Last week at work was supposed to be five days of upfront honesty. That man who comes for a bottle of Shmernoff every week stinks and has seriously bad breath. Your man (that most Irish of sayings!) who once was begging not to sell alcohol to a woman who was supposed to come shortly dressed in a beige coat should try to get some serious help for his wife (whom empathizing with her husband I actually didn’t serve that time) instead of asking the staff of a local off-licence to help him out. And all those of you with that uberconfident expression on your faces and the banal “I know what I’m looking for” as you grab any bottle of any Barolo or anything Grand Cru or Reserva sitting on the shelf are nothing but pitiful snobs trying to dazzle in the vanity of your husbands, wives, lovers and colleagues.
Last column for “Metro Eireann” was supposed to be equally straightforward, yet focusing on Lithuanians rather than the Irish – I’ve complained enough about them to be deported to the furthest East.
The finale turned out to be quite different though. My area manager decided to send me on very sudden holidays – with less than an hour’s notice. And as for a column – to cut the long story short – I became aware that I ended up focusing on myself rather than on Lithuanians in general and somewhere halfway through answering whether three and a half years I had spent here were not in vain I stopped writing because I didn’t know the answer. My last column was never finished and the reasons behind that vanished in the crossfire of emails exchanged between myself and the deputy editor of the newspaper.
On the other hand, I can hardly complain – I have plenty of time for books, movies and more movies and my sister’s kids, but the way my career in enology ended was a bit of a slap in the face. Two days before I was told the news my wine shop was held up by an armed masked guy. While he was stupid enough to rob a place on a Monday night when most of the Euros are safely chilling in the bank coffers, he was relatively courteous as he said “thank you ladies” when he got the cash from the tills. Gentleman, huh?
I happened to be off when this happened. The girl whom I replaced as an assistant manager worked in the shop for five years prior to leaving it and during that time the place was held up about five times – once thrice in a period of a year. Syringes and screwdrivers mainly. Never a gun - unlike this time (Gardai still don’t know if it was a real one and I doubt they’ll ever find out). Perhaps a coincidence, but that girl was never there when the incidents were happening. She said it was because the robbers knew she was crazy. “It won’t happen to you either, because they know you are crazier than me”. Whichever was the case, indeed nothing happened in more than three years I have spent in various Oddbins shops. They say that dogs attack the people who are scarred of them – does the same apply to robbers?
Either way, it was our new manageress who was behind the counter when she was greeted by a wild West-like “Hands up!” Ever since she started working in June I didn’t get along with her. At all... Well… why should I – she was spying on me on CCTV as if she didn’t have better jobs (besides, those cameras are there for security measures, not to play Big Brother). Have I mentioned that she’s always stressed? So voilà – the shop was robbed and obviously she’ll need some time to recover (as will another girl who was working with her on that night). My suspicion is that she asked the area manager (who doesn’t boast too much people management skills) to send me on holidays (even though I don’t have any left), because she doesn’t imagine her recovery with me working alongside her.
Whichever way it was, I’m on holidays and she’s recovering. I hope this time does her well. I’m enjoying mine. Sometimes the days get a bit too self-reflective and it is probably inevitable before leaving the country where I’ve spent three and a half years, especially when you consider the pensive Lithuanian nature. Perhaps I might write a book about my experiences in Dublin some day. I’ve made a bet with one Irish guy that I’ll have it written and translated to English (not many books in Lithuania are) before he releases a proper CD (not a homemade disc which could only be found in Road Records). The thing is the bet was made before I heard him playing in Whelans. I guess I should hurry up writing otherwise I’ll end up buying a bottle of vintage Krug which we bet on.
Even though it is said that sports and politics should always be kept apart, the history line only serves as a proof that the Olympic games have always been more than a sports stage. The 1936 Games in Berlin the Fuehrer used as a means to display the efficiency of the Nazi system, while in the 1968 Olympics in Mexico African American sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos accepted their medals shoeless, each wearing black gloves on their raised, clutched fists with silver medal winner Aussie Peter Norman wearing a human rights badge in support of the protest against racial injustice. About 50 countries boycotted Moscow games in 1980 in protest of the 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and in 1992 in Barcelona Australian basketball team refused to play Americans when one of Dream Team’s stars Eaerwin Magic Johnson announced he was HIV positive, this resulting in Aussie doctors’ statement that if played, Johnson would pose a threat of passing on the virus.
For giants like the USA, the USSR or Yugoslavia the Olympics and especially the team sports have always served as a way to prove their superiority. Two basketball matches between the Americans and the Soviets were as important as the Space Race, with the Soviet Union winning both of them. 1988 Olympics in Seul marked the second time in the Olympic history the American basketball team was beaten and it was the second time the USSR did it. When the Soviet Olympic basketball team was standing on the podium that summer clenching their gold medals, it was the last time the team of 12 were listening to the anthem saluting the victory of Communism's immortal ideas and an unbreakable union of freeborn republics. After four years four out of that team were standing on the podium in Barcelona, this time with bronze medals, but without the crossed hammer and the sickle on their T-shirts. The anthem of their unknown country wasn’t played in 1992, since the American Dream Team took the gold, but it was the first time in the Olympic basketball history the players of this Western giant were surrounded by the representatives of two dwarf countries, which for decades remained anonymous to the world. Croatia took the silver, while Lithuania took the gold. That moment epitomized the triumph against the system and the pride to finally represent the country you were born in, but were not allowed to mention its name, because it was part of the ‘unbreakable union’.
The subject of the freedom of Tibet is not first time the most powerful countries remain silent in the face of violence and human rights violations, while it is labelled as an internal issue. If the freedom of speech exists, this summer Olympics, which initially were supposed to be the celebration of vigour and beauty of the human body, will be interrupted with various protests, hopefully only verbal ones.
Yet putting the issue of Tibet aside, what fascinates me a resident of this country, is how little interest and ambition Ireland displays in the Olympics, even though it has one of the highest GDPs per capita in the world.
I got used to the fact that the winter Olympics are completely ignored by the local media (thus confirming its parochialism), but I can partly justify it with the absence of snow on this island. Yet one expects that a prosperous country should be investing into brining up and training athletes that could compete not only in the perpetual Munster-Leinster contest, but would represent Ireland on the world stage.
Although, in my opinion, hurling and Gaelic football are fascinating games, it is a shame that when young, the best athletes oftentimes are directed into these two almost exclusively Irish sports. This is what a friend of mine working with the most prospective young tennis players in Ireland says. Playing for your city is great, but for the majority of sportsmen and women representing their country in the Olympics is the most prestigious experience.
