The Wheels on the Bus..

Now that Baby D has reached the grand old age of 13 ½ weeks he is slightly less time consuming than he used to be, although like the Irish weather that could change at any moment and the outlook remains unreliable.
Anyway, taking advantage of longer intervals between feeds, I actually made it out to dinner with some friends last week. I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to an evening out so much and as I got the bus into town I felt like I was going on a very big adventure, which started me thinking of previous exciting bus journeys I’d taken over the years. There was the creaky, over-crowded, over-heated one I’d take to Laois when I was in College, taking 3 hours to get past the hitchers on Newlands Cross but for only 6 pounds return I didn’t care; the mad buses in Thailand, packed with people, chickens and machetes that I thought were the ultimate of crazy transport until I rode the local buses in Peru. Now, as Baby D allowed me out for the first time on my own in, let me see, approximately 13 ½ weeks, the 37 bus from Aughrim St to Dame St seemed adventure enough for me last week.
It may have been the thrill of being back on public transport again but I got to thinking how things have changed in the last 12-18 months or as we’ve started to call it BD (Before baby D) and AD (After baby D).


BD A tough challenge: Hiking the Inca Trail battling stomach issues
AD A tough challenge: Driving to Celbridge for lunch with Baby D in tow – took 8 weeks before I was brave enough for this one

BD Had cuddled lots of baby kittens, puppies, guinea pigs, pigs, calves, foals…(you get the drift) but never held a baby human
AD Can not only hold a crying baby in one hand but can simultaneously butter toast, get dressed and update Facebook status with the other

BD Going to the gym was a regular occurrence, although a bit of a chore
AD Going to the gym is a rare treat away from the flat and looked forward to eagerly

BD Singing ‘Jingle Bells’ while floating in the Indian Ocean, squinting in the sun waiting for Dolphins to swim over
AD Has Christmas been and gone? What do you mean it’s 2010 already????

BD Getting ready to go out, a leisurely affair usually involving some new clothes and a glass of wine
AD Going out????

BD Lots of weekend trips away. If Ryanair knew what the word meant we’d have a loyalty card
AD A weekend away a challenge of epic proportions that I haven’t been brave enough to tackle yet (and that’s not even thinking about taking a flight)

BD If don’t get a full 8 hours sleep a night very, very grumpy in the morning
AD If don’t get a full 8 hours sleep a night very, very grumpy in the morning

BD Thought the term ‘baby brain’ was one of those annoying sound-bite phrases like ‘Breakfast Roll Man’
AD Brain officially atrophied from too many hormones and not enough sleep– in fact have a ghost writer updating this blog

BD Babies loud, smelly and annoying
AD Babies in general loud, smelly and annoying; fortunately we found one that’s cute, lovable and utterly adorable..awwwwww

The future's so bright I've gotta wear shades

Remember the quote from Rolling Stone writer Jon Landau, “I’ve seen the future of rock n’ roll and it’s name is Bruce Springsteen”? It came to mind the other day when Baby D and myself went to the Visitors Centre in the Phoenix Park for Sunday lunch; just us and every other family within a 5 mile radius. I found myself surrounded by kids of every shape and size climbing, crying, shouting, running, laughing, snotting, galloping, falling, pulling, pushing, tantruming… all very, very LOUDLY.
When the ringing in my ears stopped I realised that I’ve also seen the future. It’s not rock n’ roll, more like rattle and howl, and is just a very teensy little bit scary……..

