Dia dhuit, Conás átá tú

So I am in Ireland, Dublin to be exact. This is the homeland of peeps on my mom's side of the family (O'Riordan's from County Kerry), and possibly a few peeps on my paternal grandmother's side (MacDowell). I was told growing up that they were Scotch-Irish. I only recently learned that the Scotch-Irish were descended from Scottish and English families who moved to Ireland to work on Ulster plantations in the 17th century. Interesting.

I grew up as a Midwestern Irish Catholic, where being Irish is about your uncles drinking lots of beer, going to Catholic school, putting your kids in Irish dancing lessons, and cheering for Notre Dame. You get a bit of a slanted view on Ireland and what it means to be Irish, I think. I would actually hazard to guess that half of the Irish in the states cannot find Ireland on a map. I am headed to the history museum today to educate myself and such, maybe learn some Gaelic (not).

Anyway - right off the bat though, Dublin feels so comfortable. It reminds me a bit of Minneapolis or something. Where Londoners have an edge to their clothing and personalities at first (they are all friendly softies once you talk to them), the Dubliners are really mellow and laid back. While I think I might get bored in Dublin during a long-term stay, there seem to be cool little alleys and interesting historical sights everywhere. Today I accidentally jogged past a 17th century Huguenot cemetery. Cool right.

I have been here for 2 days and I can say there are three things I love already:

• No one we were with last night even so much as looked at their phones at dinner and at the bar afterwards. Awesome!
• Plastic grocery bags at the store cost 22 cents each - the city and waterways are NOT polluted with plastic bags as a result.
• The city has an urban housing density that allows most of Dave's coworkers to live nearby and walk to work. You really don't need a car and you don't have to spend hours on public transport each day commuting. It is amazing how freeing (and money saving) not having a stressful/long commute feels.

 
I also like the cab drivers. Our first cabbie told us this joke: What's an Irish homosexual? An Irishman who likes girls more than whiskey. Ha ha - just awful.

I mentioned our second cab driver that I assumed St. Patrick's and Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin were Catholic, they aren't! Well, I got a lesson in Oliver Cromwell and how in the past (like for the last 300 years) more that three Irishmen couldn't walk together down the street for fear of them staring a revolution. He used the term "we" quite a lot, as though he as a Catholic had been personally affected by Cromwell's reign of terror in Ireland. Interesting, I suppose that kind of violence does leave lasting scars.


Well we are off to the countryside tomorrow to see old stuff. I'll post some pics for ya'all. xoxo

A Dream Realized

Dave made a childhood dream come true for me.

What did you think I was going to say.

As a kid I was taunted by the Harlem Globe Trotters commercials. I grew up in Springfield, Illinois, midway between the larger markets of Chicago and St. Louis, so I was assaulted by that irritating theme song and flashy colors several times each year on TV. I was 7 and I wanted to go, I had to go, I needed to go........

Alas, my parents said it was too far away/too expensive/too lame. I never got to see the mighty Globe Trotters in action, but secretly always wanted to. Thus, my husband got us tickets for the show at Wembley and surprised me!

OK they mailed it in, really all the players did. That franchise probably needs to die now. I suppose it was mildly entertaining for a Monday night. They get little kids down on the floor and have them shoot baskets and help with jokes during the show. Probably better I didn't go as a child. I just would have resented my parents for not letting me ever do anything fun like shoot baskets on the court with the Harlem Globe Trotters, the same way I resented them for not letting me have dill pickles for dinner - as the meal. Stupid parents.

Still it was one small dream realized. And now, I will have dill pickles for dinner. It is good to be an adult sometimes.

Baggins......Shire......

Over the weekend had our first outing to "the English countryside". We went to Hampshire, which is a county located southwest of London, and yes there could be Hobbits there by the look of the houses in the area. After just a 40 minute train ride from Waterloo Station, we were in Hampshire. And countryside it was; you'd think we were hours outside of London instead of minutes. We had the best weather you could ask for, it may as well have been June instead of March.