This year Ireland is sending a squad of 51 athletes to Beijing, representing 12 sports: athletics, badminton, boxing, canoeing, cycling, equestrian, fencing, rowing, sailing, shooting, swimming and triathlon.
Ireland has 20 Olympic medals under the belt overall, with the peak-time being the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne, where Ireland won 5 medals. The summer Olympics in Athens were not successful, as Cian O'Connor lost the show jumping gold after his horse failed a drugs test. The performance of Michelle Smith in 1992 in Barcelona, when this unheard of before swimmer swept 4 medals was marked with controversy, although doping allegations were never proved. Yet two years after the Atlanta Games, International Swimming Federation banned Smith for four year after she was found guilty of tampering with a urine sample. Her performance in Atlanta was never encored with a startling come back.
In a recent interview with the BBC the world number three in men’s tennis Serbia’s Novak Djokovic was trying to explain to the journalist, how come his poor and war torn country has so many first-class tennis players. “It's just a hunger for success, a mentality that we've been through a lot of difficult times in the past. We appreciate some things much more in life and we fight for every match”, he explained.
After the restoration of the independence in 1990 my country has won 11 Olympic medals. If you include the ones Lithuanians won representing the Soviet Union, we have 53. Luckily, in the past few years the government started to understand that basketball shouldn’t be the only sports supported by the state. Last year our country’s sports budget was 16 mln euro – as opposed to Ireland’s 316 mln.
This summer we are sending 69 athletes to Beijing - more than ever before. We have at least six medal hopefuls: a discus thrower, cyclists, wrestlers among them and, of course, basketball players. Recent survey shows that half of the population is hoping we could win up to three medals, while the quarter of the respondents believe we could win up to six. Even if we don’t win any, the country will be obsessed with the Olympic fever. For me it is an overwhelming feeling to see somebody on the TV with our little three-colour flag next to their name and to know that they are not representing some unbreakable political union.
Written for "Metro Eireann"
I am at war. BIG TIME. Even though I got that plug that you stick in the socket and it makes the ultrasound that should discourage the mice from nesting and sticking their filthy nose into my private 150 or so square feet, the little fucker came back yesterday and, contrary to the first encounter, halted for a while, looked into the direction of the plug and me and rushed back into the gap between the stove and the sink.
So I got the traps today and bought a can of tuna - apparently the mice learned to nick the cheese without getting trapped (forget cartoons) as the cheese dries quickly, therefore something pasty works better. Bite the dust!
Thank you! Free dictionary began to provide pronunciation in American English and British English. Previously only American English was available and I was stuck trying to work out what should it sound like if I tried to make it sound as similar to the transcription provided by the dictionary in my laptop. No wonder the Irish guys I work with can't seem to understand me sometimes (hopefully not most of the time).
Actually, it has become a bit of a challenge to improve one's English if one works in customer service in Ireland. On one hand, the industry is dominated by foreigners. On the other - I could easily get away with 100 words and 5 catchphrases. After all, you enter the shop in order to buy, rather than to communicate (apart from a few customers we have).
It's a grand day.
Would you like a plastic bag?
I do like it here.
Irish are friendly.
This wine is fantastic.
When I was a student, going to the USA for the summer with the J-1 visa was popular. Oftentimes whoever stayed on the East Coast, somewhere around Atlantic City, returned to Lithuania with far worse knowledge of English than they had before boarding the plane. They were speaking Russian in the USA. Or Lithuanian - as there were so many of them in that area.
I sometimes feel like this country is heading in a similar direction. That's why I blog and spend some time trying to improve the language - I know there is much more to say than it's a grand day. Unfortunately, my improvement has slowed down, as there are no native English speakers-boyfriends around.
Yet, as Clarence Darrow has said, even if I do learn to speak correct English, whom am I going to speak it to?
Eastern European shops welcome the Irish, yet only a few dare to venture them. And when they do, quite often they face staff who struggle with English. 
It is a drizzly Friday afternoon and Polonia, a shop around the corner from my house, is empty. Inside it is a bit gloomy and quite cold. I pass the shelves with dozens of jars of "Żurek" and approach the girl standing behind the counter. I introduce myself and ask her if she could answer a few questions. The girl looks at me with an apologetic smile and says: "Speak little English". I ask her if there is anybody who does. She says "My boss", but apparently he is not in. As I leave the shop I look at the sign above the entrance. "Welcome. The best food from Eastern Europe." It could be. It's a shame there isn't anybody who could show you around.
Next stop is Rathmines. Two women working in Polonez, located on a busy junction, just across the road from Dunnes Stores and Tesco, are preparing for another busy weekend. 27-year-old Aleksandra Voronko arrived to Dublin last autumn and this is the first job she got. Recently the Lithuanian woman told the manager she would be leaving in two weeks. She would like a better paid job and doesn't want to work evenings anymore, since she hopes to enrol to an English course soon. Although Aleksandra spend nearly half a year in Ireland, her English didn't improve much, since majority of the customers are from Eastern Europe. She speaks Lithuanian, Russian and she managed to learn a little bit of Polish, while some Romanian customers insist on her speaking Romanian - Aleksandra has darker skin than many blue eyed Lithuanian women and some customers accuse her of pretending to be Lithuanian. On the other hand, her exotic looks won her some admirers. A customer gave her 15 red roses on March 8 - the International Women's Day. I ask where was he from. Like majority of the customers, he wasn't Irish - he was Moldavian. 
There are no Irish goods in Polonez, which is part of a chain of six shops, yet although all products have descriptions in English, oftentimes Irish customers poke at them asking "what is this". Majority of the Irish who shop here have Eastern European partners, I am told. Sweets, chocolate and biscuits are most popular among them, while smoked mackerel and birch sap still have to find their way to Irish tables. When I ask if more Irish could be drawn to the shop, a woman who works with Aleksandra and prefers to remain anonymous, points at the sign on the window "Eastern European Food". She maintains that Irish will stick to their food.
Things look a bit different across the river. When I first came to Dublin eight years ago, there was only one shop selling Eastern European food. It was Slavyanskaya Lavka (Slavic Counter) on Moore Street. I stroll through Talbot Street which over the past couple of years transformed itself into an Eastern European quarter. I count three Polish shops, a few Polish barbers, a Lithuanian food shop, a Georgian restaurant, a Lithuanian hairdresser, a Russian DVD rental, a Ukrainian real estate agency and it is possible I have missed a few more businesses in the kaleidoscope of tacky signs. There are almost as many Polish rushing past me on this busy street as there Irish and I ask Katarzyna Wolf, a Polish girl who has been working in Polski Sklep for half a year, if any of them pop into her shop. She briefly replies "yes", but when I start a conversation, she asks to wait for her friend, because her English is not sufficient to answer my questions. 