Pregnancy Zen

When I told my best friend that I was pregnant she advised me to make the most of any attention I’d get (seats being surrendered, doors held open and the like), as when the baby was born, people would be so enraptured by the bundle of joy that they’d never look twice at me again.
In actual fact people’s baby obsession started as soon as my bump became visible. As my tummy grew week by week, I began to realise what it’s like to have big boobs with people no longer making eye contact but directing their gaze lower down. My bump also seemed to license a commentary on my body that for some reason is acceptable if you’re pregnant but totally rude if not. Delete as appropriate: “Isn’t your bump/butt/boobs/little finger ever so fat/neat/huge/pointy!” No matter what the comment was, it was often accompanied by knowing looks and dire warnings about the last trimester (“Wait until the last month -you’ll be so much more huger/heavier/fatter then!”) and in case that wasn’t scary enough, about subsequent pregnancies (“Well you’re grand now, but you’ll be so much fatter/huger/etc etc for the second.”)
And then there was the touching. I had heard rumours about this before falling pregnant and being protective of my personal space I anticipated that my instinct would be to resurrect my Taekwondo skills and swat the offender away if anyone attempted to touch my tummy. Strangely, as my belly became a magnet to be touched and rubbed (even before a bump was noticeable), I didn’t have the heart to rebuff their advances. Maybe it was due to hormones but people’s faces softened as they went in for the belly touch, as if they were patting a cute little kitten. By month nine I accepted my lot and felt like a lucky Buddha.
Now that Baby D is no longer a bump and is here in the flesh I discovered that my friend was right; the attention has totally shifted and now I’m barely noticed. So much so that I could probably shave my head and dress like a Hare Krishna and my Mother wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Baby D were in my arms.
Of course what my friend neglected to add was that most days I sport bags under my eyes that would warrant additional charges if I were to fly on Ryanair and the nearest I get to accessorising my wardrobe is a sticky mix of milk and dribble trailing down my shoulder. So being ignored, I don’t mind at all!

Some nice things

I made some iced cupcakes this week and thought that's what the country needs to cheer itself up - some nice things, preferably edible and highly calorific. As I can't put my cupcakes on the blog I decided to do the next best thing and find some nice headlines from the papers instead. Here's the best I could come up with......not great but you should see the ones I couldn't include because of general depressingness..

BT lifts spirits with colour and optimism

Decrease in number of murders and rapes

Downturn means CO2 targets now achievable

Boy escapes injury as car crashes into house in NI

Re-formed Britpoppers Blur to play Oxegen

30% fall in homicides and rise in burglaries, CSO data reveals

Wanted: a maverick gunslinger to save us from the cowboys

Several online services offering free access to music and videos

New Government insulation scheme to create four thousand jobs

Penguins enjoy snow in Dublin Zoo

Spring is in the Air

Hurrah! February has finally arrived! To celebrate the official beginning of spring I am making a conscious effort to enjoy the small things in life. The following exciting things happened today:
-Three brilliant songs played one after the other on the random play on my MP3
-All the traffic lights went green as I drove home from work
-It stopped snowing long enough that I could go for a cold, but bracing, walk at lunchtime
-I’ve officially created a nickname for the recession/economy: It shall be known from now on as the Duck.
I’ve also managed to get roped into signing on for tag rugby and salsa class. I’m not sure how as I’ve no idea of the rules of one, no rhythm for the other and at the moment feeling less than enthusiastic for either of them. Maybe if I practice hard enough I can dance my way around the tag team and avoid being tackled? Onto a more familiar topic, I went to my first gig in Dublin since Australia, “The Streets” in the Olympia. It was fantastic; the band were full of energy, spitting out the lyrics and stage diving, the audience grinned and bounced up and down inanely, vodka red-bull raining from the ceiling – magic! Great antidote to the general misery generated by the media here talking non-stop about Ducks.

January Blues

I’ve always wanted to start a blog entry Sex and The City style; “I couldn’t help but wonder” but until now I never had an appropriate first sentence worthy of wondering about. Until now. So here goes.
I couldn’t help but wonder this evening why January is such a damned mysterious month. A phenomenon in fact that’s at least worthy of a book by Stephen Hawking. Because the question that’s puzzling everyone at the moment isn’t did that guy make Obama fluff his oath on purpose, or will the Irish economy be saved by axing some Dublin Bus routes or even how do Ryanair flights for a euro still manage to cost 70 euro in total. No the question is, how can 31 January days last for such an incredibly looooooong drawn out time? I read somewhere about a theory that an expanding universe is linked to weakening gravity; I don’t understand what that’s all about but I suspect it’s linked to why a January that appears to expand indefinitely causes a severe weakening of the general population. I have observed this weakening effect has a more dramatic consequence in people who have recently been acclimatised to daily walks by the sea, sun bathing and regular consumption of vanilla lattes. I’m not sure how to counteract the effect, indeed no-one does except to wait in feverish expectation for February when we can all breath a sigh of relief and tell everyone, “Thank god January is over. It’s an awfully long month.”

