Ciao

Initially, our plan for Italy was to find a room or apartment to sublet while I taught online summer term. Then we had the idea of walking from Switzerland over the Alps and down to Rome. We would follow an old pilgrimage trail called the Via Francigena, and take 9 weeks to walk the nearly 600 miles. That plan went by the wayside when we discovered the Alps reportedly had more snow than usual, making the crossing of them impossible. Eventually we settled on the idea of a shorter hike to Rome beginning near the Cinque Terre.

We flew to Nice, France, and spent a couple of days there. It really is a wonderful place, full of beautiful people, but we were set on heading to Italy. After some days near Genoa (Genova to the Italians), we headed to the Cinque Terre, a series of five villages on the Mediterranean coast.

This was all between my spring and summer terms, my vacation, but for me to work from the road I would need regular internet access. We had hoped that it would be available at most of our stops, at internet cafes, and at regular cafes with wi-fi. Unfortunately, that wasn’t proving to be the case. Our first campground in Italy had no internet access, nor did the town seem to have any internet cafes. In the Cinque Terre, we didn’t see any hotels or rooms to rent that advertised internet access (though certainly some may have had it), and the internet cafes we did find were expensive.

Italy passed a law a few years ago requiring that all persons using the internet (or buying a mobile phone) had to provide identification first. So, each time we’ve used the computer here we’ve had to hand over our passport. Amy realized this might be why nobody seems to have wi-fi, since it would be hard or impossible to trace who was using the internet. We have since found a few places with wi-fi, but we realize now that our dream of finding regular internet service in small villages as we hiked the countryside were just that, a dream.

Our plan right now is not to have a plan (which should surprise no one), at least not beyond a week or two from now. After we leave Pisa (where we have been for the last few days) we’ll stay in Florence a short time, then spend a few days at a place in the countryside that claims to have internet access. After that, we head to Rome, which will surely have internet available. If we like it, we go back to our original plan, at least a version of it, and sublet an apartment with the internet for several weeks.

We knew there were many factors that could derail our plans of hiking Italy, but we hadn’t thought the internet was one of them.

 

We’re off!

Our time in Ireland is almost over.  Tomorrow, we fly to Nice, France, before heading over to Genoa and spending 9 weeks traveling in Italy.  After that, we’ll spend 6 weeks seeing some places in Europe we haven’t made it to yet, then spend 11 weeks in Spain.

We have mixed emotions about leaving Ireland.  Our plan has been to see as much of the world as we can, and we look forward to seeing new sights and meeting new people, so moving on is the right thing to do.  But we’ve made some great friends here, and leaving them won’t be easy.  For Amy it’s particularly difficult, since she’s had the chance to work with some incredibly talented professionals at Cope, and they’ve become good friends to both of us.  Now, she’s taking a break from work.

It is mostly the people we’ll miss, but Ireland is a beautiful place, and Cork will always be a special place for us.  The scenery in the countryside here is a lot like home in Oregon.  Well, the greenery is; we don’t have that many stone walls in Oregon.  I’m not sure yet whether seeing the green fields in Oregon will constantly remind me of Ireland, or whether I won’t miss Ireland as much because I won’t be yearning for the lost beauty.

Cork City felt familiar soon after we moved here, and over the last few days I realized how much this place has become home.  A few days ago I saw a house and knew it was freshly painted; I wouldn’t have known that when I first arrived.  It’s only by being in a place for months or years that a person gets to really know it and can recognize small changes.

There are differences between Amy’s Irish experience and mine.  Because she’s in daily contact with co-workers and parents of clients, she’s gotten to know the Irish people better (and is surprised when I haven’t heard a particular Irish phrase or word).  But because I do the shopping and have more time to wander about, I know Cork as a place better.

Moving to Ireland was harder than we expected, harder to get a license, harder to find a place to live, harder to get involved in the community and meet people.  But we wanted to be challenged, and to experience a new way of living, and we’ve had that.  Despite the difficulties, we have no regrets.

