Trailing Off....: 2015

Sunday, December 6, 2015

The 12 Pubs of Christmas

It’s winter. Darkness descends upon the city around 4:00 p.m. The wind is blowing so hard, parents have to hold on tightly to their children lest they be carried out to sea. The rain comes and goes without warning and nary an umbrella can withstand its ferocity.

Yet, the city is ablaze in the warm glow of festivity. Colourful lights adorn every major street and most businesses have at the very least, a wreath or makeshift tree. Crowds of shoppers, merrymakers, and students walk forward, heads bent into the wind, laughing in the face of winter.

The good people of Dublin will not be held captive in their homes by the gloom of December. They venture out in search of warmth, light, and a bit of craic. And the place that has loads of all three is the pub.

The 12 Pubs of Christmas crawl is a bit of an annoying tradition that sprung up in the last few years. A group of boisterous youngsters (usually students and/or tourists) or work colleagues don their gaudiest Christmas sweater and head out to drink themselves stupid on 12 full pints in 12 different pubs. As you can imagine, a drunk obnoxious group decked out in Santa costumes can be a buzzkill for the nice couple trying to have a quiet post-cinema pint. Some pubs have banned these groups while others embrace the extra income. It has become such a staple of the season that suggested routes can be found on many visitor websites.

So why would a middle-aged group of two decide to partake in these shenanigans? See paragraph 1 and 3!

We made our own route and some rules. The pubs must serve good craft beer, there had to be a long walk between pubs, we could only drink a small glass at each, and we had to have some snacks and water. Unfortunately, we forgot about the last and most important rule of hydration as my head could attest to the following day.

1. Alfie Byrne’s. A Galway Bay pub (there are at least 4 in the city, including my favourite , the Black Sheep). Beer: Maybe Next Monday, a citrus beer reminiscent of a Belgian Gueze.

2. Anseo. Grungy bar where I’d expect to see punk music loving, anti-establishment, formerly rebellious teens. We were there early so saw a group of middle-aged ladies on a trip from North England. Beer: Scraggy Bay IPA. Meh.

3. Against the Grain. Another Galway Bay pub, but a bit grimier and smellier than the others. Beer: Barcelona Padrino Porter. Chocolate and vanilla flavours. Yum!

4. P-Macs. In Dublin 2 where the rich and beautiful people of the city like to hang out. Not a Christmas jumper to be seen in this place. Beer: Lindeman Kriek. One of my all time faves.

5. Crowbar. In Temple Bar. It’s dark, moody, and full of oversized sofas and armchairs. During the day they have an amazing vegetarian menu. Beer: Scottish bottled beer called Birds and Bees. Kinda lager-y.

6. The Meeting House. Behind Pinxto’s in Temple Bar. It’s a knock off of Pinxto’s (which is a Spanish tapas restaurant); you can choose 9 for 54 euro though most people just seemed to be drinking. Beer: They didn’t have any good beer, so in a moment of inspiration, S ordered us a Porn Star martini (some kind of flavoured vodka and passion fruit juice) and a Mai Tai, which tasted just a like a mojito. Not very strong which was a good thing.

7. Porterhouse. 4 storey place in Temple Bar. They have their own line of craft beers that are quite good. It’s a touristy place so always some live Irish music that wasn’t too loud on this occasion. Beer: 80 Signal Stout. Just the right balance of bitter and sweet. Yum.

8. Sine (pronounced shinnay). A live music venue for hipsters who want something less quaint than the usual hipster pub. Beer: Duvel (Belgian beer)

9. The Boar’s Head. A cosy, local old man’s pub on Capel Street. Good place to sit by a fire and watch a match. Some guy grabbed my ass as I left, which hasn’t been my usual experience there. Beer: Guinness, the original craft beer.

10. Panti Bar. Gay pub where you’ll meet people of all ages many of whom like to strike up a conversation. I’ve had more chats with strangers at this pub than any other. Beer: They have their own craft beer called, Panti Bar beer.

11. The Black Sheep. My second home. Beer: O Brother-Joe Coffee.

12. The Bier House. Our other local. A real cosy place with a fireplace, nice chairs next to windows for people-watching. The only pub I’ve ever seen that has beef jerky as a bar snack. Beer: Rascal’s Ginger Port. Imagine Ginger Ale + a dark bitter port. My favourite beer at the moment.

The night finished with a bag of chips and watching a little stand-up comedy on youtube and long, long blissful sleep. I think 12 pubs was too much for this old lady, but I really enjoyed the variety and having a long, invigorating walk in the wind in between the glasses.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

On Being Tribeless

A few weeks ago, I read a blog in which a woman about my age, though very thankful for all she had, was sad that she did not have a partner and may not have the opportunity to have any more children. The things that she was thankful for included a steady job in a family business, a home she owned, a healthy and happy daughter, a church community, several friends, and a good neighbourhood. I actually laughed out loud at my computer screen and marvelled that the one thing she doesn’t have in her life is the ONLY thing that I have in mine. It got me thinking about the various tribes that we seek membership of as we grow into adulthood and wondering how important they really are.

