All hallows eve

It's a big deal here!

We didn't get to the store in time to get a pumpkin, so we, or should I say a determined Marcus, carved a turnip! Really.


Danny dressed up as a Garda (Irish police).

Marcus doesn't do dress-up anymore. But he still manages to score candy. Hmm.

From cold to warm

During our stay in England, the weather turned cold. Frost on the windshields, dusting of snow on the hills kind of cold. Needless to say, it was lovely being on vacation and not having to scrape windshields (windscreens).

After two days of sightseeing, our third day at the Goswells was given over to pressing apples into cider. Armed with a book and plans for a press from the Web, Karen supervised, while we put Cripsin's fabrication to the test. We picked, chopped, scratted (that's a fancy-apple term for the coarse grinding that the fruit undergoes before pressing), searched for more containers for apples and their by-products (future compost), and managed to break the press. With a halt put to the preparations, the men-folk retrenched to the workshop and figured out how to rebuild the press to apply enough pressure to get the precious juice without breaking apart. After much kibitzing and fortified with a fine out-of-the-freezer feast, the first pressing was finished by bedtime for the wee ones. A large bottle of juice was set to ferment (Karen has promised a full report), and the rest pasteurized and bottled and labeled. We tucked our bottle into the special bottle compartment in the back of the car (it is a French car, after all), and it is now safely ensconced in our kitchen.





Our crossing home was not as rough as coming over, but high winds kept us circling for three hours before we could dock. The Irish Coast Guard took advantage of the opportunity to do some helicopter rescue training, which provided at least an hour of entertainment. We got home and fell into bed quite late; poor Alfred had to rise the next morning, but we did no such thing.




The trees outside our windows appeared a little more bare, and the microwave said it needed its clock reset. I figured I'd need to set the timers on the radiators as well (each one has a separate control), but we scratched our head for a day until the neighbor said they had only been without power for an hour. Indeed, it appears that readjusting clocks off of daylight savings time was taken care of for us by the electric company. I wonder how they'll move things forward in the spring...

The tallest of the Wicklow hills had a sprinkling of white (we think that's why it's called the Sugaloaf), but that has since melted. The weather turned back to just quite cool. I finally capitulated and bought a wireless modem dongle for my laptop, since the Internet connection was completely gone upon our return, and a visit from the tech today yielded absolutely no improvement.

I am off to Florida tomorrow, for a professional conference. It will be odd to be warm (though I may freeze with the air conditioning) and around Americans.

Traveling Bristol

We are once again sheltered in the cozy cottage at Karen and Crispin's, enjoying the free entertainment provided by two appropriately-aged siblings and a screaming internet connection. Yes, and endless cups of tea and cocoa.

The weather seems to have developed a troubling pattern: we wake to a sunny, if frosty, morning, but by the time we're actually dressed and quasi-breakfasted and on our way, the clouds gather. We usually get to our destination, pay the entrance fee, and then the heavens open up. Wet, complaining teenagers (who reproach us that they didn't wear/bring their raincoat), and wet children who don't complain but need to be carried ensure. It seems that Danny is the only one who is always suitably dressed, and who has no complaints, as long as we keep sticking food into him at regular intervals.

Our first foray was to the Stourhead Estate, just over the border in Wiltshire, gardens with exquisite views, enhanced by spectacular fall colours and--a hailstorm!



The four children had wandered off as one, leaving four adults to meander the path around the lake, and wondering from time to time if they were wet and miserable. We made a half-hearted effort to call them, but did not panic when we discovered that none of us had phone service. Karen rightly predicted that they had sought refuge in the buildings at the entrance. A short stop in the fading light to get Alfred to his namesake's three-sided tower completed the tour, and we tucked into a feast of take-away Indian food.

We then left the smaller kids with Crispin and wended our way through the labyrinthine streets of Bristol to IKEA to help stimulate the EU economy. In a mad dash to the checkout before closing, we had to deal with a few teenage hissy fits, but seem to have ticked just about everything off our list. Except a decent chef's knife, which for some reason, was entirely sold out.