Weather Girl

I’ve become a vampire Monday to Friday since January hit. I am back to work and only see daylight at the weekends; if I’m lucky that is and it leaks through a deep pile of clouds. Having spent the best part of 6 months in bright sunny climes it’s weird driving to work at 8.15 am and admiring the full moon still present in the sky. I’m trying hard to reactivate my weather optimism gene that takes years to develop but about a second to lose when you go to a bright, sunny country. It’s the gene that enables you to say in January when driving home at half four, full headlights on that: “you’d notice the evenings are getting longer,” or causes the whole country to see signs that anticipate a long hot summer: “The birds are flying on the diagonal, and did a back-flip before landing; that means summer will be here in April,” or “The sheep are grazing backward up the east face of the hill. Surely be to God we’ll have 40 days of sun in June.” In Australia it took a while to adjust to the literal nature of the weather forecasts, eventually realising that a showery spell actually means it will be a lovely day with a short, light shower of rain and there’s no need to bring wellies and a rain mac to the beach. In Ireland it’s the opposite. Showery spells mean mainly rain with a cloudy period when it stops and everyone searches the sky optimistically for a glimpse of the sun. In fact “so long as it’s dry” is the main criterion for a good weather day here, winter or summer. Below zero and frost, no problem. “So long as it’s dry” it’s ok as the sky will be blue and the roads won’t freeze too badly. Cloudy and overcast during the summer, well “so long as it’s dry” it’s acceptable as a cloudy and overcast and wet day would be simply awful. By the way, good news as I’m writing this; my cat has stretched twice and yawned at me so it should be sunny in May.

Doom and Gloom

The flight home went extremely smoothly; 2 planes, 2 stopovers, 22 hours later landing in Dublin on time - then we get delayed for 40 mins waiting for our baggage to be unloaded in an empty Dublin airport. At least the hopping up and down and swearing kept me warm, as we missed our train due to the delay.
So what's it like being home? Well like we've never been away. The Lisbon treaty is being debated again, the weather is still grey and miserable, just colder and the economy is still bad. I'm thinking of starting a new drinking game - every time the word Recession is mentioned on the news or in the papers we should down a shot.Might cheer people up a bit. It's inescapable, restaurant reviews, discussions on gigs, gardening articles all manage to bring the topic miserably back to the economy and use it as an excuse for everything. Small portions in a restaurant? Ah sure it's the recession. Lots of traffic in Dublin. Ah it's the recession. A badly pulled pint - ah it's ... I'm expecting the return of the mullet any day now. "Sure I couldn't afford to get the back cut with the recession and all.."
This will be a truncated blog entry. Cutbacks due to the......................

I'm leaving, on a jet plane......

The last few days have been spent chilling in Perth, trying to soak up as much sun as possible before heading home. The days have developed into a nice pattern of thinking about Christmas shopping, drinking coffee and plenty of swimming and long walks. Today was notable due to the rescue of a pigeon from head-banging itself to death in the window of a coffee shop but apart from that nothing too startling to report. We have a nice room in our hostel; ensuite (luxury) although the shower doesn’t work and it’s overlooking the railway so every 10 minutes (every 5 between 6-8am and 5-7pm) the room shakes like we’re in a 1930s tenement. Still it’s a nice room and we even have a TV although we can’t hear it when the trains go by.
On Wednesday we begin the final part of the journey and are heading back home. It’s hard to believe 4 months have gone by and it seems like the other day since I was getting nervous about breaking out of my well established routine and heading off to Peru. It’s even harder to believe that the next time I write this blog I’ll be in Dublin, it will be dark outside and probably cold and wet. I’ve enjoyed every last minute with too many highlights to mention and a lot of things I’ll miss when I’m at home so to be positive here’s a list of the things I won’t miss about travelling:

1. Trying to figure out why everything fitted into my backpack perfectly until I bought an extra t shirt and now only half the stuff will squeeze in
2. The impossibility of finding a knife sharp enough to cut anything in hostel kitchens
3. Hostel kitchens
4. Having to carry your own packs of plates, bowls and cutlery around in certain hostels and having to pay $10 deposit for the privilege
5. Flying cockroaches (only seen one but it flew in the window beside me as I was writing this)
6. Applying sunscreen all the time on the beach
Finding somewhere really nice to stay and then having to leave
7. Going for a run at 7 in the evening, the sun just beginning to set over the sea and spotting a dolphin jumping in the distance - only kidding!