Allow me to examine the tribes I’m currently not a part of.

The Religious Tribe

I’ve been lucky enough to see first-hand the positive effects of several different religions on communities and individuals. The common denominator of “do unto others” is so simple and obvious that it doesn’t really even need religion to promote it. I sometimes wonder what the bonhomie of boredom at a Sunday mass feels like, not to mention the faith that keeps the scariest questions at bay. But try as I might, this tribe just doesn’t call out to me.

The Social Tribe

I’m a loner at heart, an introvert who is easily drained by social interaction (which ironically enough, I do for a living). I’ve been labelled “aloof” and have been called a “cold fish”. I send out a vibe of don’t come near and my ‘resting bitch face’ doesn’t help matters. The best social tribe for my type is an ex-pat community. In my experience anyway, you belonged by just being in the town, attended meetings by showing up at pubs without the torture of making plans, and were insulated in a cosy, albeit oftentimes dull, bubble of English and culture weariness. In Ireland, though I have lovely colleagues, they’ve got their own well-established tribes. A lot of what they talk about sails over my head. I am too slow and thick for their banter.

Where else does a married middle-aged woman find friends? Wait, do I even want to be gossiping in overpriced pubs, or having big chats about the latest book, or Lord help me, going shopping with gal pals? Though I’m generally much happier with a good book, running solo, or wandering the city streets on my own, I do miss the occasional big chat.

The Family Tribe

I feel somewhat estranged from my family on both sides of my biological fence. I’m not too stupid to realise that the common denominator of these frosty relationships is me. I’m just not sure what to do about it, and my irrational abhorrence of the telephone doesn’t help. I’m lucky to have S’s family who have taken me into the fold. There was a time in the past that a father would pay dearly in gold to foist a middle-aged daughter off onto a foreign tribe and likely not see her again. In those times, a husband’s family might be the woman’s only tribe. I’m ok with this but can’t help feeling guilty given that it is 2015 A.D, not B.C. and I have the means and freedom to maintain and build relationships with my Iowan family.

The ‘I’ve Found Purpose’ Tribe

How did people announce their accomplishments before facebook? Did they post signs in their living room windows exclaiming, “Got a promotion!”; “Published my book!”; “Volunteered at the shelter today!” Facebook makes it seem that everyone is doing exactly what they’ve always wanted and feels “blessed” to be doing it.

I like my job. I get to discuss the finer points of grammar for hours and wear jeans doing it. Meeting individual people from all over the world has forced me to rid myself of stereotypes about countries, and I hope through their interaction with me, they have a broader sense of what an “American” is. Every day is a different lesson and a different topic and I can be as creative and out of the box as I want or have time for.

But I can’t help thinking that there is more I ought to be doing. Tutoring Syrian refugees? Writing the next great novel? Start an English school through the medium of cooking? I am too much a consumer and not enough of a producer. I need something that takes my focus off myself and I just don’t know what that is. I want to be part of this tribe, but am too clueless about how to get membership.

The Mother Tribe

Much like the Religious Tribe, if you are not in this tribe, there is no possible way of understanding what it is like. You may intellectually get the idea of falling in love at first sight with a new-born, having your entire world perspective shift, and generally feeling less self-absorbed. But you’ll never feel it. Exclusion from a group stings no less just because the exclusion is self-imposed. And as the years pass and my eggs wither, I am often paralyzed with the fear that it was the wrong choice. Would my life be fuller, my marriage stronger with a blob that shares my DNA? But I always come back to the same thought that having a baby because you’re bored is probably not the best reason.

Tribes do matter. Deeper research into the Mediterranean Diet and the Blue Zones has revealed that it isn’t just the diet rich in veggies, legumes, grains, and little meat that leads to longevity, but perhaps more importantly, the communities that people in these areas belong to. Of the nine characteristics of longevity highlighted in the book, four are not about diet and exercise: engagement in spirituality, engagement in family, engagement in social life, and life purpose.

Despite my mostly healthy eating and regular exercise, I could be fucked.

But am I really? Here are the tribes I do belong to.

Tribe of One

Yesterday I had my first winter run. The air was dry and crisp and the sunrise shades of pink only seen in the biting cold. No one but the deer and myself breathing out clouds of steam. I felt so happy and alive, I almost got a bit teary (or was that the cold?). I love being alone, especially outside. I can still remember so vividly pre-dinner walks along the Iowa River 25 years ago in Marshalltown with my Walkman and solitude. Being alone is how I’ve always re-charged and alone has never equated to lonely for me.