Yesterday we took the clan to Bath, the classic Roman/Georgian attraction. I hadn't been for well over a decade, and am happy to report that they are still lovely. The boys seemed to enjoy it, and there was a breathtaking moment when we came out to the main bath to discover a thunderstorm had rolled in, and the cold rain hitting the warm water raised a cloud of steam. We regrouped with hot (soy!) cocoa for the trek home, and put together supper.


Today has dawned clear and frosty cold; we are slated to press apples into cider, which seems an apt way to spend a late autumn day.

Tomorrow we head home, back through Wales, on the ferry and back to Wicklow in time for Halloween. I wonder if we can take a kid as a souvenir?

Meandering to our destination

We boarded a ferry for England (half-term break) on Saturday, but not until we chipped away at the Internet iceberg. It seems with the re-opening of the hotel on the premises (www.tulfarris.com) we have an ally in the broadband supply challenge. The hotel is advertising wifi, and it appears that we share the signal. So if we're down, that means the hotel is down. Not good for business. The players are Larry, the hotel facilties manager, and Eddie and Stephen, who work for the dysfunctional Omnitel. Alfred has cameo appearances as the man who keeps asking the same question to see if he can get the same answer twice. It hasn't happened yet.

***

Today, Monday, is a bank holiday in Ireland, which simply means that the Irish thought they could use a day off, so they're saying it's the banks that needed it, and if the banks are closed then why on earth should we be working either? And so everyone takes the day off. This happens four times a year. Suits us just fine.

We took advantage of the convergence of holiday and school break to escape to friends near Bristol, where the day has dawned clear and cold. We're thinking of going to see some of those magnificent gardens that England is so famous for, and then chase it down with a trip to IKEA. Yes, there is a big blue building in Dublin with the Swedish furnishing giant's name on it, but they won't be allowed to open until the motorway works are done. We're not holding our breath, and so off to the Bristol IKEA we go. The cricks in our necks and backs call for some feather pillows, and I'm desperate for some sort of desk setup: an optical mouse does not work on a glass kitchen table! Since we took the ferry over, we have our own car, so stuff is not an issue, as long as we still have trunk space.

Speaking of ferries, we enjoyed the adventure tremendously. Even though it was more hours of travel in the end, three hours on board broke up the driving, cost us less in stress and petrol and even spewed less carbon than flying. We're seasoned ferry tarvellers in Washington State, where the ferries are part of the highway system, but here they are lifelines for trade between the two island nations and the continent: potatoes from Ireland, tomatoes from the south. The vast majority of the vehicles on the boat are trucks (lorries), most of them filled with food. And because trucks are so huge, the boat is huge too: ten decks tower above the water, ramps raise and lower to make ramps to drive on and off.
We arrived at the docks at the crack of dawn, and the behemouth was revealed to us as the sun rose.

And of course, one of the joys of traveling this early is the light traffic: on the drive down, the boys counted 132 cars, 7 trucks, 2 buses and--this being Ireland--two horse trailers.

Free books and music

After we moved into Tulfarris Village, we had to wait a whole week before we got a piece of mail--any mail at all--for the purposes of proving our address so we could get library cards. Noble intentions aside, we had a practical reason: we needed stories to read to Danny before bedtime, and we had brought precious few books to save on weight. But once we had that proof of address, we gleefully trekked down as a family. As she handed us the cards, the librarian also handed us a flyer for a series of "alternative" traditional performances, noting that there would be a free recital in this very library next Tuesday evening. I looked at the tiny place (perhaps twice the size of our living room) wondering if I was missing something, and said, "will you have room enough?" "Oh yes, the last time we had a free performance, no one came." Small town life. Did I mention the population of Blessington is about 4,000?

We checked out a few books, and some CDs, since our new cars and the house all have CD players. Once home, we popped in the Best of the Chieftains, and kicked back to the first track: North Americkay, the classic tale and tune of the young woman who follows her banished love from Belfast to Quebec. I put the date for the recital on my calendar, and got stared on supper.