When Marta Wypych - a bubbly Polish girl arrives, it appears that she works in Polski Sklep as well. Marta started working here a year ago and she says she stays only for the customers. "I know their stories. Some Polish people buy bread, stay in the shop and talk for 40 minutes," observes Marta. According to her, up to a quarter of the customers are Irish and they mainly buy Polish bread, because "Irish bread is like chewing gum". The bread is baked in a Polish bakery in Dublin. "They love Polish bread, you should try it," Marta tries to twists my arm and I'm almost tempted to see if Polish bread is as good as Lithuanian.
Despite the fact that there are dozens of Eastern European shops in Ireland, last October Marta Fekulova decided that the market had a niche for another nationality and opened a Slovak food shop on North Circular Road. According to census figures, Marta is one of 8 thousand Slovaks living in Ireland. A dwarfish share, compared with the Poles, yet the empty shelves prove the owner of the shop might be quite right. Martha was begging not to photograph the shop, since she was waiting for the delivery on the day I was talking to her and didn't want others to think that the shop was not busy. When asked if Irish were buying anything, she said they liked the salads, yet there was only one or two of them. 
Although Polish consist the largest ethnic group in Ireland, with official census figures showing that there are 63 thousand of them, Lithuanian grocery shops started to spring up earlier, with "Lituanica" opening on Amiens Street seven years ago. The shop is still there - looking greener than the fields Emerald Island and with the business soaring higher than the aircraft after which the shop was named. In 1933 "Lituanica", piloted by two Lithuanians, crossed the Atlantic ocean after taking off from New York. While the the aircraft crashed, Dublin's "Lituanica" is successfully moving on. Over a period of 7 years it evolved into a chain of retail stores, and today the company has become a wholesale supplier of Eastern European food to over 500 shops in Ireland and the UK. The success is obviously driven by the massive influx of Eastern European immigrants to Ireland.
Laima Adomaitiene has been working in "Lituanica" for a year and a half. The shop is popular among Polish, Latvians, Romanians and sometimes they even get Spanish or German customers. Laima observes that Poles tend to buy Polish food, while Lithuanians prefer Lithuanian specialities. "Even if it is the same chicken drumstick, people prefer when it comes from the same country as they do," says Laima and mentions the fact that when she arrived to Ireland, her diet included a lot of Irish food and she put on some weight. Yet after returning to Lithuanian products, she forgot weight problems.
Laima admits that the shop is not very popular with the Irish: "They are patriotic. They are loyal to Irish food," observes she. Even though "Lituanica" sells eggs and milk, they are not Irish.
Yet her colleague Almina Binkauskiene offers a possible solution: "Lithuanians must interact with the Irish more and introduce them to Lithuanian food. We must integrate more."
Integration springs to my mind when I enter "Perestroika" - a Moldavian food shop on North Circular Road, named after Mikhail Gorbachev's attempted economic and social reforms in the Soviet Union. The shop has an excellent selection of Lithuanian smoked meats, Polish cakes and Moldavian wines - the nostalgic mostly sweet tipple of Iron Curtain times.
After struggling to start a conversation with the woman behind the counter in English, I employ the bits of Russian I learned while watching Soviet TV in my childhood and the curtain of misunderstanding between us splits. Moldavian Otilia Vizdoaga explains that "Perestroika" is one of four Moldavian shops in Ireland and she says it is mostly popular with Romanians, Moldavians, Polish and Lithuanians. There are no Irish in "Perestroika" as I speak with Otilia and I doubt there will be many at any time soon.
I look at the brightly lit fridges, which offer a zillion times better range than my local Spar, and quietly thank God for Soviet TV.
photos©Lina Zigelyte
Written for "Metro Eireann"
Roughly at around 4 pm today I was told that I possibly was the only person who didn't know about the news. I asked what news.
I was hoping he would resign, but I thought the road might be longer and more winding for Mr Ahern. It was quite long anyway. Three terms. Fair play. I've been asking people recently, whether he was a good politician. Some said yes, others - no. Almost everybody agreed he was a good liar. I guess Lord Acton was right, when saying that "power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely".
Yet I continue to be amazed by the Irish. If Mr Ahern hadn't announced about his resignation, would the people have gone into the streets? Or would they continue to quietly grumble about him like they do about Dublin busses running late? And if the people hit the streets, whom would you see there?
This reminds me of the impeachment of Lithuania's previous president Rolandas Paksas, dubbed by half of Lithuanian public "tampaxas" (a connotation with you know what). The other half of the population, mainly old, nostalgic and fooled people hit the streets and expressed their support to R. Paksas with songs and flags (while the guys in the video are rejoicing about the successful impeachment, saying "we won", the women call them "addicts", I guess you'll figure out R. Paksas' supporters...). Despite the songs and the rest of the circus, the R. Paksas became the first European head of state to be successfully impeached.
R. Paksas supporters©Lina Zigelyte
If it wasn't for today's announcement, I wonder what would have been the outcome of Mr. Ahern's long and winding road. Yet some say he might become the president of the EU. Like the Gorgon Medusa Mr. Ahern might still be alive and kicking.
Easter is the most important religious feast in the Christian liturgical year, says Wikipedia. Forgive me, Father, for I've sinned. And since it is none of the cardinal sins, perhaps I might be forgiven? It's the sin of doubt I have to confess. I find it puzzling to believe surfing my way through the supermarket shelves stuffed with "Cadbury" eggs. Firstly, I'm disappointed it is almost exclusively "Cadbury" (have a look at the chocolate counter next time you go to your local newsagent's). Well, there's "Nestle" also, but you have to consider that 80 percent of the world chocolate market is accounted for by six transnational companies anyway and they do not produce the best of chocolate. Two years ago an average of €1.6 million worth of confectionery sales were passing through Irish retailers’ tills every single day. The other day I spotted an Easter basket in the local Spar for 60 Euro. I can bet it will be gone by tomorrow. I've mentioned before the fact that Irish spend more during Christmas season than anybody else.