Tribe of Two

Being excited to be reunited with your favourite person day after day has to be good for one’s overall health, doesn’t it? I love spending time with my constant companion whether it be big adventures on oregano-filled cliffs or watching “Fargo” and eating tacos. We laugh, commiserate, argue, and console. There is no other person on this Earth who knows me as this person does and that is deeply comforting.

Tribe of All

Maybe the reason I’m a bleeding heart liberal is because I feel connected to everyone on some level. Of course the world should band together and help Syrian refugees; the rich should be taxed to help the poor; every country has some good guys and some assholes. I might not strike up a conversation with the foul-smelling man sitting next to me on the bus, but I won’t get up and walk away like the others and I won’t make assumptions. No one here gets out alive and that knowledge must bond us somehow.

I am thankful for my steady for the moment job, my tiny little apartment, my loving partner and his family, the rare bits of news from my own family, my adventures to faraway places, my health. My life is full. But I’m also at times empty, bored, dissatisfied and discouraged with where I’m at, a little jealous of others, and uncertain about the future.

Everyone must feel this way at times, despite membership to several tribes. Right? Maybe it’s not so much which tribes and how many but how present you are, what you put in, and what you get out of it. As I go forward, I’ll try to be more “mindful” of my few tribes and keep an open mind about some of the others. Especially if there’s free cake. I’ll join any tribe for free cake.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Hoppy Anniversary Part 2: The Other Stuff We Did

view from the apartment balcony

In between glasses of frothy goodness and after the publicans close shop for the night, we had to amuse ourselves somehow.

First and foremost was spending time in this amazing apartment overlooking the Bourse. The Bourse is the Stock Exchange building so I felt like I was staying in a penthouse on Wall Street. Not only was the apartment about 4x the size of my actual apartment in Dublin, but it was HALF the cost of a room at the Marriot across the street. Airbnb is the way to go. We made sure to have long leisurely mornings, eating croissants, drinking coffee, and flipping through the hundreds of BBC channels. When you don’t have a TV and then are confronted with one, any program is fascinating. I didn’t remember how hilarious “3^rd Rock from the Sun” is!

The best way to keep from getting too locked is to walk, walk, and walk some more. Like most European cities, Brussels has the winding cobblestone streets, impressive cathedrals, and because it is a monarchy, a grand palace. The City Hall of Brussels is a really cool Gothic structure that is worthy of a few snapshots.

I appreciate a nicely constructed cathedral as much as the next guy, especially if it has spectacular stained-glass windows. But I always feel the atmosphere inside is cold and austere.

Cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudula, Brussels

So I mostly just look up at them like this and move on.

Cathedral of Our Lady, Antwerp

The most fun architecture was the Butcher’s Hall in Antwerp that looks like meat. How ingenious to make your building look like what you sell.

Vleeshuis (literally "Meat House"), Antwerp

Also, I can never resist a castle. The Het Steen is a medieval fortress on the harbour.

But what makes a trip most memorable for me is seeing something that you wouldn’t see anywhere else. Because I’m American and just assume everything is created there, I never knew that the Smurfs were Belgian. Wandering through the very thorough and well-organized comic book museum, I had so much nostalgia for that time in my life when I collected those little plastic blue statues and on Saturdays watched the cartoons. S, on the other hand, went down Tin Tin memory lane and thought fondly of his own Snowy (RIP).

I still have a lot of questions about how a society can survive with only one female

When I was a child and my Dad still lived in on the north side of Marshalltown, he had a small house and on the bathroom was a plaque of a boy pissing. I always thought it was hilarious and had no idea that 30 plus years later, I’d find out the origin of that icon. The Manneken Pis is a bronze statue of a boy pissing into a fountain. It was originally built in the 1300s and there are about a hundred theories as to why it was created. Nowadays a different outfit/costume is put on it (everyday?) and the symbol is as ubiquitous as chocolate.

I wonder who gets to decide the attire

Speaking of chocolate, we did hand pick about 12 chocolates at Neuhaus, a Belgian institution since 1857. With our bag in hand, we walked the streets, me making sounds that likely confused passers-by. It was by far the best, most decadent chocolate I’ve ever had in my life.

lots and lots of shops like these

Other than the Comic Strip Museum, we just walked and took it all in. We saw palaces of kings and the canals of the common man, street graffiti and flea markets and fashion emporiums.

paintworthy canal view

But nothing compared to the explosion of flavour of a good kriek, the subtle sour spiciness of a gueze, or the deep caramelly sweetness of a faro. And most important, the bonhomie of an old pub, full of old friends and imposters such as myself.