A few more observations…

The Spanish seem to be remarkably fit.  I say this because their diets are laden with pork, cheese, cream, and very few vegetables.  At least this is what the normal run-of -the-mill restaurants in Barcelona and outskirts seem to boast.   When one walks into a supermercado, the smell of fish permeates all.  Not too appetizing.  They say you should never go shopping for groceries while hungry.  Perhaps this strategy works  overall for the average Catalunyan.  They don´t overeat due to the old gag reflex one gets every time one swings by to pick up a pig leg or the double cream for coffee and get a good whiff of the fish.

But perhaps it´s all the walking that is done in between trains and buses going to and from work .

What’s-His-Name

A recurring question posed by my mom since I’ve arrived is, what is the overall opinion Europe has of Barack Obama? Apparently, as of late, he´s being drawn and quartered by those who once supported him.

To be honest, I’ve seen very little that would give me an inkling of how Europe sees our President. I know. It’s hard to believe that not ALL people see our fair president as the center of the universe, but these folks (at least the Brits) must be thinking about other things like their own spineless, rotten, government.

But according to my friends Julie and Colin, England sees Obama as one who can do no wrong.

I heard an interview with Johnny Depp (a well-known johnny-come-lately to France) as I was passing by the “telly” the other day, and he was asked what he thought of Obama. Depp stated that he felt that Barack Obama was ¨a breath of fresh air¨ that our country has so badly needed since having to endure, “you know, “What’s-His-Name” for the past 8 years.¨

And there you have it. As far as I´m concerned, such opinions pretty much sum up the whole and are the only ones that matter.

Blessing

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

By  John O’Donohue, who died suddenly just last year.  He was age 54.

Boiled Eggs and Soldiers

By vissago

Ryder has discovered a new meal du jour and it’s called, “Boiled Eggs and Soldiers.”  Apparently, it is as English as the All-American Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwhich.  What happens is, eggs are soft-boiled to 3 minutes (this is debatable, but important), then placed in little cups.  You then “behead” the eggs (if you have 2 or 3 at a time, then you want to behead them all at once.  Otherwise, they continue to cook and the yoke becomes hard) and dip the little “soldiers” into the yummy gooey yoke.  The “soldiers” are of course, strips of toast.

This from foodlovers.co.nz in New Zealand:

There are several explanations as to how ‘Soldiers’ gained their name. One is obviously that they are cut even and straight – lined up like a row of soldiers standing to attention on your plate. There is a further suggestion that they represent the ‘all the king’s men’ that couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again. One café horrifying invites you to dunk your bread in Humpty’s head! It is generally accepted that ‘Egg and Soldiers’ is English in its origin.

Whatever the origin,  little boys across this country, along with my fair Ryder, are dipping their little soldiers into slightly raw chicken embryos, every three minutes, on average.

Here we go

United Kingdom is next on our list. Tomorrow we take a bus to get on a boat. That boat then takes us to Holyhead, England (whoops, it’s actually Holyhead, Wales) where we shall board a train, and that train shall take us straight to London. We shall then board another train, and this train will take us to our designer destination, Brighton, England. Apparently, Brighton is the “new Barcelona” according to an advertisement campaign. Being that I was recently in Barcelona, I’ll have to compare and contrast. From the look of this picture, I feel I had better bring my sword.

We’ll be one of 8 million who apparently visit there every year, but our experience will be unique in that I am getting to visit my old friend from my Fountain Valley School days, Julie Watson! And boy is she a character! We haven’t seen each other for probably 17 years! So this should be quite a fantastic reunion.

Are you my mother?

I see myself in people everywhere here.

I once commented to Danny Renny, a colleague of mine, “You know, I’ve got quite an imagination. I can make up all sorts of torturing scenarios in my head and then I really believe them.”

I then asked him, “Is that an Irish thing?”

Danny, who is from Ireland, replied fervently, “Oh my god.”

So as we walk through these streets of Dublin, I can’t help wondering what it means to be Irish. I do have Irish blood and apparently lots of it. But I also have english blood and german blood. So who am I, really? What characteristics does one take on from ancestry. If cells truly have individual memory apart from brain cells, then could my cells that share DNA with my distant ancestors, be contributing to the characteristics of who I am today? Could I be having some of the same exact thoughts that some of my ancestors thought, say, 100 years ago?

J.W. Croker wrote in 1808 that the Irish are “restless yet indolent, shrewd and indiscreet, impetuous, impatient, and improvident, instinctively brave, thoughtlessly generous, quick to resent and forgive offenses, to form and renounce friendships.”

Anyone who knows me well would probably concur with this as a pretty accurate description of me, actually. But then again, doesn’t it describe most of us?

People are such amazing conglomerates of genes and DNA and we’re so influenced by the movement of the planets, the weather, and the events, it’s hard to tell what it is exactly that makes us who we are.

Still, it’s always fun to think about the possibilities of who it is you may be sharing ideas, thoughts, or emotions with as you search for yourself through the streets of where it is your people came from.

No, tell us what you really think

Wow!   The Irish really do hold a grudge, now don’t they.  You hear it dropped in conversations and in commentary in tours, especially.  I guess 900 years of occupation by the British really puts a sour taste in one’s mouth, even 80-something years later after Independence was declared.  

Here’s some interesting history, if anyone is interested: http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/2419/warindx.html

Some of it sounds very familiar.  Hmmm…

Stay a while

Take your shoes off.  

We found a little room in an attic that has a veranda at the top of “The Bridge House”  in Temple Bar, Dublin.  It received HORRIBLE reviews on TripAdvisor. com, but the deal was good and we inspected the room before entering.  I think what they lack is “quality control”.  There were sacks and sacks loaded with beer cans cigarette butts lay on the veranda, but I pointed this out to the maid and she became embarrassed.  It’s pretty clean otherwise, and CHEAP which is huge in a town where I just spent $7.50 cents on a brownie for Ryder.  :o)  Lovely.  

So we’re happy.  Ryder is painting and I’m reading heaps.  This is the secret to traveling with kids, I’ve discovered: find a place and stay awhile.  Otherwise, the fits begin.

Feckin A, Dublin!

It’s always fun to walk around and see the differences in culture, coloquialisms, etc.

Take the word “feckin”, for instance. I saw that written in a news article in The Independent the other day.

What else stands out?

“Off License” shops are everywhere – these are what they call liquor stores.

Eggs sit on a shelf next to the ketchup and bread and not in the dairy case. Yummy!

There’s no half-and-half of course. Only milk or cream, but mostly milk.

Ryder has now seen “Dora the Explorer” in German, French and Spanish.

The word “caravan” is used instead of “trailer”. Sounds so civilized and cozy as opposed to a DOUBLE-WIDE TRAYLOR!

No censorship on the “telly”. You get to hear all the feckin words you’d like. Ryder witnessed Tom Hanks feel up Melanie Griffith’s breasts just last night! Whoops.

Video cameras EVERYWHERE in the streets, the restuarants. This whole bloomin’ town is under surveillance.

On a better note, the chocolate is awesome. Even their crappy chocolate is good.

Down and Out in Galway

“Umm yes, ehem…excuse me but is there a recession here?”

” I’m afraid not. Well, actually, he was here about an hour ago, but we’ve already forgotten about him and well, you’ll have to pretend as well.”

Okay so we just paid 80 USDollars to a hostel in a 4 story walkup for a freaking room painted dark blue with no bathroom BUT the bad painting of a canoe hangs over the bed at no extra charge. We’re going back to Dublin tomorrow. Galway isn’t all that, people.