Farther, it is hard for me to believe when I see that as the seasons change the only thing that sets them apart is our shopping trends - turkey and port for Christmas, chocolate and lamb for Easter. I thought you were saying we should contemplate on some higher matters. Farther, have you got your Easter egg? Is it "Cadbury"? Or perhaps, Father, I'm taking life too seriously? Again...
"We should not be shy in talking honestly to the media about its responsibility to create a more reflective view of our presence in Ireland, i.e. more attention must be given to fighting against stereotypes and prejudices which if left unchallenged result in ignorance."
This is a quote from a statement inviting to a roundtable discussion spurred after a recent fatal stabbing of two Polish nationals Pawel Kalite and Mariusz Szwajkos in Drimnagh on February 23rd. The discussion is organised by Polish Information and Culture Centre in Dublin and aims to identify the underlying causes of increasing tension between Irish nationals and foreign nationals in Ireland (another quote from the same website).
The media coverage of the stabbings has been extensive. President Mary McAlees attended the remembrance service in memory of the two young men along with Minister for Justice Brian Lenihan and Minister of State Conor Lenihan. After talking tonight with a Polish friend of mine on the tragedy and on public reaction to it, we were wondering if the same reaction would have surged if two Irish nationals had been killed. Or French. Or... To suggest that the underlying reason behind these horrible crimes is racism or xenophobia would mean to find an easy explanation. Moreover, escalation of this tragedy as a basis for the previously mentioned discussion will not reduce any tensions. The bottom line is that such examples of random brutal violence become more and more frequent on the streets of Dublin.
Racism in this case would be an easy explanation, and an easy one. Yet the main point is that you and me can be attacked by kids armed with screwdrivers for reasons as simple as refusal to buy alcohol for them.
Some people in cases like these tend to say "oh, it's north Dublin" or "oh, it's dysfunctional families". A while ago one Irishman told me that in his opinion Dublin is not divided into North or South. It is East and West, he said. Either way the point is that this expanding city is becoming more and more fractured. I couldn't define a Dubliner after almost three years of living here. I observe numerous Dublins on a daily basis and one of them is where kids walk in grey, pink or white bottom tracksuits sporting spiky hair, short fringes, frightening attitudes and hands in their pants as if to check if they haven't lost their bits somewhere along the way. My friend bumped into a few of them some time ago and was asked if she 'wanted some of this'. Another friend of mine was mugged by a bunch of teenagers as he was walking somewhere besides Parnell Street. A regular customer of ours returned from shopping in town after not being there, in her words, for about 10 years and observed that she was upset by the number of security guards in the city centre.
It seems that as the economy was thriving, some problems where overlooked in Ireland and tragedies like the one in Drimnagh on the 23rd of February serve as an alert. Although some suspect racist reasons, I think the main concern should be the fact, that the education of children in this country oftentimes is neglected and instead is substituted with immense freedom, which results in yob culture (Martina Devlin made a very strong statement on this a while ago).
We should ask ourselves if we would be as disturbed by a tragedy like this if somebody else had been killed. Or shall we start regarding violence it as part of Dublin culture? This would be yet another tragedy. I think discussions about such issues would be more beneficial.
It is a gusty, damp evening in Dublin and I drop into one of the cafes belonging to a gargantuan chain owning thousands of cafes all over the world. They seem to be springing up in Dublin at the speed of light. Although everything mainstream and branded seems to be unwelcome nowadays, the place is packed and I find my spot besides an grey-haired man browsing through a holiday catalogue.
I'm sipping one of their special coffees, but it is neither special, nor great. Rather an adapted coffee flavored drink, mixed with vanilla syrup and topped with over steamed milk. I improve the cocktail with a pinch of nutmeg and a smidgen of chocolate. It is not cheap - I gave the girl a fiver without her even bothering to tell how much it was and got some change. I could get a meal for the price of this coffee in Lithuania. Yet probably not for long - prices have been soaring lately. As I was strolling the cobbled streets of Vilnius last September I remember dropping into a flawlessly spotless cafe owned by a Latvian coffee chain. I had an equivalent of over a euro in my purse, thinking I should be able to afford a coffee for that price in Lithuania. How innocently naive I was! The cheapest one was a Turkish coffee for about 2 Euro. In fact, I couldn't find a simple un cafe on the menu at all. Until then I had never paid for a coffee by credit card. Not to mention, I was waiting for the coffee and the bill for over ten minutes each.
But let's go back to Dublin. The service here is much quicker, yet just like in that cafe I find it hard to get my hands on a cup of good coffee. Not an Americano, not a double espresso and not a crème brûlée flavored pseudo coffee topped with whipped cream. If you ever had coffee in France or Italy you should understand me.
Why did I head to a cafe instead of a pub on this miserable evening? And who drinks coffee at this time of the day anyway, when the vast majority are sipping at their pints? True. Have you ever tried to find a cafe that is open till late in Dublin? No wonder the consumption of alcohol in this country is disturbingly high. It looks like socializing without booze has become mission impossible, apart from few exceptions. There is a tea house in Temple Bar, which to my knowledge was founded by a Croatian guy, and is the only spot in the city offering more than a teapot with a selection of tea bags - an extensive range of mixed herbal teas is available instead. And there is one cozy cafe that stays open till late, but the waitresses seem to be constantly struggling with their English.
Oh... and there is this mainstream chain I'm hiding in, buzzing with heart-to-heart talks, good music and the quality of coffee fading out into the background.
Opening a cafe might not sound like the most lucrative business, but I've never seen this place empty. Even though they charge nearly a fiver for a mug of coffee. On the other hand... it is quite a generous mug. Yet whenever I pass this place I tend to remember Krakow with numerous bohemian cafes, not acquired by global mega brands and with decent coffee. I admit having a few pints of Żywiec also. But sometimes one just needs a cup of good coffee.
Written for "Metro Eireann"
When I saw Primal's suggestion to nominate my modest reflections on living in Ireland in the best "Blog by a Journalist" category for Irish Blog awards 2008 I was obviously flattered. Hell, yeah.
Of course, as Primal admits, you can have doubts on whether I could qualify. I have some doubts as well - I believe out there, in the Irish cyberspace, there must be more journalists with more articulate English and plenty of time to ponder about zillions of issues. Yet it is up to you to decide and come to a conclusion in a debate what criteria define you as a journalist in this era of blogging, Current TV, You Tube, etc. Do you have to belong to the mainstream or can you be a voice in the wilderness while remaining independent? If everything goes well and I have a bit of luck, as of September I might plunge myself into a more academic research on this subject. Or continue a life of a mongrel with occasional posts on this blog...