OK don't be a hater, but we stayed at the Four Seasons Hampshire. Now, don't think I have become a hypocrite and casually abandoned my budget-travel ways, mais non! We got a "buy 2 nights get 1 free" deal that included free breakfast each day, a $100 meal credit, and a free room upgrade. My travel agency (Plaza Travel) is a preferred Four Seasons Partner, so our clients get these special deals and upgrades. Anywho, the Four Seasons was just as you would expect - perfect. Amazing service, great rooms, sweet pool/sauna/steam rooms to relax in, and all sorts of perks and extras (like free use of the hotel's mountain bikes). BUT, note that the restaurants and bars are not cheap.  And the spa was so expensive, I couldn't even look at the brochure. Still, it is an amazing hotel and would go back if I could get the deal again.

Look Ma - in the Contourwear wrap dress you bought me.

Dave playing casually snooty.

There was so much to see in the area, we didn't spend much time in the hotel. We spend most of the weekend biking along the Baskingstoke Canal trail, which is surprisingly similar to the IM Canal trail near my parent's house in Morris, IL - but slightly more scenic and with better pubs along the trail. There were farms, tiny towns, shops, restaurants, and churches - your usual countryside fare.

Sweet piggy.

Biking.

And more biking.

Two of my favorite sights along the canal were there ruins of Odiham Castle, which was constructed in the 13th century, and the remaining WWII-era concrete bunkers (pillboxes).  These bunkers were part of a defensive line in case of a German invasion from the north during WWII. Pretty cool.

Odiham Castle, sick.

 

WWII defensive pillboxes.

While not along the canal, I also loved All Saints Church in Dogmersfield. It was built in the 1840s.

Getting my old-church-fix on in Dogmersfield Village.

 

Lovely

We also hooked up (randomly) with one of Dave's coworkers and his VERY-pregnant wife, who just happened to also be staying at the hotel for the weekend. They sweetly invited us to have dinner with them at a Gastro-pub they knew of about 5 miles from the hotel. OMG how nice was that! It was a treat to talk to someone other than Dave at dinner.......ha ha.

We drove down the darkest roads ever to get to the restaurant. We all thought we had bad directions, but no - there it was The Gameskeeper. OK, I have been to so-called Gastro-pubs in London before. They are generally not so good; HOWEVER, this place rocked. The owner was our waiter for the night, and he was so passionate when describing each dish, we didn't know what to pick. We ended up having local cheeses, pork belly, venison, house-made sausage, lamb hot-pot, etc......all made with local ingredients and everything was cooked exactly as you wanted. I HIGHLY recommend that place.

I'll leave you with a final artsy photo. This is what happens when we are left to entertain ourselves in the country. Those poshy Brits at the hotel didn't know what to think of us......

Don't ask......

Football and Other Nonsense

It was a nice friend-filled London weekend. We had dinner with a cousin of my best friend growing up in the Midwest and her lovely Italian hubby, small world. Thanks for he hook-up Miss J.G. And from what I remember of the night, I can highly recommend 10 Cases. Whoever decided to combine soft egg with fois gras can have my first born. I guess that would be my dog though, and I have already given him to someone (ugh, let's not go there again).

  

On Saturday we hit the Fulham/Swansea game. Craven Cottage, the Fulham Stadium, is about 2 miles from our house.

OK I had never heard the Welsh language spoken until that day. The Swansea fans were speaking in a strange druid-like language (very politically insensitive of me there, but it is true). At first, I thought there were a bunch of Dutch or maybe Danish peeps in town. Wait a minute that isn't Dutch, wtf language is that? And I thought Gaelic was a bit strange....... 

Did you know over 600,000 people speak Welsh on a daily basis? Well - now you do! I found that so interesting. Here are some Welsh signs that I think demonstrate the "wtf" factor associated with Welsh, aka.Cymraeg.

 

No idea.

Something about elves.

At least we have the English translation here.