The recital was last night. Words simply fall short of showing you the amazement on Danny's face as he recognized the singer during the opening strains of North Amerikay--the same singer as on the CD. Yes, we had before us one of the early Chieftains (that would be Kevin Conneff), not ten feet away from us, introducing each song in the traditional fashion, telling us from whom he had learned it. A single voice held us all for 30 minutes; he was joined later by two other traditional musical giants, and together they created magic.

For free, in the tiny library in Blessington.

Car vs. Internet

Short version: Ireland is like French underwear. It’s so lovely it takes your breath away, but it’s incredibly impractical. Up to you to decide what matters most.

Long version:

Alfred reminds me that I have left everyone on tenterhooks: what ever happened to the car? And our Internet connection? Time for an update.

I am slowly but surely distinguishing a rhythm to the week: Monday, people are straggling into the workplace, a bit disoriented from the weekend, and they manage to catch up on the latest with their colleagues, and start having a look at the work that awaits them. This is the day that a few phone calls and appointments are made for later in the week. Between the Irish work ethic (variable) and communications infrastructure (variable), this takes the better part of the day. A few wee bits might get done, but it’s basically just planning for the week. A call to the Internet provider reveals that yes, there was an outage over the weekend, gee they’re sorry, but they’ll put a tracer log on our line. Call back later in the week.

Monday is also the day I am faced with a decision: which car to use to take Danny to school. Alfred hitches a ride in with Paul, leaving me standing there with two sets of keys. The Land cruiser is an automatic, but it’s also huge, completely filling the spot between road and stone wall. The Clio, sweet and cute, takes up half the space, but is manual. I tried to drive it last week and my hip ached for hours afterward. I pocket the Land cruiser keys, do some hamstring stretches (hope the neighbors aren’t watching), and climb in the Clio. She handles well, has a great sound system, and there’s actually space left when I meet an oil truck going the other way. Silently wish I’d had one more week to car hunt.

Tuesday is a bit better, with mechanics and technicians finally finding a space in their calendar for the weekend cases. I pop into town for some groceries, and stop in the library to ask if they have wi-fi. The librarian gives me a blank look, and says, oh no, we’ve nothing like that, but you’re welcome to use the computers here. Guess the library won’t be our backup connection. This is also the day when the mechanic deigns to look at the car, pronounced it healthy, and changed its transmission (=gearbox) fluid. He got it done in enough time to make a call to have it picked up. Car exchanged effected, Alfred arrives home and drops the keys in my hand. He is my hero. It’s a cute little thing, but, Marcus informs me, a minivan nonetheless. Oh, well, it’s only for a year, and it is blue.

Wednesday the rain continues, and I have a date with the relo people. When we first arrived, they escorted Alfred to the PPS office to get his magic taxpayer ID. The agent recognized the relo escort, and waved them to the front of the line. We asked if I could have the same VIP treatment? Sure, they said. I confirm the documents I will need to apply for myself and the kids, and meet up at the appointed hour with Annalisa, who it turns out was hired two weeks ago, and who has a Yahoo maps printout to find the place. Right. I smile, figure at least she’s paying for the gas to drive up to Dublin. Well, she must save a bundle, because I don’t think she went over 40 miles an hour the whole time: what I used to drive in 45 minutes takes her an hour and a quarter. We get to the building—in the mall where I shopped when we lived at Citywest, so I had to get her there—and I get in the line (=queue) for reception, since I figure that’s where they hide the number ticket machine. Annalisa wanders about for five minutes, and then determines the same thing. The good news is that there are only three people ahead of me: the heaving masses are there for the dole, which is a different line. Ten minutes later, at the counter, I breeze through my paperwork. But, says the capricious fellow, I need a letter from the schools stating the boys are attending. Lovely. Another hour and a half on the road (we stopped by Citywest to pick up mail (=post) that still straggles in.) Hooray, Alfred’s car title is there!

