Emigration etc.

Almost a hundred years ago James Joyce described Dublin as dear and dirty. Despite a pioneering levy on plastic bags introduced six years ago (of which some of the customers in my shop still seem to be unaware) Irish capital is suffering from chronic littering problem.

The government reports that the 22 cent we pay for each plastic bag help to finance local environmental projects such as recycling facilities. Recycling is great and many Irish are more aware of it than the people of Lithuania. After a recent chat about sustainable energy with my 14-year-old niece who had been living in Ireland for the past 8 years, I had to admit that when I was of her age, I knew much less about those issues.

In addition to a gradually increasing plastic bag levy, as of July Ireland is introducing a new emission-based vehicle taxation system and soon we will have to replace traditional bulbs with low-energy ones in the country's pursuit to be as green as possible.

The initiatives leave many countries behind. Yet despite them there is one thing I've learned as a kid and after visiting other European cities it seems that many Europeans have learnt the lesson as well, while Dubliners still seem to be struggling with it. That is even if you pay for plastic bags and drive an emission-free car, you should put the litter in the bins provided.

Last autumn it was revealed that Dublin had the most litter on its streets when compared with nine other major European cities, including Riga, Vienna, Strasbourg, Cologne, Barcelona, Copenhagen, Zurich, Stockholm and Amsterdam. I have visited four of them and I must say the survey proves what I have seen. After cigarette butts, food-related litter, packaging litter and paper litter are the largest categories of environmental littering in Ireland. Last year the Department of Environment announced that almost a million Euro will be given to local authorities for anti-litter public education and awareness initiatives.

When I leave my house in D8 I have to walk for about three minutes before I find a bin. I've done the calculation. There is no bin in my bus stop and neither there is any on the one where I catch my bus after work. There are plenty of cigarette butts around both, though. So what do you do if you are not super green and don't want to carry a sticky wrapping paper from your "Cornetto" in a bag? You let it slip out of your hand as if by accident and quietly continue to move on along the street...

Don't get me wrong - Irish seem to quite happily participate in various anti-litter campaigns, even though two years ago they were the biggest waste producers in the EU, with the average Irish person producing about 869 kg of rubbish per year - twice more than the Finns do (I seem to have lost the link to this fact, will try to find it). Last year over 398,000 volunteers participated in the National Spring Clean campaign, aiming to involve as many Irish as possible in various cleanup events in a period of one month. It is reported that 3880 tonnes of litter was collected, which is about 10kg per head. Impressive, isn't it? That is until you consider a recent campaign in Estonia.

This spring two Estonian internet entrepreneurs organised a nationwide clean-up day called "Let's do it!" Using cutting-edge IT technology, illegal garbage dumps and their photographs were mapped out on Google Earth. On the 3rd of May about 50,000 Estonians - about 3 percent of the population - hit the roadsides, forests and public areas. Over 6000 tons of illegal waste was collected or 120kg per head - twelve times more than the Irish did. Yet, as the spokesperson for the cleanup campaign said, the aim was not just to clean the fields and forests. "We also wish to kind of clean the brains of those people who have left that garbage", she said.

Maybe it was the fact that the cleanup happened in a day, or maybe it was the innovative software that allowed to see the pictures of the garbage and the real-time progress of the campaign. So how about if a million Euro given to the local Irish authorities for anti-litter public education and awareness initiatives is used to supply more bins in Dublin and hire a few Estonian internet gurus?

Actually, after Estonians announced about the campaign in February, ever ambitious Lithuanians rushed to organise a similar one on the same day. Yet they only had four weeks to prepare and only 3,500 out of 5,000 registered participants showed up on the day. If Ireland plans better, the Emerald Isle and its capital could indeed be greener. And a bit dearer.

PS Sorry for a month of silence :)

Vatican©Lina Zigelyte

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...

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?

Sometimes my fridge faces metamorphoses like this one.