How have we changed?  We discovered we love rugby, lamb, and tea with milk.  We realized we Americans really are louder than anyone else.  We learned a little about how much we assume things are a certain way, when they’re really just a certain way in a certain place.  We learned that people outside America are just like us, only different.  We learned that moving to Europe makes some people think we’re cool, and others think we’re crazy.  We confirmed we love to see new places and meet new people, but we hate actually traveling.  It’s the waits in airports and plane trips we dislike the most, so much of our travel for the next few weeks will be on foot.

So, it’s goodbye to Cork, to Ireland, and hardest of all, to our wonderful friends.  We haven’t even left and we miss you already.

 

Different Tastes

I think many people take for granted that whatever they like to eat is “normal,” particularly if everyone they know eats the same thing.  So, many Americans probably think peanut butter and jelly (jam here in Ireland – jelly would refer to gelatin) sandwiches are a staple in many places throughout the world, but I don’t think they are.  Peanut butter isn’t eaten nearly as much here, and many Irish adults have never had a PB & J sandwich.  The Irish equivalent?  An individual size pack of Mr. Tayto’s Cheese and Onion crisps (potato chips in America) on white bread spread with butter.  I like it, actually.

Crisps are almost always flavored here (and often only available in small bags, or giant bags that hold many smaller bags), usually cheese and onion, or salt and vinegar.  There certainly are flavoured crisps in America, including some not found here, like barbecue, but there it’s easy to find big bags of plain chips, with just salt.  Because American crisps are usually plain, people often buy dips for the crisps.  Dips are harder to find here.

We’ve mentioned before that it’s hard to find Hershey’s chocolate over here.  That’s not surprising once you’ve heard an Irish person describe Hershey’s as tasting like . . . well, let’s just say it’s not something found on the food pyramid.  The most common chocolate over here is Cadbury’s, which to many Americans means only the Cadbury cream-filled Easter egg.  Actually, though, Cadbury’s is quite good.

So far, we haven’t found a movie theatre here that serves its popcorn with melted butter, an artery-clogging staple for American moviegoers.  But at least the unbuttered popcorn seems familiar to us.  A German friend of ours went to a movie shortly after her arrival in Ireland and almost gagged on her first mouthful of popcorn; in Germany the popcorn is always sweetened, so the salted popcorn was an unpleasant shock for her.

It’s not just preferred flavours that are different.  Amy was having lunch with an Indian man and an Irishwoman.  The main dish was a curry, and the Irish woman thought it was very hot, Amy thought it had a little heat, and the Indian didn’t think it had any heat at all.  We know some Irish people who love hotter foods, but it’s not as common here.

 

Irish perceptions of Americans

According to various Irish people we’ve met, Americans are:

Prepared.  One of Amy’s co-workers said Americans are “always prepared.”  She illustrated this point by relaying her own story of taking a tram with her family to the top of Mt. Etna.  They didn’t plan it well, arriving late (of course), and it began to snow on them as they trudged down the mountain totally unprepared for the weather (she confessed, as have others, that the Irish are never prepared for the weather).  They passed a couple heading up the mountain in full snow gear, and she noted they were Americans.

Very Dallas.  One woman we met said that Americans are “very Dallas.”  We think she was referring to the show, and she meant rich, brash, loud, over-the-top, maybe a bit bossy.

Careful.  The woman who prepared our lease agreement at Rochestown laughed when we sat down to read it, but she wasn’t surprised.  She said Irish tenants never read leases and contracts, while Americans always do.

Gun-wielding maniacs.  Amy works with an Irishwoman who regularly visited America.  She laughed at the time she got a ride in a man’s pick-up, and as she climbed into the back seat, he warned her, “Don’t stomp on my gun.”

Rich heiresses.  In America, passengers in taxis ride in the back seat, but not so here in Ireland.  We didn’t know that, so the first few times we rode a taxi in Cork, we climbed in back.  Amy did this one day and when her driver heard she was from Texas, he started going on about chauffeuring a rich Texas heiress.  Amy sits in the front seat now.

 

You can’t get there from here

cork ireland map – Google Maps_1241763066441

Originally uploaded by Pat and Amy’s pics

We bank at AIB, and there is a branch office about 100 yards from here. Getting there, however, is a challenge. At least, getting there legally.