Finally some more piccys of nice things……..


Sleepy Koala , Philip Island
North Stradbroke Isl

Bateman's Bay

Magnetic Island

South West

Another corner of Australia and another road trip, this time south of Perth to the wine country. Stopped off in Bunbury on the way, a charming town although the bars shut at 10pm. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem as the sort of drink on my mind at ten o’clock is usually a cup of green tea, but here we were trying to get out of the hostel for a while so it was the only town where we went searching for a pub. Oh, apart from Fremantle a few days previous where we actively searched for a drink at 10 pm but everywhere seemed to shut early on Sundays, so we ended up in a basement club complete with glitter ball bopping away to eighties music, surrounded by very drunk people and by 12pm had to go home as it felt like three in the morning. Very surreal. Reminded me of Eastenders where they all go ‘clubbin’ in the daylight, have a full night of dancing and boozing and still make it back to the Vic for last orders.
It’s been a time for surreal experiences, as in Bunbury I found myself floating in the ocean, singing Jingle bells and Kylie Minogue medleys in order to attract a pod of dolphins swimming near by. As if singing Christmas carols in November wasn’t bad enough, me simply trying to sing is a trial at the best of times, but luckily I didn’t scare them off and they eventually came over for a quick swim by and a quizzical look at the funny looking humans. The dolphin expert with us explained that the group of males were busy chasing female dolphins at the moment so while we were interesting to them they didn’t have a lot of time to spare investigating. A bit like busking outside Coppers on a Saturday night I guess. Still, a very fun experience and I can never tire of watching Dolphins.
After Bunbury we headed to Augusta and Margaret River where days and tummies were happily filled from fudge, chocolate, cheese and wine, mingled in with visiting art and craft galleries. Oh and walking by some of the most beautiful beaches I’ve seen. It’s a tough life.

Beautiful beach in Gnarabup, where we stayed in Margaret River

Beautiful Smith's Beach, Yallingup

Beautiful Bunkers Beach, Cape Naturaliste

Beautiful beach, Busselton

Hostel Life

It’s been the best of hostels and the worst of hostels the past few days in the South West. At the moment we are staying in a beautiful house in Augusta, with a garden, huge well stocked kitchen, very comfy living area and a lovely bedroom with actual furniture. It’s like staying in a self catering hotel rather than a hostel and if it weren’t for the fact that everything in Augusta closes at 6pm (and I mean everything including the video store and take away). I’d happily live here until we have to leave. We’ve voted it the Number One place we’ve stayed in so far. Which is good as we’ve just stayed in the charmingly named the Dolphin Retreat Hostel in Bunbury but officially ranked as the worse place we’ve been in (Mike disagrees and says Lakes Entrance was but it’s my blog so hey…). Features included dubious hygiene standards, a tiny kitchen and a few soul destroying permanent residents either occupied watching TV (to get to the kitchen or bathroom from our bedroom we had to walk through the living room so always had an audience when transporting toothbrushes and dishes to and fro) or making heart-attack dinners laden with grease, barbeque sauce and salt. The evening we arrived both had (separate) bizarre encounters in the showers –I startled a girl busily blow-drying her feet with a hairdryer, flip-flops still on, while Mike waited patiently for a guy to finish the longest shower in history, but although the water stopped, followed by a long pause it all started up again and the man never emerged. He never saw who it was, just had to give up. Now that I think of it the guys in the TV room probably thought that Mike was the odd fella going to the shower with all the gear then emerging 30 mins later still not cleaned! And don’t even get me started on the eighty year old man who took 25 mins in front of us to check in as he argued about the cost of a dorm bed. He was a member of YHA for 50 years so knew his stuff as you can imagine. Thankfully the place was brightened up by a medley of Asian backpackers who cheerfully invaded the kitchen emerging hours later with a selection of amazing dishes you’d be happy to eat in a restaurant. No mean feat considering I’d trouble baking a potato in a microwave that promptly shut itself off when it got too hot. Some things I won’t miss when I get home!

Some rules and regulations............

Go West!