The photos are not staged and I would never dear to publish them if my mom had access to internet. I don't know if this is popular among Irish students, but during my study years those of us who were not from the capital used to fetch bags full of goods from parents' - mostly smoked meats and strawberry preserves. In the meantime capital kids (including myself) were savoring the pleasures of living in parent's gaff. Now worries about dinner or breakfast. More or less, depending on the welfare of the family.

Nowadays I am savoring selfish pleasures of living all by myself. No parents, no boyfriends, no roommates. Nobody to criticize me for eating raw cauliflower and drinking black tea with a wedge of lemon. Unfortunately, no mom to make sure the fridge is full, therefore sometimes I have to face the fridge as it appears in the photo.

A while ago a colleague of mine who is Polish and myself engaged in a conversation about the peculiarities of Irish food. Not to mention that my Polish colleague is quite unhappy about Ireland in general...

Anyhow. Despite the mainstream tendency for those who live in the Western world to get fatter, I keep loosing weight. Over the six months that I'd spend in the USA I lost about 10 kilos (about 1.5 st). Then again, I never had a burger and I didn't indulge in Philly pretzels too much. Since I was waitressing in quite a decent Italian restaurant (owned by a real bitch though) and the summer turned out to be extremely hot, my diet mainly consisted of mixed salad.

I try to make sure I eat plenty of veg in Ireland also - tomatos, broccoli, lettuce, courgette, carrots, etc. Ironically, perhaps to some extend tomatoes and broccoli are to blame for my anemia. After being diagnosed with one I started to eat more meat (apologies all vegetarians - I greatly admire the idea), but still I love vegetable stews, I cook stuffed chicken in an oven and whenever we go out to Yamamori or Wagamama I indulge in seafood of some kind.

Although there over 220 shops (!) in Ireland selling Lithuanian food, on average I visit them only once every two months and when I do I buy there either herring or diary products. I don't really miss Lithuanian food here and after my last visit home I came to realize that potato meals and me don't always go together (NB - potato is our national vegetable (isn't it the case in Ireland?), we make everything from pancakes to desserts with them). Sweets and cookies don't seem to tempt me as much as they did when I was younger. And despite the fact I adore red wine (on average there are about 85 calories in a 125 ml glass), I never seem to put on weight here.

My colleague notes that whenever she goes back to Poland she starts loosing weight. But when in Dublin, extra pounds become inevitable. Since her nitpickings about Ireland every so often can drive to depression (there are enough shortcomings anyway), I keep discharging the accusations. Yes, you can find tasty berries. Yes, organic and affordable chicken does exist (4 euro each in my local butchers). Yes, you can find good tomatoes.

It is true though that healthy eating costs more than gobbling down chicken Kievs or "Goodfella's" pizzas, although I have noticed if my financial situation drives me to go for these, my stomach doesn't tolerate them well. In those cases only a dram of "Highland Park 12yo" or "Ardberg 10yo" helps.

Nevertheless yourselves and myself are about to face winter, which means less fresh vegetables. I hope after the cold season I will not be able to boast about a few spare tires. Mens sana in corpore sano.

Putting the kettle on is not enough anymore. Even "Highland Park 12yo" doesn't help. It is getting cold and I have to turn the radiator on. Just like Dublin Bus drivers, although they tend to overheat the busses. On top of that, I am anemic and that doesn't help, since a 10 minute journey to work turns into a bloody sauna.

Haven't seen the landlord for about a month and a half and I can't wait since:

a) we do need to turn the heating on

b) I need a new bed. Not because of too much exercise performed on it. It is old - like majority of the things my landlord stuffs into his houses (cupboards, tables, pots, arm-chairs, hoovers) and way too soft - I can nearly feel the springs cutting into my back. If he is not happy with buying a new one, I am chucking out the old one and will continue sleeping on my sister's mattress. That's what I have been doing for the past few weeks. My brother-in-law describes this as self-punishment (turning into Mother Theresa?). Actually it is not - it is great for the back. And I dream every night. What about? My bed in Lithuania. Although as a matter of fact it's Danish. :-)

If they don't like it here why don't they go back?