I’m back in a bit of time, and take myself to Newbridge, where I find an interiors shop that has some bed linens, so Alfred and I can make our bed properly. While I’m doing this, Alfred is spending time on the phone with the tech, who is regaling him with stories like the fellow who had an outage every weekday from 6:30-7:30: seems a truck (=lorry) driver parked in the line of sight every morning and had his breakfast. The tech makes a few changes to the frequency, and confirms in the tracer log that we had another outage Tuesday evening. No kidding!

I pick up Danny, who informs me that he urgently needs a black tie, so he can be a Garda for Halloween and around the house. Oh, goody, something more to do. At least it should be easy to find a tie in a country full of school uniforms.

As I gear up to go back up (again!) to Dublin to get Marcus, the aura of a migraine surprises me. I locate my homeopathics and lie down for a half-hour before I hit the road again (this time at 60 mph). My head hurts, and traffic is bad. I get to school late, and we end up grabbing sandwiches for supper and eating them in a parking garage. By the time we get home, I’m past wiped out, but at least I can make my bed before I lie down. Marcus wants to know if I can fix the light in his bathroom at 8:30 at night. I say no, and collapse.

If Wednesdays are usually fairly productive, then Thursdays are the day that Things Get Done. With Danny in school for his long day (he’s usually out at 1:30; Thursday it’s 3:00), I can plow through things that pile up. I go to a morning coffee at school, where I finish knitting a mohair kitty for Izzy’s seventh birthday party the next day. As I arrive home, the postman hands me the missing bank epistles, so I can dig into the pile. Got the online banking done, organized myself, waited and waited for the mail to download. Takes a half hour. Clearly, we are not out of the woods yet. I manage to write a report to send off, Danny arrives home, and the connection goes down. Before the report got sent.

After supper, we decide to drive into town to accomplish three things: 1) find the GAA pitch (that’s a sports field where they play Saturday morning), 2) find out what the Motor Tax office hours are (can’t check online!); and 3) pick up some apples and orange juice. The pitch is beautiful, the motor tax office is open when I need it to be, and we run into Paul and the kids at the store (hey, it’s a small town!). We also swing by the library, where Alfred notes someone using a laptop. We exchange a knowing glance, I turn on my PDA, and lo and behold, it detects a wireless network called “Blessington Lib 1.” That sly old fox at the counter was deceiving me! Alfred works his magic, and she fesses up: there’s a connection, but the county official won’t give them or anyone else the password. I’m not making this up, really. We finagle the name and phone number of the evil man, and decide that Alfred the Tenacious will tilt with him. Marcus in the meantime, has logged onto a library computer and checked his email for the first time in a week. He even gets a start on his homework, downloading files to his USB key. I told you that Thursdays were productive!

It is now Friday, and the connection remains absolutely, completely dead. I am typing this in the conservatory, and will get myself together and head into town where I can check my email on the library computers, mail some letters, and pick up my soy (=soya) milk from Harvest Fare. I’ll also duck into the office and see if I can manage the motor tax.

But it is Friday, and the weekend is nearly here: people will be leaving the office early (it will be worse next weekend, since the following Monday is a bank holiday), and this will be put aside until Monday. Danny is off to a birthday party this afternoon, and the weekend is slated for farmer’s markets and exploring out backyard.

There is, after all, plenty of time to Get Things Done next week.

A key of ones own

As I may have mentioned before, Irish weather is extremely variable. A day that dawns sunny and clear would, in most parts of the world, be a harbinger of a beautiful day of fresh air and outdoor activities. But here, it means nothing, only that the day has started with sun; by teatime we may well be pulling out the umbrella or reaching for the coat that we always keep handy for such things.

And so yesterday dawned full of hope. We reviewed the logistics: pile in the doomed Aventis and go to Naas, buy good food for the week at the farmer’s market and pick up Alfred’s forgotten Laser card from the hardware store; drive to Dun Leary and pick up the new car; drive both to Avis and discard the rental; drop Marcus at his school Oktoberfest celebration; drop Alfred at work, go pick up the last of Marcus’ textbooks downtown (and get a ride on the Luás in for Danny). Then pick up the boy and go home.