Driving should work, except while the bank has a parking lot, it’s not possible to get into the parking lot legally. You see, the one car-sized curb cut allowing cars into the lot is actually several feet down the street from the lot (and leads nowhere), so drivers have to (and do) drive on the wide sidewalk before getting to the lot itself. When leaving, many drivers opt to drive out using the bike and wheelchair-sized curb cut (about 4 feet wide).

Walking should be easy, except to walk there using sidewalks and crosswalks involves about a half mile hike, heading north up the road until it reaches a T-intersection, then crossing over to the other side of Curragh Road, coming back along Curragh Road, and finally crossing three more streets to get to the bank. Opting for a more direct route involves attempting to cross the road at a wide expanse of tarmac where five roads meet, and two more enter less than fifty feet away. There is no crosswalk from where we are, and it’s difficult to look every direction and judge the traffic correctly to know it’s safe to cross, so usually I get halfway out and have to wait in the painted triangular no-drive zone while traffic passes by. The no-drive zone is more of a theoretical concept than a reality, so it’s not always terribly safe.

 

Bus Eireann

There’s a joke I heard years ago that said which nation would be in charge of different things in heaven and hell.  The joke used stereotypes to imagine the best and worst role for each country, so the Italians were the lovers in heaven but ran the trains in hell, for example.  I got to pondering, where would the Irish fit into that joke?  In heaven they could be the storytellers, or maybe the musicians and singers, or maybe just be in charge of craic (fun).  I have no doubt what they would do in hell, though: they would run the buses.

Everyone (except the employees of Bus Eireann, of course) thinks Bus Eireann does a terrible job.  An article in a paper a few months ago referred to the company as “infamous,” people regularly complain about the service on discussion boards, and whenever I told people I didn’t have a car and had to use Bus Eireann, they would give me a sympathetic look and agree that the service was awful.

What makes them so bad?

1. For example, the bus that passed by our apartment in Rochestown was the 223, but it ended at different points at different times of day, so the bus might show a destination of Passage West or Monkstown or something else entirely.
2. The different destinations for the same route might not be so confusing if the route numbers were correctly displayed, but I would estimate that about 15% of the time the 223 bus would show some other number on it because the driver hadn’t bothered to change it.
3. Twice in one week the bus simply drove right past me when I was at a bus stop.
4. There are also no schedules posted at most stops, so it’s all a guessing game.
5. I had to pay to get on another bus that was going back in the direction I needed.

10.  Months ago, a driver took his nearly full bus back to the bus barn to switch drivers.  We sat in the parking lot for several minutes while what looked to be a supervisor chatted with the new driver.  This happened again just yesterday.  This gives an idea of the mindset of Bus Eireann, that the company will delay and inconvenience dozens of paying customers rather than come up with a plan that doesn’t involve buses going off-route, or require a driver to walk 5 minutes to a spot where he could meet his bus. (I say “he” because of the dozens of drivers on the routes in Cork, we’ve only ever seen one woman driver).

11.  There are posted rules against standing in front of a painted line at the front of the bus or talking to the driver.  Everyone respects the rule except the employees of Bus Eireann (identifiable by their jackets) who regularly stand next to the driver and chat away.

12.  In September of 2007 there was a day when people could ride the bus for free.  I know this because, even though I didn’t arrive in Ireland until December of 2007, the posters advertising this one-day event were securely glued onto the bus windows.  On the other hand, posters with what seem to be permanent rules on them appear to be held in place by nothing more than a little saliva.

I’ve seen a couple of columns in the newspapers saying many Irish are “world-class complainers” but another columnist noted that the Irish are moaners, not complainers.  She explained that people here moan to their friends and co-workers about things, but they don’t actually complain to anyone who can do anything.  This columnist thought that was why Ireland had such bad service in many fields, especially health care.

I have to agree, and I would add crappy bus service as one more result of not complaining.  For the record, I did complain about most of these problems, more than once, but nothing changed and eventually they stopped sending out their canned response.  I gave up, too, and began walking into City Centre from Rochestown (about an hour’s walk away) rather than ride the bus.  I still avoid riding the bus whenever possible.

 

O’Briens Sandwiches

I was out and about today around lunch so I decided to stop in at O’Briens for a sandwich.  O’Briens is a chain restaurant and coffee shop here in Ireland and elsewhere, and we’ve been in to them before a couple of times.  I saw the “Special of the Day” was a chicken tikka baguette, which sounded good, so I ordered it.