On the other hand, Primal mentions the fact that there are not many non Irish journalists working in Irish media.
Amelie Mouton in her story "Why no news isn't good news for Ireland's ethnic journalists" published in 2006 in the annual magazine of Metro Eireann - Ireland's multicaltural newspaper - points out that the National Action Plan Against Racism asks for "positive actions" towards the recruitment of journalists from cultural and ethnic minorities. Yet a well-known Irish journalists, who's name is not disclosed, observes in the story that "Irish journalism does seem to be drawn from the white middle classes nearly exclusively - unless you count Protestans and Scots, there are not ethnic minorities represented in my staff".
In a way it is understandable - a little more than 20 years ago Ireland was almost exclusively Irish. I remember and Irish woman once told me that when she went to London about 25 years ago she was startled by the variety of people over there - never before she had seen so many shades of skin and heard people speaking English in so many different ways.
For the past five years Irish society has been experiencing vast changes. About 10 percent of the population today are foreigners. It is widely seen in cafes, "Penny's", construction sites and supermarkets. But not as much in the media.
Of course, immigration issues are being covered. The usual ones: possible layoffs, abuse of immigrants as cheap labor force, accidents, caused by drunk Eastern European drivers, other criminal offenses, etc. Yet apart from these clichéd news there is so much more worth feature stories, photographs, broadcasts and documentaries.
Seamus Dooley of the National Union of Journalists in a story mentioned above said that the main barriers preventing the mainstream press from taking on ethnic journalists are language barriers and a possible lack of knowledge about Ireland's socio-political background on the migrants' behalf. I'll tick for the language, yet many migrants have experienced that socio-political background themselves, therefore the last argument could be disputed. On the other hand, why not give a chance for foreigners trained as journalists and with previous work experience to gain more knowledge of that kind while they carry in-depth research? Many of them speak more than one language and know plenty of personal stories. Besides, we all know that journalists are jacks of all trades, yet masters of none and they all learn as they go.
I'm no expert in immigration and I am not a typical immigrant myself. A virtual friend of mine in Lithuania expressed a wish for a blog that would describe emigration process from day zero in a foreign country. As she said, the first slap in the face and the first applause.
A blog of this kind would be immensely popular. There are still many myths associated with emigrants in my country: hearsay about pay, living conditions, Irish, etc. If blogged honestly (therefore probably anonymously), it would offer the best chance to satisfy virtual voyeurism. If blogged in proper English, it would be phenomenally popular in the British Isles. Either way stories we - virtual voyeurs - would like to hear would probably never reach that blog. If blogged honestly and in the native language, most likely it wouldn't come from some mushroom factory. Even if internet access was available, blogging still requires some sort of ability to write. As another virtual friend of mine has observed, ability to write quite often does not coincide with the capability to tell something and vice versa. In terms of blogging in English, although I am convinced there are more people capable of doing that than we encounter today (non-native speakers), again those things we would like to read - everyday immigrant stories - would probably never make it to such a blog, just because they wouldn't happen to somebody who emigrates with more than basic knowledge of English. It would become a boring blog - with no bad news.
At first my blog was an attempt to highlight some of the issues Eastern Europeans have to face in Ireland. I should probably write more about the likes of my friend who came over to Ireland in November. For the past three months she had been working in an Eastern European grocery shop for less than the minimum wage, doing about 60 hours a week and without a single pay slip. I could also mention that they sell spirits from behind the counter and whoever speaks Russian can ask for a pack of 200 cigarettes for half the regular retail price. But I'm sure these stories will get to be covered someday by those who thoroughly know Ireland's socio-political background.
On the other hand, as I say in my profile, getting stuck in the topic of migration is easy, therefore I try to cover other issues as well, resisting the temptation to become too serious, too issue-focused. I'm learning to respect the readers - the second keyword bringing readership to my Lithuanian blog is "boobies" (because of a story about a character played by a Lithuanian actress doing it in "The Tudors" , shall I say, in a very open way - my suspicion was no English actress would have signed up for it). Therefore you might encounter more juicy material in the near future on this blog as well.
Whichever was the reason, a few weeks before Christmas I received and email from the deputy editor of Metro Eireann deputy editor offering to write about Lithuanians in Ireland. She said she had found my blog and thought it was very interesting. It wasn't all in vain, I guess... :)
If you think this blog deserves the spot in the nominations for the Irish Blog Awards 2008, mention me in any of the categories you think I qualify for. Or otherwise, please come back. Thanks for stopping by.
Before posting this rant I sought advice from my sister, who is a fourth year full-time student in Trinity College, and picked my workmates' brains who previously were engaged in studies over here.
I asked my sister if she had encountered many freestyle lecturers over the years that she spent in college. Although her object of studies requires a more specific and systematic approach than mine (for those looking for some background information, currently I am studying photography and digital imaging in the National College of Art and Design), recently myself and a few other guys I am studying with got worried. We've paid about 1300 Euro each for a six-month course which takes place twice a week for about 3 hours each time. We're split into two groups and have three lecturers in total - one of them we are sharing and then each group has the main tutor whom the other group only gets to see rarely.
So. The lecturer that both groups are sharing is kick-ass. Tons of material, dozens of pictures, intensive and brain-teasing lectures, lots of feedback on the projects we are currently involved in, etc.
The guy who is the main tutor of the other group (despite my bewilderment about the fact that although he had been photographing for over 15 years, he never aimed to exhibit his work abroad) knows his stuff, is very expressive and was very helpful when we were working in the darkroom. But my group only gets to see him rarely.
Now my group's main tutor, as one of the girls I'm studying with said, is a hippy, which is great, yet when I was paying the money I wasn't expecting to spend half of those 3 hours listening about her trip to New York. Neither was I paying the money for her to constant cross-examinations of how we are doing with our projects. Not that I don't like them or don't accomplish them, but spending over an hour of those 3 hours (which in her case mostly turn into 2) on asking what's your project? how are you getting on? how's your research? ON EVERY SINGLE LECTURE OF HERS is ridiculous, because as we are just talking the same stuff all over again and again, she is just nodding her head or mentioning a few random names (which in my case were totally absurd and out of context - on which even the kick-ass lecturer had agreed). She comes unprepared every single time and I am not the only one who is starting to feel fed up with her impromptu lectures.
An artist, one might wonder? I don't even consider her as an artist at all.
My sister admitted of having a few lecturers like that, while one of my workmates said that two of his lecturers could hardly speak English and one of hem was lecturing about mechanical solids (the colleague I am talking about graduated in engineering).