Anyway, we went to the Fulham/Swansea game with D.L. and H.L. Despite the weather (rather drizzly), it was fun.  And despite Fulham's loss, it was still a good day. This happiness in the face of loss was a result of Dave's $100 win at the local betting establishment. Given his Welsh heritage (or perhaps the ridiculous odds against Swansea), he bet that Swansea would win - and they did! You couldn't help but be happy for Swansea, it is their first year in the Premier League after all. The fans sang and chanted the entire game! Here is a conversation that occurred on Facebook during the game:

       N.G.: Beware the Welsh, very strange bunch

       H.L.: Very smart bunch. They have over 100 chants memorized.

       N.G.: Easy to do when you don't have a job.

Ouch........

Yay Swansea, your victory means more champers for us!

On Sunday, I had my first had a traditional English roast with the gorgeous, intelligent woman that is M.W. After eating stupid amounts of meat, we went to a wine bar for "dessert". Let's just say that I had a veeeery early bedtime after that.

I want the unicorn, and M.W.'s outstanding hat!

And in closing, Dymuniadau da, Dymuniadau gorau, Pob dymuniad da - which means Best Wishes (or something of the like) in Welsh!

Quiet Days

We have really settled in over here, I think. Routines are established and I am finding that I have pockets of free time to fill. What to do: Master's degree in some sort of energy-related field, MBA, drink tea, more language classes, more volunteering at Battersea Dogs and Cats Home, nap a lot, get another part-time job, train for an Ironman....... It is so weird to have the luxury of this "time", having worked full time (except for that 6 week break a few years ago when we went to South America) from the day I graduated college. Even during college, I worked way more than part time at the good old E-bar. I am not sure what to do with myself, be productive or just eff around. Tough call.

While I am deciding the fate of my current existence, we are planning some great trips. We have Hampshire, Belgium (Brussels, Bruges, and ?), Prague, and biking the Camino de Santiago in Spain, all coming up in the next 3 moths. I am trying to get a trip to Dubrovnik together for June also, stay tuned. Please send me any suggestions you might have for any of the places I mentioned above!


In my free time lately, I have been thinking about how much I miss my friends. Therefore, I wanted to dedicate this blog (how cheezy of me, but whateva it is my blog - I do what I want) to two close friends, J.S. and J.B. I have known them both since I was 14, and a shiny Midwesterner at a new high school in California. I have two bits of clothing that I brought with me to London that they gave me forever ago. It makes me think of them!

J.S., originally from the London area actually, gave me this scarf years ago. I remember thinking that I LOVED it because it was something I would have never thought to buy for myself. I still have this scarf after what has been at least 10 years, maybe more. I think of J.S. every time I wear it.

I am so fancy in my scarf.

J.B. is a fellow runner, and gave me this awesome running hat probably 12 years ago. It is fleece lined and the warmest thing ever. I love it and also still wear it all the time. It has gotten me through numerous snowstorms and cold morning runs. I think of J.B. whenever I wear that hat.

Thank god for warm hats, and good friends.

More Skiing and Why I Love the French

Well there isn't much to say other than we skied the crap out of that mountain for 6 incredible days. Despite varied conditions (slushy at lower elevations, a day of zero visibility, some ice), we did get two blessed days of fresh snow. Generally, conditions were great.

I learned to ski in Utah with Dave and his Dad, which was a very sink-or-swim type of experience for this Midwesterner. We always skied from 9:30 until 4:30 - no exceptions or wussing out because of weather, frostbite, or poor conditions. You just freaking skied. Thus, it takes a lot to get us to quit early or just have an "easy" day, so the zero-visibility-skiing-into-oblivion (or worse, moguls) wasn't such a big deal. It's against my programming now or something to quit because I might die or impale myself. We skied pretty hard the whole time we were there in France I need to recover from my vacation now.