The cashier asked what I was having and when I told her it was the special she had to ask a co-worker what the special was.  I thought that was odd, because it seemed to me the special should be a set price from day-to-day.  So, I paid attention to her ringing me up and it was €2.25 for the Coke and €5.50 for the sandwich.  Again, I was confused, since that was the same price shown on the regular menu.  When I asked why the special was at the regular price, she explained, “It’s not a special offer, it’s the ‘Special of the Day.’”

I had to laugh.  I’ve seen specials that were no less expensive than other meals, but were items not found on the normal menu, and I’ve seen specials that were on the regular menu but at a reduced price.  I think this is the first time I’ve ever ordered a special that was always on the menu, and always at the same price.

To add insult to injury, the sandwich was as bland as could be.  In all seriousness, I decided about halfway through the sandwich that I would really pay attention to the next bite to see if I could detect any flavour, and in all fairness, there was the slightest hint of chicken.  This was, without question, the least special “Special” I have ever ordered.

 

Sticker Shock

100 euros for 2 t-shirts

Originally uploaded by Pat and Amy’s pics

Now that the friends and family who are planning to visit us have bought their tickets and are committed, we can finally reveal just how expensive Ireland is. The cost of things here really struck home on our Easter weekend visit to London. As we waited to see a play at the National Theatre, we strolled around the lobby looking at the wonderful free photography exhibit and listened to the music from the free concert downstairs. I thought back to the previous night when we had visited the free National Portrait Gallery, and looked forward to our free visit to the British Museum the next day. And then it hit me: I couldn’t even pee in Cork for free. As mentioned before, free public toilets are almost non-existent in Ireland (and in 16 months of living here, we have never seen a public drinking fountain).

The tickets to the play we saw cost £10 apiece, and it was fabulous, with dozens of performers on stage and wonderful production values. The seating was comfortable and the theatre a great space. When we saw a short play with two non-professional actors in Cork last year, sitting on flat stadium seating, the tickets cost €15 apiece.

In our two visits to London, considered one of the most expensive places to live in the world, we never had a meal that was more expensive than its equivalent would be in Cork. More often, we would see the prices for a meal and be in awe of how inexpensive the food was.

The Economist magazine creates a “Big Mac Index” comparing the price of a Big Mac in different countries to measure of the cost of living around the world. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to include Ireland in their list, but I went to a McDonalds in Cork to check and a Big Mac Meal costs €6.60. Prices vary in the States, but I can say it’s not that expensive in Oregon. To top it off, the meal deal here is for a medium size meal, and the mediums here really are medium, so about a child size in the United States. It’s the norm here to pay more and get less.

Last year there was a newspaper article detailing the findings of an Irish government minister who found that the exact same shirt, sold in the same chain of stores, was almost 50% more expensive in Ireland than in Britain. This doesn’t surprise me, since we saw in the window of a Cork clothing store a sign advertising two t-shirts for €100 (see the picture). I can only assume they weren’t thin, white Fruit of the Looms, but the fact that this was their one posted price shows what a great deal they thought they were offering.

It’s much more costly to do anything here. If a particular activity is free in America, it requires a fee here. If it requires a fee in America, it requires a membership here. If there’s a membership in America, the membership costs twice as much here. Seriously. Even joining the library, which is free almost anywhere in the States, costs €22 per person, per year in Cork, and we can still only check out six items at a time.

It’s not just food, entertainment and activities that are more expensive here. The cost of 48 pills of ibuprofen is around €9 at a Boots, but a person can buy 200 pills in America for less than that. For the same size bottle of contact lens solution, I’ll pay anywhere from €15 to €20 here but just $8 in the States.

To be fair, there have always been some exceptions to the rule, such as Guinney’s and Penneys, two stores with inexpensive clothing in Cork. And, as the reality of the recession sinks in day by day, more and more stores are actually dropping prices or having more sales (many stores would have just two sales a year here in Ireland, while most stores in America would have two or three sales going on at once).

There is this one upside to the expense of living in Ireland: no matter where we’ve visited, or what we’ve done, everywhere and everything else we’ve experienced has seemed cheap so travel always seems like a great deal. Then again, a moon landing would seem cheap in comparison to a weekend in Galway.

