I asked my colleagues what to do over my weekend in Galway. Consensus was to visit the Aran Islands, a group of three islands in Galway Bay that have developed an insular (literally!) culture with especially well preserved Irish language. Wikipedia will tell you much more. I was told that Inis Mór (the largest of the Aran Islands) is is a bit touristy, so I should instead go to Inis Meáin.
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Earlier this month I went to Galway to teach a workshop and then stayed through the weekend to do some sightseeing. Really lucked out with the weather—not a drop of rain any of the five days I was there.
While Galway is unfortunately about as expensive as Dublin, it’s twice as nice. (Don’t just take my word for it: I overheard two people on the train on the way back singing the praises of Galway.) While Dublin is curiously lacking (for a European city) in genuine public spaces, Galway has got lots of waterfront for walking and lounging along, little plazas, and cozy streets whose pubs have sidewalk seating. Those poles with signs hanging on them pointing in various directions for various sites had probably been twisted a bit because they rarely pointed in the right direction; otherwise, no complaints.
Click my favorite photo below to view it and others:
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My flights to Moscow for Saturday were canceled (due to the volcanic ash), so I’m still in Dublin. This is actually a great relief since I wasn’t as prepared for my presentations as I wanted to be and since I now have more time to work on the projects I am trying to complete for the DHO.
However, I’m starting to wonder about getting back to the US in case the volcano continues to erupt for the next year or two (like in the 1820s). The cheapest cabin on the Queen Mary 2 costs about €500 one way, and I doubt that includes food or anything. Maybe if I agree to wash dishes for whole seven-day journey, I could travel in steerage for free. I could probably hang out with hard-drinking Irish immigrants playing the accordion and fiddle on their way to the New World. It’d be just like in Titantic! … only hopefully without the bad ending.
Anyway, the weather here has been fantastic, without any ash in sight. Since I’ve been working way too much preparing for presentations, I’m trying to get out this weekend and not spend more time in front of a computer. I do, however, owe some of my great photos from my trip to Galway last weekend. Stay tuned …
Two weeks ago I went to Berlin for a long weekend. Mostly tourism but also a little business. I stayed with an old acquaintance and native Berliner, who showed me around the non-touristy parts of Berlin and provided some historical context (as well as anecdotes about the difficulties of doing civil engineering contracting with the city government).
Berlin is great: things cost half as much as Dublin, and there’s a wider, better selection of food. The trick to the city is finding your way around. Signage is generally good but lacking at a few critical junctures. It’s long been an edgy place, so I found the fashion less conventional than in Dublin (read: less purple).
Speaking of purple, I hear purple is big these days in Russia too. Will see for myself when I go in a week (mostly business but also a bit of tourism).
See a few photos of Berlin from this trip, which might be viewed in combination with my photos from a few years ago.
I decided to give Pablo Picanté another try. Actually two tries.
On the first return visit, I went for the shredded beef burrito. The girl at the counter asked whether I wanted regular or mild salsa. I confidently answered, “Regular.” She asked, “Are you sure? It’s really spicy.” Like an arrogant American, I responded with a completely straight face, “Nothing around here is spicy.” She smiled and said okay, scribbling spicey on my order. Actually, she probably scribbled “extra hot” to get back at me. It was, after all, quite spicey. I guess it tasted good, but I was too busy thinking about how much my mouth was burning that I’m not sure, to be honest.
On my third visit, I went for the vegetarian again. It was evening, so the place wasn’t busy. I got to chatting with the owner about how feta cheese in a burrito is sacrilegious. He said his advisors, including one from California, recommended feta but admitted he’s been having second thoughts. We agreed that if you’re going to put lots of grilled vegetables inside (which turn soggy after sitting in the hot tray for a long time), you need something like feta to balance out the taste, but I told him that what you end up with is not really a burrito (at least in my book). I suggested putting beans in the vegetarian instead of grilled vegetables, thereby allowing him to include a normal cheese to go with the beans.
While I ate my burrito (whose tortilla was too dry), a woman came in and ordered a burrito of her own. She also got to chatting with the owner about the menu options. He started off with “We have a new” before quickly correcting himself: “Well, Pablo has a new” before going on to elaborate about something on the menu. I see he’s taking his “fictional brand ambassador” quite seriously.
I should also report that, while the Mexican food at the farmer’s market is lousy, the adjacent stall with the samosas has good food—perhaps not quite spicy enough but with all the right ingredients … and fresh ones at that!
St. Patrick’s Day is the national holiday of Ireland, so it’s a day off from work. Imagine the Fourth of July, only with things on a more modest scale. Since about the mid-’90s, the government has kicked up the celebrations (mostly in Dublin but also a bit in Limerick) to bring in the foreign tourists, and they seem to be doing a good job of that. I hear the parade in Dublin used to be a sad affair, but it’s fairly polished at this point. Still, my coworker’s husband mentioned that he overheard some American tourists at the parade say, “This is the lamest parade ever!”
I find it strange that they brought in the North Carolina State University marching band (whose banner read “North Carolina State Band”, which I found misleading) to march in the parade. They performed their fight song and everything, but unlike at a football game in Raleigh, there was nobody in the audience to sing along and cheer. Those kids looked a bit dispirited marching down Dame Street.
In small towns the local parade consist of taxi drivers driving their taxis and farmers driving the tractors down the parade route. We had none of that. However, there was also no final act to mark the end of the parade. The rear was brought up by a bicycle advocacy group (with people riding bikes), a few guards (Irish policeman) on motorcycles, and then an ambulance. The end!
Dublin is known for its Georgian architecture, with whole blocks of nearly identical buildings. To help distinguish one building from another, people paint their front door a different color from their neighbor, usually yielding a tasteful rainbow of red, blue, green, black, and yellow as you walk down a block.
And then people occasionally choose less conventional colors:
It’s hard to tell, but the center door is a vibrant, deep purple. I assume the it wasn’t recently painted purple, but with the current fashion, who knows.
Forget Wild Wicklow tours: the real expert on Ireland is Mary Gibbons of Mary Gibbons Tours. I went on her Newgrange & Hill of Tara tour last week and learned that she can rattle off facts like nobody’s business. Being the first one on the bus, I got a chance to chat with the bus driver and with Mary herself about things in Ireland. Reckless public spending, powerful unions, government bureaucrats, and the encouragement of bicycling (leading to accidents with cars) were among the evils of contemporary Ireland expounded by the locals.
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