As we were sipping our Christmas drinks with the guys I study with, quite a few of us mentioned dissatisfaction with the tutor I am talking about. And before I could say anything one of the girls said "We, Irish, tend not to rock the boat". If it wasn't for her, I would have continued thinking perhaps I am just nitpicking. After all, good tutors are rare. Yet my guess is that she has probably been lecturing like this always - without students' complaints or any notions of improving the quality of her classes.
Since I am not Irish and one of the better students should I rock the boat? And how?
Shoulda woulda coulda...
Ho Ho Ho.
It feels a bit odd when people wish you Merry Christmas in the middle of December, but the marathon has kicked off even earlier. I think the first person to wish me Merry Christmas said this on the 3rd of December. And although this is supposed to be the season of joy and happiness, in a somewhat magic way as of the 1st of December Dubliners lost their usual easy come easy go attitude and turned into an army of angry shopaholics.
Shopping became part of Dublin life a long time before I had noticed a poster on Dublin Bus SHOPPING culture ENTERTAINMENT. The add was supposed to promote all three of the above, but the design of the poster was suggesting that Dublin equals to Shopping culture and Entertainment. Skip culture. Unfortunately quite often it is exactly like that. Unless you come to Dublin for some fiddle tunes.
A few weeks ago my sister was asking me to suggest a museum where she could bring her 12-year-old daughter and a 7-year-old son (they've been living in Ireland for over 7 years). Natural History Museum had been closed until further notice and I couldn‘t come up with any other ideas. You might accuse me of ungrounded bellyaching again, but this reminds me of a visit to Van Gogh’s Museum in Amsterdam, where they have special guide books for children. Kids are being asked to find particular details or colours or shapes in the paintings, observe differences and similarities with comprehensive and unfussy explanations. Last weekend I was in London and while strolling through Tate Modern and National Portrait Gallery I encountered quite a few parents and teachers with children. Looking at a dinosaur replica is one thing, but teaching to read paintings is another.
Anyway. Although constant state of shopping (despite the reason of need) - another attribute of the West - can be encountered in Dublin throughout the whole year (think Henry Street for instance), it reaches its pinnacle in December with Merry Christmas as a driving force behind it.
According to Deloitte’s annual consumer survey Irish households will spend on average §1,431 on Christmas this year. Compare this with §411 in the Netherlands; §420 in Germany and §556 in France. Of the Irish figure, a total of §720 will be spent on gifts, §431 on food with §279 on socialising.
My friend’s colleague who keeps constantly complaining about the lack of money and lives with her mother took a loan from the bank - 3500 euros - which she will spend on Christmas gifts. Next year she’ll be working for the sake of Christmas.
As I was looking for a coat last week I realized that the virus of “thingism” (a desire for things) is highly contagious. Indeed there are so many pretty things out there that cry to be bought. The handbags and the glad rags. Things which you desire, but you will never need. And have you noticed - although this is the season of happiness - everybody seems to be angry! Spend three hours in a shopping mall and you will feel as exhausted as a mountain climber who has just made it to the peak of Everest. That virus of thingism sucks out your spirits and leaves you a replica of consumerism fighting for those gifts. Although it is supposed to be a season of joy and happiness. Ho ho ho you’re in the army now.
In search for response to Christophe's comments on begging, over the past few days I came across two stories in the morning newspapers.
But in the meantime I just want to mention that of course, Christophe, when speaking of freedom I meant to say that our independence and the EU expansion opened the gate and we flooded through them driven by economic necessity and selfishness, yet we chose to work rather than to beg, even when a few years ago we were working illegally, without work permits, often for less than the minimum wage, but we worked, we were not begging (!). And I think I've written enough in my blog about Irish in order for you not to get the impression that I call all Irish street people. God forbid!
According to the recent stories, child begging is up by 30 percent in Ireland and according to some officials, the hike was due to both a change in legislation making it no longer illegal for adults to beg and the growing numbers of Roma in Ireland. This story only heralds my previous post in some way, yet I don't have the answer with a possible solution for this dilema.
Also I discovered that accordng to Dublin Simon Community, about a quarter of Dublin's homeless population suffer from serious mental illness and this is the question of the chicken and the egg: was it mental illness that drove them to the streets or are the streets to be blamed for their mental condition? Either way this should be tackled, but a penny or even a shiny euro jingleing into the empty "Starbucks" cup won't solve the problem.
Come ye who thirsty or starve or are simply lazy and the Celtic Tiger will embrace you all.
I suppose I was 20. Not that I am past my prime now, with grandchildren racing in the shadow of an apple tree thriving underneath my window, begonias on the windowsill and a duck roasting quietly in the oven. Anyway, I was 20. Third year in college, great expectations, naiveness, etc. I was in America. How incredible that even after the recent dark ages across the Atlantic (paranoic war on terrorism, Iraq, economic crisis, shootings in schools) those tree words still carry an aura of magic. The first glimpse at New York's Manhattan, skyscrapers, astounding feeling that nobody cares about you, therefore there is no need to feel uberimportant, black people, enormous traffic, over air-conditioned "Greyhound" busses, "Amtrak" trains, industrial suburbs of New Jersey, a guy with a python across his shoulders on the bus stop in Camden, a kid selling something colorful in a dinger, a street preacher moralizing about Jesus and Apocalypse and a vagabond shoving a tattered "Starbucks" cup into my face. No change, no change!
If you arrive to a Western country from Central/Eastern Europe, panhandling mostly leaves you outraged, the main difference being the fact that in Central/Eastern Europe you could rarely see fit young men and women, physically capable of working, begging on the streets. If you boarded a plane to Lithuania, you would mainly encounter old weary women on their knees asking for change besides Baroque churches. Throughout my explorations to the USA, the UK, France, Ireland, Italy and Spain I've never seen elderly women begging. Honestly - don't remember such an occurrence. Beggars in the West are fit and well capable of working. Men panhandling besides ATMs, restaurants, on Ha'penny Bridge, besides cars stuck in traffic... Have you noticed that the vast majority of them have hands and feet? Therefore I'm convinced they are in the streets not because they can't get a job or are incapable of working, but because they have chosen panhandling as a style of life.
I encountered panhandlers for the first time when I was walking towards underground station in Philly, USA. At first I couldn't even get - what's the problem? Why so much anger?
Over the past two and a half years that I'd spent in Dublin, I came to conclusion that panhandlers in this country are mainly junkies. Not as angry as in the States, but typically all young. Ironically, quite often they find shelter underneath or besides signs "Staff wanted".