It was a very good point. The conversation took place in the USA, I think it was 2002. We were talking about America with Americans. Everybody had agreed on the imperfections and flaws of the country, i.e. dumb politicians, citizens' naivety, horrifying criminal situation. Yet despite constant grumbles the USA for many still is THE promised land - the country of unlimited opportunities and acknowledgment. In other words - you've had expectations, you've made it to get the visa (which for the citizens of my country, daring to cross the threshold of the embassy of the USA, is something in between Darwin's fight for survival and a sacrifice of one's privacy*), therefore please have respect for a country that has welcomed you, do the best you can and perhaps then it will indeed turn out to become your Eldorado.

I guess the same attitude could be applied in any country, be it New Zealand, Tanzania or Ireland. We all cross the borders with expectations - greater or smaller. And when the reality doesn't meet them we start to bitch. The cost of living, the amount junk food sold (and consumed), nasty weather, unpredictable public transport, filthy streets, knackers, junkies, beggars, narrow-minded press, boring music on the radio, tracksuits, spoiled kids, obese girls, binge drinking blokes... I could go on and on...

Some of us get trapped in this fussy list and forget the question posed in the beginning. If you nearly hate this place why don't you go back to Poland, Latvia, Slovak Republic or Lithuania? Oh... I see... The pay is ten times less and despite being the citizens of the EU many locals still behave as if they were cavemen?

Fair enough. Then ask yourself if your country would be as welcoming as Ireland (or UK, or Sweden or any other EU country that has its borders wide open for accession countries' labour force). Would it embrace and open its borders to thousands of foreigners: black, Chinese, Asian, gypsies, homosexuals, transsexuals, former criminals escaping their past, inexperienced students, unemployed elders, abrupt countrymen, losers trying to break through once again and illiterate cheep labour force unable to utter a single word in your language. The list could go on and on.

I can assure you my country is not ready for a tsunami like this. I remind myself about it now and again and that makes me stop my moans. After all perfect countries don't exist. As the saying goes, far away hills are always blue. Yet once you approach them you start to notice that even tigers have flaws. Therefore although it might be hard we should accept imperfections, try to live with them and learn to become more flexible. Then it is easier to notice that there are still plenty of good things around. And you might live happier ever after...


* the latter meaning that you have to submit heaps of documents stating your income and financial obligations, moreover you must participate in an interview that might strip you of any privacy and all of the above - for the cause of eliminating any possibilities you might chance to stay in the USA after the expiry of your visa

"Why do Irish people drink? Because sober people write whiny letters while they're on holidays. And skinny people never get their round in. And Hans Christian Andersen wrote rubbish stories. And Carlsberg tastes like donkey wee. And mind the saloon doors don't smack you on your skinny little bottom as you leave."

Al C O'Holic

Despite the fact that Dublin's daily "Metro" (distributed for free) encourages readers to include their full name in the emails sent to the editor, the author of the above email is anonymous.

The outrage is an answer to a Danish guy Christian who after arriving to Ireland after 10 years came to conclusion that the only difference he notices is the fact that there are more men with beer bellies and women with spare tires. This slapping of a Celtic tiger did not stay unnoticed.

"One must be blind not to notice the level of binge drinking in this
country: girls crawling from pubs on their knees and men taking a leak
wherever possible. Have you ever tried to walk in Temple Bar on a
Sunday morning? The place stinks of every excrement possible."

This was part of my response to Al C O'Holic which I had emailed to "Metro". In case he/she doesn't know that every fifth person in this country is obese (and these are the figures of 2000). Or in case he/she is not aware of the fact that Ireland has the highest level in EU in terms of binge drinking. It is not shamrocks or leprechauns in Ireland anymore. It is broken pint glasses on Grafton street and the smell of puke and piss in the city centre 24/7. Celtic tiger is getting wasted. Slainte.

By the way, for the likes of Al C O'Holic I highly suggest visiting Denmark. For pure educational purpose.