(We may need to explain the title of this post, “Sticker Shock,” to our Irish readers; we said the term to friends of ours here and they had never heard it. It refers to the surprise a person feels when first seeing the price of something that turns out to be much more expensive than expected).

 

Irish Place Names

Road sign in Cork

Originally uploaded by Pat and Amy’s pics

I love Irish place names. When we go places, I love to pull out the map of Ireland and just see what new names I can find. Here is a sampler: Meenybradden, Muckish Mountain, Aghagower, Shannawona, Keeraunnagark, Cloonboo, Gortnadeeve, Runnabacken, Crookedwood, Ballinaspittle, Ballylooby, Boobyglass, Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, Ballylickey, Reanascreena, Derreennacarton, Gortnabinna, Coolnacaheragh, Dangansallagh, Bawnatanaknock, Coolnagoppoge, and Knockeennagearagh.

Most Irish names seem to describe the place, so certain words and syllables pop up all over the place, such as Kil (church), Carrig or Carrick (rock), Clon (meadow), Bally or Balli (town), Inis (island), and so on.

Irish cities and towns often have two names, the more Anglicized version, and an Irish version, such as Cork/Corcaigh, Galway/Gaillimh, Kilkenny/Cill Chainnigh, and Limerick/Luimneach. Dublin comes from dubh and linn and means “black pool,” but the Irish name for Dublin is Baile Átha Cliath, which means “town of the hurdle ford.”

Confused yet? Well, you’re not alone. Some places in the west of Ireland are designated by the government as Gaeltacht, or areas where the Irish language is more commonly spoken. Road signs in the Gaeltacht have only the Irish version of names, which has proven to be a problem for some tourists. Would you recognize An Daingean as Dingle? We were told shortly after arriving here that the tourist industry in Dingle was hurting from so many visitors getting lost because they couldn’t find Dingle on the road signs. Business owners in Dingle were spraypainting Dingle over An Daingean on the signs in protest.

 

The “F” Word

In America, f*** is universally considered to be one of the most offensive curse words known to man.  That’s not to say that it isn’t said on a regular basis by many Americans, but for many it is considered taboo.  In Ireland, the “F” word is far less demonized and used much more casually.  I wouldn’t put it on a par with everyday slang, but it’s pretty close.
I hear the F-bomb daily in Ireland, and find myself peppering the occasional sentence with it as well.  I hear it when eavesdropping on conversations in the library, on primetime television, and in casual conversations with colleagues at work.  For most Irish people it is simply a colorful adjective, as in:  “For f***’s sake”, “That’s f***ing brilliant” or “the poor f***er.”  I have rarely heard it used in an aggressive manner (e.g. “F*** you”).  Well, there was that one time when we saw a fist fight on Barrack Street between two cab drivers.  F*** was definitely not being used in an affectionate or casual manner that time.
Pat and I remember clearly our first bit of craic in an Irish pub.  We were in Passage West, a small town outside of Cork.  It was lashing rain, and we were at the mercy of the bus which wasn’t due to arrive for another couple of hours.  Since walking around was out of the question we popped into a pub for a drink and some warmth.  We were the only customers in the pub and the owner, Simon, seemed glad of the company.  He sat down with us by the fire and began to chat.  He was incredibly friendly and welcoming, but about every third or fourth word out of his mouth was f***.  To him, it was just another word – a word that he liked to use a lot.
I find it rather amusing and appropriate that an Irishman got away with using the F-word on prime-time American television.  During the 2003 Golden Globe Awards, Bono of U2 fame, said, “This is really, really, f***ing brilliant” on the air while accepting an award.  Somehow it didn’t get bleeped out, and the FCC decided not to make an issue out of it.  Apparently, since Bono used the word f***ing as “an adjective or expletive to emphasize an exclamation”, and not to “describe . . .  sexual . . .  activities” it was okay.
Many Irish use the word feck, as well.  If you google the word, you will see that it has a variety of definitions that are not considered expletives or slang, but in the context of present day Ireland it is used exclusively (in my opinion) as a substitution for f***.  Follow this YouTube link for a Father Ted clip and see what you think.