Even as I wrote my last missive, I wondered if I was jinxing things, much as a gardener greets a fine morning by making plans for two days worth of digging and planting. I was excited about finally being able to put two keys on a single key chain, instead of carrying my house key and the rental car key on separate fobs. Oh, I suppose I could have clipped them together, but it’s the principle of the thing.

All went well, until, stuck in traffic along the grand canal, Alfred revved the motor without engaging the clutch. But wait, I thought, this is an automatic. Sure enough, he could start out in first, but the transmission didn’t engage past that. We limped to a service station and debated what to do. I hadn’t joined the AA club (our wobbly Internet connection makes me less efficient), so we couldn’t call for roadside assistance; we were far from home, and didn’t know where to have the car towed, let alone who to call to tow it, or how would we get home. Oh, and didn’t we just buy the car today!?

Alfred called the man who sold it to us and explained our predicament; said piano teacher graciously came out, called the person who did the pre-sale check and even more graciously offered us the use of his car—a Toyota Landcruiser—for the weekend. When you’re done laughing at the image of us is this behemoth, read on.

He drove the Scenic to the service station, where it awaits a mechanic on Monday. We got home, where Marcus immediately spiked a fever (I knew something was up when he didn’t want supper from the chippie), and we discovered that our tiny communications bandwidth had shrunk to no access whatsoever. My backup plan, trekking over to the hotel on the golf course, turned out to be a non-starter, for they had no access either. It’s probably the weather, states the hotel clerk. I had seen stars in the clear sky on the walk over. Clearly I need a different backup plan.

Perhaps, we say philosophically, we are meant to take weekends off entirely, and attack our long lists during the week. I made a hot drink for Marcus, curled up and knitted a teeny hat for Tulip Duck (who also had caught a cold this week apparently), and put the boys and ducks to bed. Lucky for me, we had managed to get to the Naas market, and I had taken the time to stop and chat with the chocolate guy. Burnt caramel truffles and a fluffy novel. Monday will come soon enough.

Getting around or not getting around

I went in to pick up Marcus from school Wednesday, since Alfred was planning to stay late and entertain colleagues from Redmond (how's that for a switch?). The second I turned on the car, the phone rang, so I turned the car off and answered it. It was my Alfred telling me that he had just received an email from the relo people: apparently they had given us the wrong car, and I needed to go to north Dublin and swap it out right away--the office closes at 5:30, and it was already 4:20! Hurry!

Now, Ireland isn't terribly big, but with the condition (variable, remember?) of the freeways (ahem, motorways), there was only an outside chance that I could make it. In addition, it seemed really stupid to have to swap out a car three days before we needed to take it back. In other words, someone made a mistake three and a half weeks ago and I was supposed to careen through rush hour traffic to recitfy it now.

Needless to say, it didn't happen. What did happen was that Alfred took my car in the next day and Avis came down to his office and swapped out the Avensis for--an Avensis! Boy am I glad we got the right car this time. At any rate, I'm still hamstrung enough that I couldn't drive the Clio, so had to call on Neighbor Natasha to bail me out and take Danny to school. The Internet connection held on (mostly) so I got a fair amount of work done, and I grabbed some groceries after supper, so no damage was done.

The first thing I noticed about Avensis II was the lack of color: silver. Ugh, but it's only for two days. Then I get in the car, and look at the clock. High noon (or midnight). Hmm, I'll reset it tomorrow, since I rely on the car clock rather than a watch. But when I come out of the grocery store and start the car up again, it's high noon--again. And we're back to RTE1 on the radio. Clearly, this car has some electrical issues.

The this morning, I called Natasha and asked if I could reciprocate: I picked up her kids and took them to school, and was planning to pick them up on this wet, blustery autumn day. Easy peasy. We got us a carpool!