After touching down briefly in Adelaide (slightly dull place, time mainly spent sleeping off another overnight Greyhound journey and getting badly beaten in pool) we arrived in Perth to start the last leg of the journey. I don’t have much to write as everything just creeps along at a nice pace here, neither terminally boring nor crazy exciting. Which makes the place sound like magnolia paint but that’s the wrong impression as it’s a very nice city and has lots to offer. Although now that I think of it we haven’t done a lot other than swim at the gorgeous Cottesloe beach, drink coffee, think about buying some souvenirs, parking that idea and drinking some more coffee. So pretty much what we do most places then except there’s a very nice feel to doing it in Perth. Oh one major thing happened, we got caught in a street fight out of the blue. Well maybe caught on the fringes rather than actually trading punches, but there were bottles flying, broken glass and police running down the street, just like an episode of The Bill. But apart from that, very quiet. Just in case we didn’t think Perth was easy going enough, we’re down in Fremantle for the weekend where the sun is out and everyone’s so laid back they’re not just horizontal but being pushed around asleep in bed. Exciting things planned for next week though involving dolphins, whales, wine and chocolate. What a lovely combination of lovely things!

Beach Aerobics

Myself and Mike started giving some aerobics classes to supplement our income while away. Please, feel free to join in while looking at some pictures of us inaction....

Melbourne

Find myself staying in an ex convent this week and am greeted by a clock on Bethlehem and Vatican time in the hallway with pictures of saints peering down solemnly from the walls. All I need is a Sacred Heart in the kitchen and I’d be right at home!
So a week after the Melbourne Cup and the Aussies haven’t stopped lording it over the beaten Europeans and the papers still pour scorn over the Irish for getting it so badly wrong. Let it go! If there’s one thing I’ve discovered about the Aussies this trip is that they like to be the best at everything. Not just at sport but EVERYTHING. Each town we’ve visited has boasted of having the biggest/tallest/greatest/widest (delete as necessary) something in the state/country/Southern Hemisphere/world. Nothing’s exempt: from pineapples to Shell Museums, everything can aspire to be the best or biggest something or another. And when it comes to Melbourne and Sydney, so long as they are better than the other it doesn’t matter about the rest of the world. The rivalry between these cities stems from long ago, to the point that as neither city could bear the honour of being Capital to go to the other, a random place halfway between them was chosen instead and so Canberra was built. The competition between the cities has persisted to this day. We overheard defeated Melbourne Victory fans discussing how they reckoned the Soccer League is rigged purely to enable Sydney to win. The funniest was a notice at the end of St Kilda Pier in Melbourne, describing the reconstruction of a coffee shop that had been burnt down in 2003. The council had a chance to rebuild “ a building as beautiful as the Opera House” but decided they already had something just as good as the Sydneysiders and just rebuilt the kiosk instead. Coffee shop versus Sydney Opera House…hmmmmm there’s a comparison not often made.
So Melbourne or Sydney, which is better? Melbourne is a cool place; more laid back than Sydney, easier to get about and Fitzroy where we’re staying has the funkiest selection of shops and bars. Sydney though, edges it for me, with that harbour and beaches and an indefinable touch of romance that captures my imagination in a way that Melbourne doesn’t. Needless to say Mike disagrees and prefers Melbourne so I guess if we were to move here we’d have to live in Canberra.

St Kilda's Pier Kiosk and the Opera House....go figure

Sunny Photos

Beaach in Eden just behind where we were staying

Lakes Entrance

Lakes Entrance

Random photos of nice things

Leaving footprints on 90 Mile Beach Lakes entrance

Pelican contemplating the water in Bateman's Bay

Cape Woolamai Philip Island

Sleepy Koala in Philip Island

Sydney photos

Lifeguard on Manly Beach, Sydney

Darling Harbour

Sculptures by the Sea

The Road to Nowhere

Myself, Mike, a Toyota Corolla and a few bottles of Merlot took to the road last week and have been exploring the Sapphire and Wilderness Coasts between Sydney and Melbourne. The scenery is stunning, very peaceful, backpacker-less (almost) and sporadically cold and wet. Brrrrrrr. The only small drawback is that Internet access costing less than a tank of petrol is a rarity, so this is going to be a short blog. So far we have:


§ swam with the French Rugby League Team in Wollongong,
§ pretended we were in Home and Away in Bateman’s Bay caravan park
§ failed to find a garden in Eden but went to the Whale Festival instead (still not too sure what it was all about but local radio assures us it was very well attended and the organisers are already planning the festivities for 2009)
§ heard an old dear called Dot Bruce somewhere on the outskirts of the Snowy River National Park, broadcasting everything from the London Philharmonic to Metallica with 30 secs silence between each track as she struggled to put on the next record
§ had bangers and mash washed down by pots of beer while losing money on the Melbourne Cup in Lakes Entrance
§ listened to John McCain conceding defeat while crossing the bridge into Phillip Island

Phew! Soon we’ll be in Melbourne where hopefully Aidan O’Brien will have left me a cheque for the money he owes me………

Sydney

I was a little shocked on several fronts when I got to Sydney.
1: The sight of people rushing about in suits talking on their blueberries or blackcurrants or whatever they’re called. As I sipped a leisurely coffee on Circular Quay, the Harbour Bridge and Opera House in the background, I realised I’d forgotten that most people (including myself) actually work in places other than Surf Schools and Dive Shops.
2: No one can understand me anymore. A request for a cupcake brought me a cookie and an order for a vanilla latte surprised me by resulting in a milkshake.
3: It was Cold and Wet for 2 days running. I nearly froze and was Highly Unimpressed. I may have to change my flight home from December to a warmer month, which going on the summer back home may mean I’ll have to stay here indefinitely.
The weather improved quickly though and we took advantage of the sun to get to Manly, where I want to live, and Bondi of which I’m probably the only Irish person to consider over hyped. The coastal walk out of there is great though and on Sunday part of it was devoted to the ‘Sculptures by the Sea’ exhibition that we enjoyed along with the rest of Sydney and their canine companions.
Overall Sydney has changed since I was last here: Kings Cross has been cleaned up (although I’m glad to see my Tattoo Parlour still thriving) and Newtown where I used to live has had the edges knocked off to make room for the yuppies. We managed to pick up a gig on Friday night in the ‘Metro’ (the Sydney equivalent of Vicar Street) to see a band called ‘The Drones’ the latest Aussie Next Big Thing. I was last in the ‘Metro’ in ’98 in the front row for a hot and sweaty Manic Street Preachers concert. In 2008 they discovered air con and by the end of the night I was a block of ice and wishing for my fleece. The band were ok but I was distracted by their female bassist trying to be so cool (she should have been where I was standing, she’d have been frozen) that she played with her back to the audience. (Kim Deal has a lot to answer for in my opinion.) Still was fun and waaaay better than the Ghost Gig of Byron Bay where the support was Bill Bailey on acid and the main band only played to 5 people, one of whom requested a song from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Anyway it’s time to leave and fond as I am of Sydney big cities are tiring and expensive and I need to get back to the little sleepy coastal villages to recharge my batteries. Onwards and downwards to the South Coast.

Newcastle

Another overnight Greyhound journey was briefly livened by the guys having to push the bus out of the Big Prawn Roadhouse at 3am but otherwise passing uneventfully. After going through Ballina and regretting not being able to drive to Rathdowney, Queensland, we find ourselves in Newcastle. Here on the main beach there’s a strange combination of surfers waiting on their boards to catch a wave and huge ships lining the horizon waiting to fill up with coal from the mile long trains loaded from the mines. We’re in the world’s biggest coal exporting area and also on the doorstep of the Hunter Valley an area famous for its Semillon and Shiraz wines. After a very pleasant day spent quaffing wines in various vineyards I confirmed that I like neither, however strangely I seemed to have developed a taste for 21yr old Port. Must be after effects of Coolangatta.
Last night we went to see Newcastle United Jets football team scrape a one nil win over a ten men Melbourne Victory, who are current A League leaders but played like the bottom end of the Vauxhall Division. Not really like being at a football match at all with bright sunshine, picnic areas behind the goals and no police. However the most noticeable difference between here and home was the referee’s warm up before the game. They trotted up and down the sideline solemnly, practising putting their arms up for offside and corners and didn’t even get slagged off by the crowd. Off to Sydney tomorrow which is bound to be the World’s Best Something as well.