I went to the ATM to withdraw some cash a few weeks ago, but some guy was in my way blocking the access. He apologized and placed himself underneath the money machine.
"Nice day", he said.
"I wonder if for long", added.
"Indeed", I answered.
"Good for you, I'm sure you can enjoy it", he muttered in a voice rehearsed for zillions of times.
"Have you got any spare change?" he asked.
"Sorry", I replied.
Panhandling besides ATMs in Ireland is a tremendously common sight. As a matter of fact, panhandling in general is acutely popular over here. Some say because of the widening gap between the poor and the rich - while some get more and more prosperous others become even more poverty-stricken. Sometimes it is the case, although knowing for a fact that dozens of able-bodied Lithuanians bulldozed their way to various benefits from the Celtic Tiger (on top of working 40, 50 or 60 hour weeks), I tend to think that panhandling nowadays for many has become a kind of occupation - despite vast opportunities on the job market. Although Irish still can't compare to the impeccability of the skills needed to, let's say, Italians. During my two-week-long stay in Italy this spring I learned of such numerous ways of mooching money that I could kick start a new career. I.e. distribute a flyer with a picture of a small girl on the train. She has one month to live. This is my daughter. Please help. I gave a euro - damn it, I couldn't look at that picture without apathy.
As of the 1st of January 2007 the number of those, who day in and day out live with a hand reaching out for small change, has even increased over here. New citizens of the expanded EU flooded the streets. But instead of IT professionals and laborers of mushroom factories, it was an army of gaudy skirts with a marching band of accordions. Until now if you ever met an Irish child on the streets of Dublin, it was a busker with a bucket in front. If you hit the streets of Dublin today, you encounter dozens of children, 10-year-olds and younger, with a hand reaching out for change (what a connotation of the word!). "Spare some change, madam" become the first English words they learn.
Once a Dutch woman whom I got to know while working in the shop, stressed to me that begging in the street with children is illegal in the Netherlands. In fact, during a couple of weekends spent over there, I had never encountered beggars. Just a quick glance of a tourist, which, obviously, could as well be quite wrong. During a few days spent in Denmark I was approached by a beggar only once. A friend of mine gave him a cigarette.
A couple of months ago a young beggar won his High Court claim that a law outlawing begging in a public place is unconstitutional because it excessively interferes with his right of freedom of expression. I guess, the expression of freedom can be interpreted in many ways nowadays.
Emigrants from Romania and Bulgaria risk being stopped from entering Ireland until the end of next year because of entry restrictions on low-skilled workers. In order to work in Ireland, they need work permits. Just 106 work permits were granted to Romanians this year and only 33 workers from Bulgaria were given access.
If I went for a stroll in certain areas of Dublin, I can bet a bottle of good wine, that in a few hours I could calculate more than a hundred of gaudy skirts or their mustached cavaliers. No, not those with accordions in their hands. And not those photographing the architecture of Dublin. But those exhibiting their freedom of expression. Because there can be no embargos for it. On the other hand, I could probably still calculate more pahnandling Irish, staying on the streets because they have chosen to. Despite the fact that there are numerous signs in town saying "staff needed".
Freedom lulled thousands of Lithuanians to Ireland like honey does the bees, while the Irish, allured by it, hit the streets. Isn't it ironic?
It is not easy to get used to the fact that I don't live on my own anymore. I'm a bad housemate and even worse as a roommate. I have to have my space, where others can't set their foot in. I have to have my cell of meditation where I can mumble to myself, scribble to you, perform in front of mirrors and indulge in reflective solitude.
A selfish kick-off for a monday morning.
For the past four days I have been sharing a room of my own with my best friend who after a few years of hesitations, persuasions and dubieties finally boarded "Ryanair" flight to Dublin. And for the past four days my 80 sq feet or so have been flooded with expectations and visions with spells of regret. Although visions prevail. Despite the troubles that emerge because of severe intimacy. On the other hand, my friends observations shed light on some things which I started to forget or got so used to that I barely even notice them. These are as follows:
***
A trip from Dublin Airport on Bus No. 16A. Somewhere around Phibsborough she exclaimed with childish disbelief:
Look! Walking in slippers!
***
Somewhere in town she suddenly scowled with disgust:
The stench of pee!
I hardly even noticed any...
***
After a job interview she was surprised that by the end of it the interviewer called her by name. She remarked it felt very personal.
***
Despite the fact that Eastern Europeans keep slagging off Irish about being fat, my friend was wondering, where are those fat people?
***
TO LET. At first she was thinking these are signs for public TOILETS with the letter I pealed off. I wish...
***
Everybody is nuts about anything organic.
***
In terms of salaries food is inexpensive.
***
She admired the fact that there are zillions of small shops.
***
Wine lists in the restaurants describe wines rather than just stating "Torres Esmeralda" or "Concha Y Torro Cabernet Sauvignon".
***
Pennies is great!
***
"Guinness" is tasty!
I think she'll be just fine in Ireland, won't she?
As I was striding to my local shop to buy some beans, a lovely six-year-old girl was strolling towards me. Pressed uniform, shiny shoes, curly red hair. She had just bought a chocolate bar and was unwrapping it eagerly. After removing paper she dumped it without a blink on the ground and walked away. Teeny-weeny bitch!
On the other hand, behavior of such kind doesn't come as a surprise, since this week we all got a chance to discover (again) that Dublin had the most litter on its streets when compared with nine other major European cities: Riga, Vienna, Strasbourg, Cologne, Barcelona, Copenhagen, Zurich, Stockholm and Amsterdam.
The lack of litter-fine enforcement is blamed for the high level of litter in Dublin.
Lithuania's neighbor's Latvia's capital Riga was the cleanest city surveyed. In Vienna, which came second in the survey and was also declared "Clean", 30 new Litter Sheriffs have been appointed to enforce litter fines.
Although recently the on-the-spot litter fine in Ireland was increased from €125 to €150, figures indicate that less than half (12,521) of the litter fines issued in the latter half of 2006 were paid, which equates to only 1.5 litter fines issued per local authority per day.
Apparently, official explanation is that many of those caught discarding food wrappers and cigarette butts simply give false names and addresses to litter wardens.
Hire Lithuanians! You should see how our bus conductors bully students and unemployed likewise until they pay the fine.
On the other hand, Dublin desperately needs more bins: in the bus stops, in residential areas and, of course, in the city centre.
Fare play to Riga! I wonder what would have been the outcome if Lithuania's capital Vilnius had been surveyed.