During this trip, I learned that staying at such a huge resort as Trois Vallees has it's pluses:

•   You can escape the crowds quite easily
•   There is lots of untouched powder after a storm
•   There is really varied terrain

.........and minuses:

•   Sick amounts of traversing (especially bad for douchy snowboarders like Dave)
•   Lots of time spent traversing
•   Lots of time spent arguing over navigation while traversing

Here is the trip report card - in the Sugar-Shane tradition:

• The food (fondue, fois gras, red wine, mountain hut restaurants, and happiness): A+
• The food prices being 2/3 more than they were in Austria at the ski resorts, 4 Euro for a coke – what is this a Giants game or something: D+
• Weather: A- (aside from the vertigo-inducing, ZERO visibility we had on a few runs on two of the days, it was worth it for the fresh snow though)
• My French, sad - I need to practice: C-
• Boot warmers, god bless whoever invented those things: A
• Courcheval, where the other half (the uber-rich lazy ones) ski: C
• Val Thorens skiing: A-
• Meribel skiing: B+
• Les Munires skiing, a whole lot of out of control kids and adults on the (mostly) bunny slopes: D
• Scott Maya skis, perfect in all conditions – groomed runs, chop, a few inches of powder, etc. They would be crap in all powder but a GREAT ski overall for the conditions we had: A
• Le Grand Chalet Des Pistes: B
• Running into the ski patrol from Squaw Valley at lunch (really, we did): A-
• The decidedly wussy Brit parents of two VERY loud kiddos right in back of us on the 7 hour train ride home. “If you be quiet Daddy will give you a sweetie”, which induced rounds of crying for said sweetie by both children. Bad idea: D-
• Customs line at San Pancras train station in London: F
• How much the Brits and French hate each other (I have never been so proud to be an American as I was on French-run train full of Brits): B-

Yup, the French know how to relax and enjoy - check out the loungers.

View of the slopes from our room.

Sledding into town below for a drink, minus the sled.

World's longest rope tow, J.V. you would have hated this one.

Yay for skiing.

Not yay for zero visibility and freezing. Thank god for the lift cover.

Gorgeous day (ha) where you could only see about 5 feet in front of you, scary.

Who is that skiing badass, oh it's me!

Dave having a zen moment.

"Check out my S-turns", what a douche Dave.

Why do I always look so much colder than everyone else?

One must always have a cafe after a meal, please people.

So typical, my veggie soup versus Dave's giant steak.

Fondue me. I smelled like feet for 2 days - seriously.

Once again, hot soup versus Dave's Pot Au Feu - OK you win.

Picnic on the train home, you don't see the screaming kids behind us there.

Meribel - Awww Yeah

Hi y'all from Meribel, France. Unfortunately, I can't count this trip as a new country. We went to France a few months ago......

In any case, we are skiing at what is touted to be the largest ski resort in the world - Les Trois Vallees. It is a 6 hour train ride southeast of London, almost at the Italian border. There are all things I love here: skiing, French wine, French food, and the language (French). We ate at the most divine Savoyarde restaurant last night. There was more raclette and cured meat on the menu than I have ever sen anywhere, and Dave had the special steak topped with seared fois gras. We may have heart attacks before we make it back to London, but at least we will die happy.

Piste map, be in awe. Snowborders beware - lots of traversing at a big place like this.

It was really warm and sunny (and slushy) yesterday, but today brought a good few inches of snow and colder temps. Thank god, the warm weather was really hurting the slopes so we are thankful for a few more inches of snow before sunny skies again later in the week. 

You have to be careful in snow like this though, major obstacles are obscured in the few inches of snow that fell. I learned this the hard way today when one of my skis caught an ice boulder. That ski stayed lodged in the ice boulder and my body flew forward. In the chaos, I managed to kick myself in the back of the head with my other ski when I hit the ground - eliciting much laughter from the douches riding the lift that was just above me (jerks). I wear a helmet when I ski at home in Tahoe and wasn't wearing one this time. I have a giant bruise on the back of my head. Not cool.

Mom - just so you know, I am buying a helmet tonight to wear the rest of the week. The kids sizes fit my small melon so they are cheap, awesome!

In other news, I saw this at a store in London and it made me laugh. I thought you would all like it too.