Years ago, when I bought my first car, I left the headlights on and drained the battery. My dad bailed me out with a jumpstart and eventually a new battery. Yes, this otherwise intelligent woman cannot remember to turn of the @#$! headlights. I adore that annoying dinging noise, I love smart cars like the Volvo that turn the things off for you when you turn off the car. (Only people dropping ransoms need to see with their headlights, and they can leave the motor running.) Avensis the First dinged like mad when I left the keys in the ignition or left the headlights on. Nifty.

Yup, I had left the headlights on, and the battery was dead, or flat as one might say in these parts. Aparently Avensis II cannot be bothered to ding for me. I sighed and called Natasha to wake the baby and go get the kids. Then I put in a call to the old man to pick up jumper cables on the way home. Are you surprised to hear that the battery cover in Avensis II - the Electrical Nightmare was in shreds, perhaps ripped off in a tizzy by the last person who had to jumpstart it? I'm not!

I pick up my new car, a Renault Scenic, tomorrow. And Avensis II goes back to the bog from whence it came. Be very afraid if you rent an automatic when you come to Ireland...

Breathtaking

We went for a walk the other evening. We like to go for after-dinner walks during the summer, when bedtime doesn't seem so all-fired important. September was a bit like an extended summer, with boys not in school as much, and frankly, the outdoors verily screams at us to come and walk.
We knew that Ireland would be beautiful, we'd been here before, after all. But neighbor after neighbor, friend after friend echoes it: it is absolutely gorgeous here. It's worth the drive from Dublin, just to be able to witness flocks of birds over the lake at sunset. Really. Worth. It.

Slowing down

I should mention that until a week ago, we were also living on the cash we had brought back from Germany this summer: while we had an Irish account, and had successfully transferred many Euros from Germany, we did not have any way to access said money: the mail system at the apartment was such that they held mail a random number of days before delivery, and the bank managed to issue a PIN, but had no record of it, so had to resend it; Alfred managed to get his card in hand, but no PIN was forthcoming. So we used cash. Very carefully.

The landlady had an antenna installed for pulling in a broadband signal within a record-breaking three days. We moved two days later, and immediately noticed that the place, while shiny on the surface, was quite grubby. The previous tenants had smoked, and every cupboard was stuffed with their things. Stacks of unpaid bills in the drawers and mailbox told the story, and the neighbor confirmed it: they had left overnight, one step ahead of the Garda. I pulled things out, wiped things down, threw the windows open, and called in a carpet cleaner.

We’ve also had the electrician in to do various things like actually attach a heater to the wires hanging out of Marcus’ wall and anchor the dishwasher in place so it doesn’t tip over when you open the door. Life works at a different speed here: we emailed the landlady on Monday, called on Tuesday when she didn’t respond, she replied that she’d send someone out on Friday. Friday, the handyman called to say he was running behind, would Monday do? Which meant that he made it Tuesday.

And the list goes on: I ordered stuff online two weeks ago, but it hasn’t shipped yet, the gal promises she’ll call me back once she’s tracked it down. That was two days ago. I note with chagrin that my order number is 57. I guess they’re new to this online stuff.

But in spite of this, and perhaps because of this, I have to say I like it here. There is, of course, the picture postcard views of the Wicklow Mountains out our back window, but there are also amazing moments when we turn a bend in the road and the view literally takes our breath away. Then there are the moments when we turn a bend and find ourselves staring at the grill of a rather large truck. You can’t have one without the other. Yesterday, I had to choose between hitting someone’s garbage can and taking on a tractor. My left mirror (that’s the passenger side) lost the battle.

About the only thing I would change would be to make the internet connection a little more reliable (our line-of-site reception is entirely capricious, and does not necessarily coincide with my wanting to use it.). But the people give new meaning to the term laid back. Could you imagine an insurance agent telling you they’ll have to call you back on Monday, since her underwriter is going home for the weekend? No question of staying late: the world won’t end if they go home to their family. Indeed, that’s what I should be doing too. We’ll deal with it next week.