As I was watching "Jasminum" in the IFI yesterday, millions of Poles in Poland and thousands here, in Ireland, were casting their votes in a life-and-death parliamentary election. A number of them were queuing besides the embassy of Poland in Ballsbridge for more than three hours. Rumor has it that some even borrowed children from the couples who had already cast their vote in order to avoid the queue. Some say the voting in the embassy didn't finish until after midnight.
Yet despite the fact that the voting procedure was not organized thoroughly and although only 21,000 Poles out of 63,000 living in Ireland (that is officially, although few doubt there are at least a couple of hundred thousand) registered to vote (14,000 in Dublin, with over 3,000 in Cork and Limerick each), Poland's liberal opposition defeated the Kaczynski twin tandem. WE WON!!!! :-D 44-31!!!! may go back to my country!!! - texted a Polish friend of mine yesterday, at around 11pm.
It looks like Poles had enough of former child film stars. During two years in power (Lech Kaczynski, the president, does not face an election until 2010), the conservative Kaczynskis have constantly tumbled into quarrels with the EU partners. Gay people started to flee Poland in fear of possible prosecution.
With 99% of votes counted, Donald Tusk's pro-EU party received more than 41% of the votes, while Mr Kaczynski's Law and Justice (PiS) got about 32%. Turnout was the highest recorded in Poland since communism fell in 1989 - 53,79%.
After the first results were announced, Mr Tusk expressed his gratitude to emigrants, because about 70 percent of them voted in favor of pro-western opposition. It looks like the campaigning before the election has paid off. More than 175,000 Poles registered to vote abroad in Sunday's election, well over three times as many as for the last ballot in 2005, official figures showed. In Britain and Ireland alone over 68,000 registered to vote. Some 31,000 registered in the United States.
Tusk's Civic Platform has promised lower taxes and a more business-friendly administration with closer ties to Europe. Poland certainly needs that.
Let's hope that this is the the end of Twin Peaks (as my Polish friend calls it) in Rzeczpospolita Polska. And hopefully Civil Platform will not take over the baton from other promising Eastern/Central European parties who after managing to come out on top in the elections failed to find dialogue within their team and with their political allies. Think Ukraine. Think Lithuania.
✌
Alright, I stop any pretenses in regards to Polish tonight. I've applauded them (the ones who came to Ireland) on many things: their movie festivals in the IFI (by the way, Seksmisja was absolutely hilarious and I'm expecting Jasminum to be good), their ability to fight for their rights, find niches in the job market, etc. But the news about a group of Polish campaigning for the recognition of Polish as a third official language of Ireland, alongside English and Gaelic, was too much for me. I have never heard about a Polish community magazine "Sowa" mentioned in the story before and I don't know how many supporters its publisher Marcin Wrona has.
Signs "Tutaj pracujemy po polsku" (Eng. "We work in Polish here") in the grocery shops, hairdressers, opticians and in many other places have become a common sight in Ireland over the past few years. In fact, perhaps these signs and attempts to make customer service for Polish residents of Ireland understandable are to blame for the fact that multitudes of them still don't speak any or can at most offer you poor English. If they had to make a leap of faith and started communicating in English in the banks, cafes, supermarkets and beauty salons, there probably wouldn't be much need for a third official language in Ireland (and even those signs).
Perhaps immigrants from Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia should consider the idea in France, Mexicans - in the USA, Turks - in Germany and... Irish in the UK? Yet Ireland is quite smaller than any of these countries (by the way, Poland's population exceeds Ireland's by 10 times). And although Ireland was voted recently as the world's friendliest country in "Lonely Planet" Blue List I beg not to abuse this country's hospitality.
By the way, does anybody know if the magazine "Sowa" is of any significance? Somehow I have a feeling it's not even noteworthy and in that case I sincerely hope that the rant above is not necessary.
What's the most annoying thing about immigrants coming to Dublin? Their unhappiness with the city. Especially Eastern Europeans. Would you agree? I catch myself doing that sometimes, or perhaps even often. But whenever I encounter such bellyachings I try to say (and to myself): come on, but you are not chained to the Spire and the flights are cheap!
On the other hand, I suppose the easiest way to stop complaining is to start looking for bonus points. Among other ones (Irish hospitality, sense of humor, ability to always have a story to tell, sublime nature (if it doesn't rain...), the sea, variety of wine and beer (that's in comparison to Lithuania), "Laser" DVD rental, etc.) I would like to add one more thing, which I discovered today. Dublin Docklands, in particular the right bank (if you stand facing the sea). 
To be honest, I've never been on the right bank before, mostly I stayed on the left one. Of course, the area can't compare to Copenhagen yet, where modern architecture is flourishing, but since today the light was extraordinary, glass constructions looked so refreshingly different to traditional Dublin: pubs, shabby pubs and more pubs. In fact architecture is one of those things I miss most when in Ireland and although Docklands are still expanding, the area seems to be promising. Just more terraced cafes needed, some trees, a few exhibition centres, bookshops and ... Imagination has no limits. I just hope construction companies and local government will realize that it would be great not to get stuck with apartments and office buildings only.
There is another reason I am so hyper about Dublin today. A journalist writing for the website I was working for before came to Dublin recently and yesterday she posted some photos from Dublin and captions for them in the editorial blog. I feel an obligation to mention and translate a few, since they are unexpectedly positive! And truth be told, they reminded me some good things about the city I've been living in for the past two years and a half. Here is Dublin as seen by a Lithuanian journalist Egle Digryte:
* Some fountains remind artworks rather than just mere architectural solutions. (she mentioned this one in particular)
* Footprints or handprints on the pavement look very playful.
* Dublin is incredibly colorful. (Here I would like to comment that it is Georgian doors that make that impression, in my opinion Dublin is quite monotonous, just plenty of red brick)
* Houses with climbing ivies on them.
* There are more plants and flowers in Dublin than in any other major city she has been to.
Despite the fact that the journalist came to conclusion she wouldn't like to live in Dublin, these are definitely some of the facts I will try to remember next time before starting another rant about the Irish capitol Dublin.
Some of you might remember that I was bitching about my old bed. The good news is that the landlord managed to replace it! It's almost new, firm and really high. I call it sexodrome :-)
After replacing the bed my landlord told me there two good things you need in life.
"One is a good bed. What's the other?" he asked me.
"Somebody to sleep with in that bed?" was my pragmatic answer and he started laughing.
"Good shoes", he replied. "Because you if are not in one, you're in the other".
Irish wit, isn't it?
