishes include my favourite food, the undefeatable and celebrated Potato. (2008 is the UN's international potato year, by the way, an ongoing event that I enthusiastically try to take part in as much as I can).

In total, Galway was a real treat on a very spontaneous adventure, and a city I would definitely go back to - most likely as a base for enjoying the wonders of the amazing landscape and seascape around it, and as a great place to experience heaploads of good craic, music, excellent sea food, life contemplation on a bench overlooking the sea, river walks and amazing cafés with all kinds of interesting cuisines (who all unfortunately seem to open after 12 on a Sunday, reducing our enjoyment of it this time). And - what happens in Galway stays in Galway.

Liking the biking

After my previous Publin-post inspired some well-meaning and concerned comments from certain parental sources, I've decided not to relate the calamities of this weekend in great detail. Let's just say that it included a 12-stop pub crawl organised by a bunch of Irish Googlers, which I attended with enthusiasm, a competitive streak and almost purely in the interest of ambassadoring. It was a lot of fun, and while proving that I have evolved an almost superhuman tolerance of Guinness, it also gave me a chance to see even more of the 700 (!) pubs of this city. Enough said on that subject.

A slightly more salubrious project was however undertaken earlier that day, when I went to Cycleways with a friend to purchase a new and shiny means of transport. One of the innumerable perks of working at Google is that, in the interest of environmentalism and healthy workers, we get a 200€ voucher for a bike or bike equipment at Cycleways. Our office of somewhere in the 1500 employees has only 20 car spaces, which is unusual for any company, but I suspect even more so in Dublin, where in the mornings it seems like the entire city is sitting solitary behind the wheel, jammed in traffic for the better part of the day. But some people risk their life and limbs and get on a bike, and because the Google voucher means I can severely reduce the cost of getting one, I figured I might as well be one of them.

Because I didn't bring my badge that day though, it meant that I have to wait a week to actually get my hands on the actual bike, but I am not going to let that stop me from getting into the spirit of biking. I might need to work on getting into that a lot, because one of the very few things that really, really scare me in Dublin is the idea of getting into the traffic here. One thing is walking, something I have so far survived - not a mean feat in itself, believe you me - but actually being on the less pedestrian scale of things while maneuvring through the left-side traffic scares the beejesus and whatnot out of me. Why?

1. Pedestrians. Being one myself, I know that there is no way of crossing Dublin, or in fact most streets, without persistently jaywalking, a concept the Irish have taken to new levels. No one really uses the crosswalks, most people seem to have made it their mission and most readily available form of extreme sports to cross wherever there is more than 30 cm between rushing cars, happily dodging trucks, bikes and cars with inches to spare. I can barely handle this from a walking perspective, I do not trust that I would mounted on a bike.

2. Buses. They are giant, terrifying two-story metal constructions with a lot of horse power and no clear routes (that I have been able to gather anyway) and they seem to be manned only by risk-takers with a vengeance. Nobody drives more aggressively and less predictably than Dublin bus drivers. I can literally feel my knees wobbling at the thought of being overtaken by one.

3. Left-hand driving. I never got around to getting my licence in Norway, and after realising it will cost me about ten times less over here, I plan to apply for a provisional license, which means I can legally drive without any actual knowledge, and then learn how to drive in Ireland instead. But that means I never really learnt the rules of the road, and I have no idea how they convert into the opposite side. All I know is that is still, even after 6 months, hard to know where the cars are coming from, and I will be in big trouble trying to go through junctions of any type.

4. Provisional licenses. As mentioned above, provisional licenses are a treat for Norwegians, as they are very cheap and mean you can get a lot of practice on the streets without actually knowing what you do. That also means that a lot of people are sort of feeling their way through the traffic, and that means that you can never trust that cars will behave you expect them to if the drivers actually had known the rules or how to drive. If that's not scary, nothing is.

5. Other cyclists. Because the traffic is horrible here, a lot of people who start cycling are disgruntled solitary drivers desperate to get that two mile commute done in less than an hour and a half. They then get on their bikes and cycle with a contempt for all the wankers that block up the streets, and they get very aggressive and very competitive. Good luck trying to carefully stop when the lights turn yellow and you won't get across that junction before the other cars head straight for you - suits on bikes will leg it past you and flip you off while doing so.

6. The lack of bike-friendliness in the city infrastructure. Yes, there are some designated cycle paths here and there. Yes, Dublin is a freakishly flat city. That does not help you much when you are forced to navigate all the above monstrosities, and will likely find your bike being stolen or stripped for extra parts like seat, pedals or wheels by the time you get off work, if you got there safely in the first place.

But, and this I mean from the bottom of my non-existant heart - I will overcome my fears, my doubts, my lack of skills and my concerns, and I will get a bike. Even if I might end up only using it by walking it through the entirety of the city up to Phoenix Park to have a leisurely stroll in the safety of the biggest city park in Europe...

Happy half-anniversary

Today I've been in Dublin for 6 months. Yay!

Half a year ago I came to Dublin Airport with great expectations and an even greater suitcase, an intent to embrace and enjoy everything Irish, and a resolution to discover what Dublin really had to offer. The project is long from over, but as a status report, a half-year review, I have to say that I am profoundly pleased with what I've done and seen so far.

From the first day, when I realised just how friendly and charming this city was, through months of getting to know new people, new places, new experiences, till this morning's amazingly beautiful fog covering the streets with a bleak sun struggling to get through, there hasn't been a moment when I wished I was somewhere else. And I love it.

So, in keeping with my abysmally bad taste in music, I'll use one of my embarrassing Irish favourites to celebrate this milestone day. Putting a smile on my face every time I walk down the streets and remember how great it is to be in Dublin, here's (oh, so uncool...) Brian McFadden: