Christmas Party

Buhuhuuuuu, buhuhuuuuuu - the Swedish girl is sheding tears. I don't get it. Why is she crying on a Christmas party? I know - the amount of liquid streaming from her eyes does not even nearly equal the one that has been poured into her mouth the last four months, but still, I gaze in utter excitement. Is she going to ruin her fake eyelashes at last? "I am getting sentimental, too", someone next to me says. I examine her watery eyes, now totally surprised. "Huh?" At last they realize my confusion. "Aren't you sad?! Handsome A. from America is flying home tomorrow!" I see, the womanizer. How heart-breaking. I sip some mulled wine and try to look sad too.
"I liked you in the Irish class!" the said to be handsome A. positions himself in front of me. "You liked me in the Irish class?" I repeat astonished. How strange those people are when they are not drunk. "Well, yes, that's the only time I saw you. We apparently didn't go to the same parties." Lord, no. "Kiss my cheek!" What?! "Kiss my cheek!"
I didn't of course.

It was a thoughtful way home. How come I don't care about 80, or even 90 percent of those people? I really don't understand. We have so much in common.

PS: Folks, I'm coming home in six days! Thus, I have chosen this week's quote very carefully, so that you might easily forgive me all my new irritating habits. :-)

Full House (again)

I want you to meet my new flatmate: S. - Very cool, very funky and totally gay. He moved in last week and brought with him at least 10 embroidered cushions, three or four throws for the sofa, some cigarette smoke and some annoying habits.
"How are you?", I say entering the kitchen and almost stumbling over a pair of shoes. No need to ask whose! Anyway, I rush to the sofa to secure my place - now that there are five of us, someone has to sit on a chair. Hehe, not me tonight! "So - you are from Switzerland, right? What is the capital of that?" What? "Oh yes, what is the capital of Switzerland?" the others join in. I don't really know if I should feel just shocked or happy that they show at last some interest. No, they assure me, they have never heard of Bern. I don't care and go on talking. When I show them my army knife they get all excited. With a diva-like gesture, S. then asks critically: "But I mean - you do have other weapons, don't you?"

PS: I thank my Fribourg people for the parcel and the lovely card! To keep you updated, there is a new element on the right hand side: The Advent Calendar you sent me!

I can't sleep

A new season has started, o m-y G-o-d! I would never have thought that a little bit of storm could frighten me that much. Is this house going to survive this night? I really don't know. Several alarms have gone off and are accompanying now the roaring of the storm - it sounds so scary!
I'll go back to bed. I just hope that I'm not going to wake up at the mouth of the Shannon and have to swim back all my way to Limerick!!!

They did not fast in Belfast

I am writing only now about my weekend because it took me two days to recover. Yes, my dear friends: I suffered a lot! Are you happy now?!
All began when I was the only one being at the station on time - which was six o'clock in the morning. Bloody international students! Some adapt to Irish life far more easily than I do! Then the first few arrived, singing. Huh? Were they already drunk? No, they weren't.

They were still drunk!

Cool, we'll be such a merry party, I thought. Lalalalalaaa. This should have been a sign. The bus was 90 (NINETY) minutes late. Should have been another sign. But I was too blind to see it. Lalalalalaaa. Phew, bus here, ready to leave. When we were having lunch, the Swedish girl said: "I'm not hungry at all. And I haven't got a clue why!" "Maybe you are sick?!" I suggested. "Oh no, nonono, of course not." Of course she wasn't. She just casually puked into the hedge in front of the station when we left Limerick - but that might just be a bad habit of hers, right?

There's nothing like two nights in a hostel with 22 drunkards and some criminal looking gypsies in front of the door. When the annoying French guy was sleeping at last, a totally skrewed German had the glorious idea to wake him (and everyone else) with cold water and a scream that could have impressed even a pig. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiii. The French went mad and started slapping his French friend's face whom he thought to be involved. Vous n'avez pas de respect, vous n'avez pas de respect, vous n'avez pas de respect, calm down, calm vous n'avez pas calm down shut up bang IIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.

Belfast is nice, though. You see there a picture of Queen's University Belfast. And don't forget the new quiz and the new quote. Well, the quote seems to be very well known among international students, I have to say...

Studying - and that on a Sunday!

I'd love to tell you more about the last few days, but as I have two exams next week, I don't quite find the time. All I can offer you is a new quiz, a new quote and another picture of the Blarney Castle. Stay with me! I'm going to Belfast right after my exams and hopefully I'll have a lot to tell you afterwards. Go raibh maith agat. Slán!

Kissing for the Gift of Eloquence

Yes, I was in Blarney and no, I did NOT kiss the bloody stone. For the first time I could feel something like peer pressure. I didn't go to Blarney alone, of course, but with my fellow Erasmus students. One after the other lay down and crept over the edge of the castle wall. Always firmly held by two stout Irish men (see picture) who mechanically said "now kiss the stone" and then pressed the camera button. What people do in the hope of being more eloquent! If this stone ever had any talent to pass on: I'm sure it's been sucked out by now. You wonder how I know? There was nothing but silence when we drove home.

Funny unhappiness

My posts have become rare, yes. While searching for this week's quote, I found another reason why. Samuel Beckett wrote:

“Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.”

This is so true! Did you know that there were people among you who wished bad things would never stop happening to me? All bad things except death, of course. They did stop, however, and I'm really sorry to disappoint you. Am I?! Anyway, the days when I could have started crying in the middle of O'Connell street have definitely passed. What I do now is: I try very hard to blend in. I watch Home and Away at least once a week, for example, and pretend to be addicted to it. Or when I walk home on the narrow footpath along the canal, I am not surprised if someone passes me dragging a shopping trolley over the stones. And I will not write about it in my blog as if it were anything unusual. Mmhhh... I mean - I know by now how versatile shopping trolleys can be. Our neighbours have one in their living room to store their magazines, after all.

There's a new quiz! You already know the new quote by now.

Trying to be more efficient

I know that some of you must think that I have become extremely lazy as far as my website is concerned. But no! I am not. Sometimes, it just takes ages to write or produce something. Take this film, for example - ages, I tell you!
Maybe I have to adapt to this Irish abbreviation system to be more efficient. Sometimes I can't believe how deeply rooted this is in Irish society. When I went to Londis last week to get me a delicious bagel, I was again reminded, how complicated my thinking was and that I in fact could save an enormous amount of time. After carefully studying the menu, I decided on a bacon-lettuce-tomato bagel. "What?!" the assistant stared at me. "A bacon-lettuce-tomato bagel...?" I repeated, stressing every word just in case she was Polish. "Hu?" There it was, the stare again, the "you-are-an-outsider-stare". I started sweating, my face red with shame and anger. For God's sake, this one! I pointed to the menu. She crawled around all the tomatoes and eggs, joined me and read the menu, frowning. "Aaaaaaaaah, you want a BLT!"

She was Polish. And she obviously learnt the abbreviations before she learnt English.

One way to spend €28

As my last bus tour (on Inis Mor - remember?) was so very enriching, I decided to join the Newgrange/Boyne Valley tour run by Bus Eireann.
Our driver's name was John - but you could also call him "Your Grace" and make him very happy. After five minutes I knew that John must have been kidnapped some time ago. Those bad people must have implanted a huge bomb in his massive belly and warned him that it would go off if he ever stopped talking. And believe me: He took that threat very seriously.
Anyway, John wished us to say "yes, John" or "thank you, John" or "poor John", whenever there was the opportunity to do so. "Now, all together: "Yes, John!"" he kept saying, nodding encouragingly in the rear view mirror. I looked furtively for my earplugs. Hu?! The Americans in front of me happily obeyed John's wishes. "Yes, John", they roared, "we have understood, John", "thank you, Your Grace". Where had I ended up? Ok, maybe it was just their sense of humour. But what if... Oh my God - is this the reason why George the blinking Bush was reelected?!

We were given ample time to explore the visitor centre of Newgrange - one and a half hours! When I had read all the information plates forward and backward, and was just about to buy really silly things in the little gift shop (such as magnetic cookery books...) we were at last allowed to see the grave itself - and were kicked out after 10 minutes again. Yes, John, we are back. Yes, John, let's go and see the Hill of Tara.

The Hill of Tara is the mythological centre of Ireland. The king of Tara used to be the king of all Ireland. That's only fair, because it was bloody difficult to become king, believe me! Do you see that standing stone in the picture? This is the Lia Fáil, an important stone involved in the last task for a candidate who wished to be king. He had to drive his chariot so near the stone, that the stone would start screaming. Of course I was careful and did not touch the stone. What if it started shouting my name and I was the new Queen of Ireland?! Or wait... Queen of Ireland's Blog? Doesn't sound bad at all. And besides: a queen should have the power to dismiss a bus driver, right..?
Mmmh. John is going to keep his position, yes, John, yes. Bugger. Bloody stone, how dare you. Not even a whisper! Seems as if I had to find my vocation elsewhere. - Although: I keep telling me that the chariot had been missing after all. I'm sure that would have done the trick.

New quiz, new quote!

A glimps of academic life

Today I discovered that there is a wonderful path along the river to UL (that's short and cool for "University of Limerick"). Imagine me cycling over charming stone bridges and passing fishermen and swans - got it? Wow, I had totally forgotten that happiness could in fact also be found outside MIC. Limerick can be nice, even picturesque! All those dogs were a nuisance though. Next time I'll pretend to be an Irish train. If the dogs, however, then pretend to be Irish cows, I'll be stuck in a mess worse than the one after our hole-in-the-wall house party. Uah.

UL is no beauty, but still I was excited to be there. It was so great to feel a little bit intellectual again. MIC is nice, but honestly, how should one feel academic walking through corridors stuffed with flower pots?! In UL, there is also a real library - not comparable to this kind of "small village book sharing" of Mary I. I could have jumped high in the air: Norton Anthology of American Literature. Just saved CHF 90!

Now I'm off for 5 days - graduation days in MIC. And you know what they did today? They cleaned all the floors! They put impressive flower arrangements everywhere. And everyone is excited. The robes are prepared. Phew, as far as I remember, our BA ceremony was somewhat different. Why do I complain?! We had flowers, didn't we? Let me check. Ah, there it is. I knew I had this picture somewhere.

When Irish cows meet Irish trains (or is it "meat"?!)

I tell you: Not all cows and calves are as happy as the one you see in the picture. I mean, not all of them are so happy as to be alive! Today, one of my flatmates told me that on her way home last week, her train had slaughtered seven cows. Imagine the shock! Your train stops, you look out of the window... I'll spare you the details! I wish she had spared me too! Seven cows! That seems like an achievement for an Irish train, doesn't it?
The question wandering around in my head: What were these (soon to be) bloody cows doing on the tracks?!
And pray - what were those other cows doing on the motorway when I went to Galway last week?!

A chicken on the left, a donkey on the right

Late again, I KNOW! It's just that I'm awfully busy washing my clothes (by hand), shopping, cooking, walking to college, moving... Yes! Last week I moved again - into a room on the "quiet" side of my student village. That's what I thought at that time, at any rate. Now I know: there is no quiet side! Drunk people are a plague; they are everywhere. In addition I am facing now a nursery called Pebbled Pathways - Childcare with a difference. A very dear friend who came to see me (I will not name her, I will not name her, noooo, I will not name her:-)) thought that it was a nursery for handicapped children, but it really is the childcare that is considered to be different - not the children themselves! Indeed I assure you: these children are quite normal, they scream and cry as children everywhere else...

Yesterday I joined the international students on a trip to Inis Mor. We took the ferry from Galway and when we arrived on the island, we saw about 15 bus drivers fighting for tourists. So - you walk along the pier and all you hear is: Bus tour? Bus tour? Bus tour? Bus tour? At the same time you are stuffed with leaflets and brochures.
You see: these bus tours are highly recommendable - you learn an awful lot: "On the left hand side, we see a chicken, a chicken, yes. On the right hand side, there is one of the three Catholic churches on the island. We now pass two goats. There are three Catholic churches on the island. Three churches, yes. We now pass a house that is for sale." (That was for all the ones that did not see the enormous sign "for sale"). "Over there is water for the cattle, for the cattle, yes."
Let me see, yes, I'll prepare some pictures for you. By the way: There should be a comment button just below the article... Hit it and drop me a line :-)

New quote, new quiz.

SOS - Save our Slot

All I wanted was get some bread, but suddenly I stood in the middle of a crowd in Limerick city centre. Why did all those people look up to the sky and wave SOS posters?! My God, was Ireland secretly the island of the TV series LOST?! Are we all stranded? Or were they all waiting for aliens? Or was this a new form of prayer? Dear God, we are soooo unhappy, save us from our misery!
"It's time to stand up and save Shannon airport", someone roared from the stage I spotted now far in the distance. I took a closer look at the posters: "Save our slot"?! Wow, what a slogan.
If Shannon airport really brings such a lot of wealth to Limerick: why the hell does my bottom hurt so much from cycling on these roads?!

Fire alarm: important means to distinguish the Irish from the English

You don't exactly know the difference between the Irish and the English?
Here's someone trying to explain... :-) Tommy Tiernan!

!New TV programme: Irish Alive!

One could almost think that I had nothing to do....

I'm late, yes, but not Irish

"Has she become Irish?!" you might have thought yesterday when you didn't see my Sunday article, nor my quiz, nor my quote. No, I haven't! I just had some visitors to entertain and therefore no time to write. Besides: I'm not sure if I really should put a new quiz online. You see, I gave you this last quiz so that you would all say: Nooo, of course you do not look Russian. And what did you do...?!!
Last Saturday, I went on a 8 hour tour to the Burren region. Every hour we were kicked out of the bus and given some minutes to take pictures. Dear Richard's (the driver's) rule was:
If you are 2 minutes late you'll have to sing a song on the bus.
If you are 5 minutes late you'll have to sing a song and play a gig on the bus.
If you are more than 5 minutes late you'll have to sing a song and play a gig where the bus was standing some minutes ago.
Hahahahaaaaa. None of us laughed. Surprised? By the way: There you have a new quote and a new quiz. Don't expect me to sing a song though! No gigs either. I've prepared a film instead - have a look! Should give you an impression of the region.

I am still alive

For all the ones that got worried when they heard "Girl from Switzerland strangled in Ireland": It wasn't me! I'm fine.

Last night, one of my flatmates had a farewell party (after 2 weeks of living here..) and I really enjoyed it. Well - until they went to a nightclub and left me in this... awful mess!
I haven't told you anything about my flatmates so far and I was wondering why. Why?! Mmh, I guess I'm loosing distance. I actually like them. Yes, there really are people I like over here. I must have entered adaptation phase by now. You see, when we were welcomed at Mary I College, we were told that there were three phases every exchange student would live through: Honeymoon phase, frustration phase and adaptation phase. We were assured that this so-called honeymoon phase would last two, three weeks. As far as I remember it wasn't really a matter of weeks but... hours? "Frustration phase unfortunately might last several weeks." I see. I think this woman has never been abroad. Otherwise she'd know that this phase might last several months. Until recently I was frightened that it might never end at all!
Anyway, I had a great time at the party. And: When I opened my door the next morning, this huge hole was staring at me from the opposite wall! That hadn't been me!
Guess we'll need a lot of toothpaste. A lot!

Toothless but brilliant

Today, I was reminded that there had been something before our Computer Age, and that there are still some people left from that time. Very few indeed, this is why it is so exciting to meet one of them. No, I'm not talking about anyone from Typewriter Age, I'm thinking of an era that is even more ancient: Prof. Ó Duinn's Age, also known as Handwriting Age. In the picture above you see the hand-out we were given today. Isn't it fabulous?! I love it. In fact, I love everything about Prof. Ó Duinn. Well, you know what I mean. His white hair that reaches his chin and which he smoothes a hundred times every lecture. His yellowish jumper which he keeps pulling towards his knees. His friendly eyes which he closes so comically when he talks excitedly about the e-ncient Celts running into battles ne-ked (here he would raise his fist in the air) or driving their wonnderful war chariots. I am so proud that I have learnt to distinguish his English from his Irish, the first one sounding so much like the latter.
Still, Prof. Ó Duinn doesn't seem to impress everyone in the same way. When I left his first lecture, I thought: Wow, what a charismatic man.
My friend said: "Oh my God. What a poor, toothless creature!"

Please hit the picture to see the hand-out in greater detail.

Surrounded by "cross addicts"

One day, when I still lived in CityCampus, I walked along the street to the city centre. Suddenly, a car stopped next to me, the front passenger got out and made the sign of a cross. Huh?! Such an awful driver?! Was she glad that she had survived the trip? Curiously, I blinked at the woman still sitting on the driver's seat, just to see that she crossed herself too! So, did that mean that she wasn't very confident of her driving capabilities herself?
Some days later, an elderly woman crossed me when I was strolling along O'Connell Avenue and she too made the sign of a cross. Maybe I had been wrong! Was it all because of me?! Was I carrying the devil with me without even noticing? I looked over my shoulder. No.

Mmh... I think I have found the answer - some Irish people cross themselves whenever they pass a church. Some of the students at MIC do it when they go to classes and pass the chapel. Really weird. And so... I don't know. I mean - do you know how many churches there are in Limerick?! One at every corner. Now try to think of the consequences! This means that "good" Irish Catholics can never go on extensive shopping tours since one hand always needs to be free to get home safely!

NEW QUOTE, NEW QUIZ!

Of cyclists and nudists

Today was such a splendid day that I didn't go to college. Instead I took the bus to Kilkee. Happily we drove along, when suddenly... for heaven's sake - was that a cyclist?! A cyclist on the motorway?!
Kilkee is absolutely charming - just watch the pictures I have prepared for you. It might look similar to the Cliffs of Moher, but it's way better. There are hardly any tourists, there is a beach, and you can actually walk on the cliffs. Or I mean, I could have walked there if the way hadn't been blocked by a terribly severe looking woman. She wouldn't let me pass! What was the matter with her? I walked a little detour and then from higher up I could see that she was actually protecting something... no, someone - a naked man! The scene was hilarious, but if you are hoping now to see the poor creature: no, sorry, I'm not that cruel.
At the bus stop I met James-do-you-know-what-I mean. He was an eager talker, every other sentence being: "Do you know what I mean?" So, James told me everything about rugby, and you can imagine that this is exactly the topic I have always been most desperate to know more about. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN? When James asked me how Switzerland differed from Ireland, I answered: "It is a teeny bit drier and people are not that open." "How do you mean?" I mean that you and I would not be talking.

There was no bomb alarm

When the international students were welcomed at MIC, they were told: "Limerick is not as dangerous as people say. It is just gang members that are murdered." How very comforting. They would also say: "Just act as in every other town. Don't use your mobile while you walk in the city and keep an eye on your belongings." Right, that is exactly how I behaved in Fribourg - I would never call anybody when walking home from university, full of fear that someone could snap my mobile.
When my flatmate suggested me to go to Northern Ireland to see the Giant's Causeway, I hesitated. "Isn't it dangerous?" She stared at me. "You are in Limerick! There is nothing more dangerous than that in Ireland."
I see. She might be right, you know. There was a car burning in front of our college two weeks ago. No-one did anything! So - was that just normal? Then my friends told me that there had been some shots around their campus. Well, I prefer the habitual fire alarm at seven thirty...
Now I understand at least why all these student villages boast with their good security services!

You might watch the new film about the Celtic myth of Cú Roí - and you'll see that the whole crime business is in fact inherited.



SUNDAY!! New quote, new quiz.

International Students

Today it struck me that I have never told you anything about the other international students. I'm wondering why. Don't I deeply love them?
At MIC, there are 39 international students and more than 20, I think, are from Germany or Austria. There is even one brave girl from Switzerland, who is also capable of the German language by the way... A German girl keeps telling me that there are two other Swiss guys, and I keep telling her that NO, they are Austrian. But she's like: "NO, they are definitely Swiss, they speak a dialect, after all", and I: "NO, they are Austrian, for God's sake!"
Last Saturday, some of the students organised a house party with the topic "trash". You might guess, not my cup of tea at all, but I was determined to go. After all, Mary I had taught me that I needed to socialise in order to be healthy and happy. They all arrived wearing messy clothes and weird make-up, sucking Martini - not because they liked it, but in Ireland, Martini is the cheapest to get drunk quickly. The first one stumbled over her feet around nine. How tedious. Suddenly I had to think of Caroline Bingley in Pride and Prejudice: "I can't help thinking that at some point someone is going to produce a piglet and we'll all have to chase it." This is exactly how I felt. Around half past ten, the Dutch frontier approached me - two girls that always show up together and never seem to be alone for one single second. WE went to see this and that. WE have six courses. At least, they don't speak synchronically - that's something. Anyway, one of them was wearing a horrible Hallowe'en dress and the other one stared at me and said coolly: "You are boring!" Wow, what a blunt delivery.

I guess, I really am. Why else would I first tell you about my rusty bike and only then about the exciting people I meet?

Irish bikes are all the same colour: Ginger

There are things that just don't go together - like a mug of earl grey tea and a hamburger, an Irish man and a non-alcoholic drink or a student and a book :-). It would look ridiculous, right?
Well, I had the same feeling today when I looked at my bike (which I had rented for 35 Euro for the whole year!) and the lock I had bought for it...
You might know by now (if not: have a look at the quiz!) that Limerick can be dangerous from time to time. That's why I decided for a very good lock - before I had even seen the bike I would get... I paid 12 Euro and proudly carried home a really strong, thick lock with a key that looked like a car key. And there I was, ready to meet my future bike. Wow, looked really great from far away. I see, made in Sri Lanka. Where are the lights? Haha, Phil, the manager, started laughing. Reflectors? Hahaha, Phil laughed even louder. Bell? Giggle. I tried to break - and could bend those breaks nearly 90 degrees. "Needs to be like this", Phil nodded, eager to convince me. "You don't want to be flung over the handlebar in case of an emergency stop, do you?" I pulled the breaks again, my thumbs nearly touching each other. I wouldn't really call this "retarding effect" an emergency stop that could fling me anywhere, not over the handlebar either.
I got off the bike and wiped all the rust from my clothes. Well, my lock might have one purpose in the end: to hold the wheels together once the rust has given way to nothingness.

"Well, in Switzerland, we need to put stickers on the bike for insurance reasons.."
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Told him that just for fun.

When the Bible was brought to Ireland...

... Matthew 6: 1-4 was destroyed. Maybe scribbled on by some angry heathen or it got wet while it was taken across the canal, and so the ink blurred and the paragraph got illegible.
Anyway - it seems that the Irish have never heard of:
Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men.
Let me explain, what I mean: The Irish health system is quite bad, it seems. Thus, there is a lot of private fund raising, normally carried out by retired people who would spend long days on very uncomfortable looking chairs behind tiny folding tables, joggling collecting boxes.
Now, the interesting thing in Ireland is that if you donate some money, you will often get a fantastic looking sticker fixed to your jacket, so that everyone can see what a good fellow you are. As far as I understood, the ultimate goal seems to be that one can proudly approach a collector, give money generously and then say:
"Oh, Gosh, let me see if there is still some space on my jacket to put a sticker on!" Just to say (after having critically measured the tiny spare space between the hundreds of stickers): "Well, let's stick it onto an old one. Oh look, there's one from last week."
No - I mean, never underestimate a bad health system. I think it is exactly the Irish's bad health that has led to the dialect they speak. Or how would you say "Thirty thousand therapists think a lot" without any teeth? "Tirty tousand terapists tink a lot" - there you are. I just wonder - is this a case of biolinguistics?

I'm sure, I'll soon get tired of saying this: New quote, new quiz.

Another badly written passport...?

There is one chap in my group of international students I want to tell you about: When he arrived, his name was Gottfried. Not a very easy name for Irish people he soon noticed. So - what could he do?
Well, you should know by now! Yes, right, go to the Bank of Ireland.
He did and today he became "Gottfired". We couldn't help roaring with laughter. I mean - imagine we called his name in the College yard. All people would turn round their heads in wonder and ask: "Really? At whom?"

Happy heart day

To illustrate what I told you yesterday: This morning I entered the college with my eyes immediately captured by the blinking writing on the electronic notice board:
TOMORROW IS HAPPY HEART DAY. It seems that naming weeks is not enough anymore; it has even come down to days!

I know that you do not want me to turn serious - but do you remember the church service I told you about in the first or second week of my stay? You know, slow tongue in early mass, ladadee-ladada. Well, during that mass, the priest had told us that cynicism was a very bad thing and that we should stay away from it. And also the film "Why are we Irish so unhappy?" suggested that being cynical is a societal illness we should get rid of. Now - if you think that I would risk heaven and my happiness just to entertain you...! No - today I decided to approach everything with a positive attitude and to make my heart happy for tomorrow. Flowers would help, I thought - just needed a vase. You get an awful lot in Limerick, even pink, elaborately ornamented whisks, but you're running your heels off to get a normal vase. My last chance: Debenhams. I knew that I didn't quite match the profile of a typical Debenhams customer (rich, posh and tawdrily dressed), but I definitely came to my senses in front of the Killarney crystal vase for 40 Euro (a bargain, some might say). In the end, I forgot about the bloody vase and bought an orchid. At home, I read the label: "Intended for decorative purposes, not for consumption". Heck, and I wanted to invite guests for an orchid stew.
By the way, I also scrubbed all the mould off my shower and bought a new shower curtain, which turned out to be a bit short though. Look at the picture: Haven't I become practical?! If you can't see it: these are strings of paper clips!

Love it or leave it

The second week at MIC is called "Love it or leave it week". One of the last enjoyable weeks, in my view - since it is followed by "men and health week", "yoga week" or "breast cancer week" and other disease weeks. Did you notice the slight obsession with the topic health?
During this "love it or leave it week", you may attend courses like horse riding (this year cancelled though), taekwondo, yoga, aerobic etc. and then decide if ... well... if you love it or leave it. The favourite courses among girls are "nail art" and "fake tan". I'd be glad though if the latter course was abolished. The prospect of even more tan addicts running around Limerick really upsets me. Some Irish cannot accept their pale skin - they generously powder their faces with much too dark make-up or use tanning creams. The results are quite irritating sometimes. About two weeks ago, a woman (and we are talking of women here, not of girls!) crossed me in a hurry. I immediately knew that she had only one bulb in her bathroom, probably somehow fixed to the bottom edge of her mirror. Want to know how I came to this conclusion? Well, her complexion was chocolate brown, apart from a snow white, 2 centimetre (!) wide stripe around her hair line. These areas must have been in the shade when she had looked into the mirror - so, one bulb. And today, I passed a girl that looked like a negative: her hair so fair that it was almost white, and her face so dark that it was almost.... mmh, not really black, but a very dark brown.
So - what I'd suggest: Irish girls! Love it, BUT leave it!

LIP - the serious students' paper

After more than a month of blogging, I thought I could start doing some "serious writing". This is why I yelled at Tracy: "Wanna write for the LIP!" Tracy is the editor of the students' paper, and I yelled at her not because I wanted to make an impression (which I certainly would have done even without screaming, don't you think?), but because the music around us was so loud. "Ok, have your article by Monday!" Ehm - I actually didn't mean to be involved that quickly. What should I write about anyway? "Try to write about MIC from the international point of view", Tracy suggested. "Encourage people to go away for an exchange year too!" I see, I need to emphasise how happy we all are at MIC. Why the hell is happiness so important here? When I began my course "Basic Media Production", we watched a film made by some fourth year BA students. Title: "Why are we Irish so unhappy?" Slight traces of self-pity, I'd say. Gosh, YOU chose this island. Get over it. And for heaven's sake: get organised! Would save you a lot of trouble. Have you heard of any university before where timetables are actually fixed in the first week of the semester?! Seminars start in week 3 or 4 - it takes time to divide students into different groups, after all!

"You can write something negative about the weather and the country", Tracy said graciously, "but nothing negative about the people." I see, censorship. Imposed by whom? Ms Umbridge? Or are the students here trained for self-censorship?!
Anyway. I'll write under any conditions. Most important thing is that I get serious at last.

Where loos are killed

Being an experienced coach traveller by now, I knew that departure times should never be taken too seriously. Indeed, my flatmate told me that when she was young, she used to live between Galway and Dublin. The coach would leave Galway at no specific time - it would depart when it was full. Obviously very inconvenient for all the ones in between Galway and Dublin. They could spend hours waiting at the bus stop until a coach showed up. Well - and sometimes it wouldn't come at all because the bus driver had decided to take another road.
So - I knew that! What I didn't know was that bus numbers too shouldn't be taken too seriously. To get to Killaloe, I was told to take coach 323. When I showed my ticket to the bus driver, however, he said: "Oh no, you should have taken the bus that is just leaving there!" Great, the last bus on that day (there are only two on a Saturday!) and I missed it. No, I didn't. The bus driver started honking until the other one stopped, quite irritated. When I entered bus 345 (!), I realised that I could be glad that the driver had even heard the honk. He was listening to Irish folk music and singing happily along. And how wicked it was to drive in a city bus on Ireland's country roads...
Killaloe is charming - and full of racing kids. Horrified I stared at a black car speeding towards me. It passed. An old and doddery man waiting at the bus stop sniggered: "Won't be living long, huhu, won't be living long." The Irish definitely have a relaxed way of dealing with death!

When I passed the bus stop one hour later, the man was still waiting.



Don't forget: new quiz, new quote.

Being someone else

Changing your identity is quite easy in Ireland. You go to the Bank of Ireland and open a bank account. That's it. Just make sure that the assistant is in a hurry.

"Open a student bank account?" the assistant asked, already stressed. "No problem." Quick, quick. She hurried to get some forms to fill in. I didn't have to do anything, only watch her scribbling and sign in the end. "You have your card on Friday."
She was quite right. I got a card - and a new identity too. May I present? Tataaa, this is Naomi Hayler's blog. "Oh, never mind", the assistant said, "just use it." I left the office, not feeling very different but extremely uneasy. What if I forgot my PIN? How should I prove that this was really my account? After a talk with my brother, I had made up my mind: They could not get rid of me that quickly. I had the right to get a bank card with a correct spelling of my name after all. I walked back.
"You know, we often have trouble with international students", the assistant said, "sometimes, they have such bad hand-writing, we can barely make out their names." I beg your pardon?! I felt a volcano quickly building up inside me. How dare she! First of all, my hand-writing was not bad and second: she had got my name in print from the placement office and it had been her who had transferred it to the form. No, now I remember! She had copied my name from my passport. Now, Liechtensteiner passports may be unusual, and indeed, my father's passport was hand-written when he was young, but these times are over, you see, o:ver!
"I think, your colleague was just in a hurry", I said coolly, and that was very hard with Vesuvius almost reaching the roof of my mouth. Time for her to shut up, yes.
Next Tuesday, I'll have my good old identity back.

Spiders and Noise

The Irish love St. Patrick and you know why? Because he brought Christianity to their island? I am not sure if that really still matters to them nowadays. Nooo, Patrick's real achievement is said to be that he drove all snakes from the island. That's a good reason for loving a person, don't you think? I would love him even more if he had also banished all spiders. Christine might remember me yelling one night when I saw one of that species crawling up my wall - next to my bed! Brave as she is - and I'm not ironical here - she took her psychology book. No, not to explain the spider's fears and thoughts, but, well, you know... to kill it. And then you might also remember the athletic spider that won the duel over my vacuum cleaner. As if that had not been enough: during my lecture yesterday, the guy next to me started giggling and nudged me. "Look up!" he whispered. Ah! I gasped. There was a spider dangling in front of me. Heaven, how could I concentrate on "interpreting literature" with such a trapezist before my eyes?!

At any rate: that was what made my day, and if you want to know what made my night: watch the film :-)

The Dolores Umbridge of MIC

Have you watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix? If you have: you do remember Dolores Umbridge, don't you?! Shall I tell you something? She is just a copy! Bah! A mere imitation. If you want to see the original, you have to come here. I had an amazing lecture today - well, I don't even know if I should call it "lecture". College is extremely schoolish here. You have hardly any lecture halls but rather class rooms with your own desk etc. For your illustration: First years get a booklet on..
... How should I take notes? (MIC's answer: "Be there", "get a good seat", "write the date at the top of the page"... - I see! You need to be there to take notes!)
... Coping with nerves when giving oral presentations (their advice: "prepare, rehearse, remind yourself that feeling nervous is normal" - aha)
... How to deal with exams ("make sure you know the date")
... etc.
I thought I'd drop down this extremely useful advice for all my fellow students. Just very much like Oscar Wilde, who said: "I always pass on good advice. It is the only thing to do with it. It is never of any use to oneself." Oh bugger, that should have been my next week's quote.
Anyway - to come back to Ms Umbridge: At five o'clock a very dominant, plump lady entered the classroom. "My powerpoint slides will not go: onto the net", smile, "they will not go: onto the net." Then, a kind of dictation class started. "Think for yourself", smile, "t-h-i-n-k for yours-e-l-f". I stared at my colleague in utter disbelief. Was that a class on the development of modern drama? "Have you watched Harry Potter?!" I whispered. "Huh?" - "Have you..." "Would you mind...?" Ms Umbridge stared at me. Well, some kind of smile-staring. I stared back. I really was at school, I thought and hesitated. Did she want my chewing gum too? I lowered my eyes and watched my left hand. Was there some burning inscription? "I must not talk in class". No, J.K. Rowling must have made that up.
"With tho:se thRee wRiters, Realism bece:me the coRnersto:ne of modeRn theatRe", smile, "the coRnersto:ne of modeRn theatre. With tho:se thRee wRiters, Realism bece:me the coRnsto:ne. The coRnersto:ne. The c-o-R-n-e-r-s-t-o:-n-e."
Ah, cornerstone, what a good word to start a wordplay with.

Happy orientation days

At Mary Immaculate College, there are so many services, clubs and unions - I don't think that there are any offices left for professors. Studying is not of main concern here anyway - what is important is happiness, so it came across on the orientation days. We met representatives of
- the student union ("we'll make you as happy as possible")
- the chaplaincy ("we want you to be happy")
- the student service ("our goal is to make you as happy as possible")
- the computer service ("be happy")
- the counselling service ("to make you happier)
- the learner support unit ("for a happy exam time)
- the placement office ("for a very, very happy time abroad")
- the medical service...
YEEESSS, for God's sake, I am HAPPY. Now - satisfied?!

Don't think I gave you the complete list. There is even a Marshmallow and Cake Society. Well, I'm sure that would make me happy. They had planned one and a half hours for these presentations. After two and a half hours and a talk on "students and health" (after which we all received a super-organic, wormy apple and a cookbook) we were released at last - tired and exhausted, but bearing in our hearts what we had been told in the morning:
The headmaster of MIC would never ask any student: "How are you getting on with your studies?"

What would he say instead? Well, you should know by now!

"Are you happy?" of course.

Impression 3: My Way to MIC

Last Thursday, the orientation days started. I'll tell you all about those later on, here some impressions of my way to Mary Immaculate College:



Don't forget, there is a new quiz and a new quote!

Murphy's Law and I: Best friends forever

Ha! I would live on the second floor, have morning sun and a dry floor - perfect. "Do you mind sharing the flat with four Irish girls?" Phil asked. How dare he even ask! Of course I do - this is the reason I came to Ireland after all: not to meet any Irish people.
Obviously, I could not move from hell to heaven - so, I'm somewhere in between now. Purgatory? There is only cold water, the vacuum cleaner is broken, my blinds too, my lights sound like space shuttles just before taking off (and produce as much smoke!), the bathroom floor is mouldy and my toilet lopsided. Worst of all: nobody cleaned before I moved in.
I sighed deeply, closed my eyes, approached the toilet and poured in so much of Tesco's Active Toilet Gel Citrus until all dirt was covered. I then left it for some minutes to deal with the wash basin in the meantime. I grabbed the tiny plug behind the water tap, pulled and wuish! Heaven, it hadn't been fixed! There it flew, high up in the air and down and down and down and NOOOOOooo. Disappeared under the bloody Active Toilet Gel. And I had no cleaning gloves...

Fighting for flats and reputation

As the good rooms seem to have been taken a long time ago, I had to find an other solution. Maybe I could move up to the top floor of Grove Island? Philip, the manager, just shook his head: "We are completely booked out." But couldn't I switch rooms with someone who has not arrived yet? I realised that there was a strict hierarchy: Newcomers start in "the dungeons" and have to fight up their ways to the top floors over years. So, originally, the idea probably was that you would spend your last year at college lying on the balcony of your top floor apartment in order to dry the dampness that has even reached your inner ear (and that through several types of earplugs!) in the past three years, and so that you would be clean and neat enough to be reintegrated into society. Grrrr. Help! What could I do? I tell you, it was destiny: Sweaty-Hand's books turned crinkly around the edges - so he complained. Who cares about his books?! What about ME turning crinkly around the edges?! Anybody care about that? Anyway, suddenly Phil revealed that there had been a cancellation.
To sum up: we moved, and both of us into different flats. "What a pity", Sweaty-Hand complained, but was I really sorry? It is torture to put literature students together in one flat, believe me. He was like "Have you read..?" and I "No, I.." and he "Have you read..?" and I "No, I'm very bad at contempor.." and he "Have you read..?" and I "NOOOOO, I HAVE NOT!"
He won 10 to 0 at least! Then, one night, we watched Henry VIII and when our dear old king was shown with a woman, my flat mate, just finishing his late night burger, said casually: "Let me guess, must be Anne Boleyn". That was it! MY chance! Now or never, I thought and said with an air of absolute coolness (so it was intended :-)): "Poor Wyatt". - "Hu?" my flat mate said. I knew it! "Poor Wyatt", I repeated, "must be very jealous". For all the ones among you who do not study English Literature: Sir Thomas Wyatt is said to have had an affair with Anne Boleyn and was nearly executed for it. "Hu?" Tataaaa! There was applause in my head.
So, now it was 10 to 1, and believe me, I was immensely proud of this one point.

House Hunting

We should never forget that there are also advantages of living in a damp flat:
a) your bread remains soft
b) you get fantastic entertainment while looking for an alternative accommodation.

The fascination with advantage a) soon faded, so I turned all my attention towards advantage b). Yesterday, I had the chance to look at three rooms all very close to MIC. (MIC, by the way, means "Mary Immaculate College", but MIC sounds much cooler, don't you think? Like Jack Bauer's CTU (Counter Terrorist Union) or FBI or CIA or whatever. "Just a sec, I'm on my way to MIC" - wicked!)
I definitely made up my mind about the first room when the landlady opened a drawer in the kitchen and some 20 centimetre high potato plants appeared. The second room was expensive but did not even have a desk. I see, Irish students do without such extras.
The third room? Somewhere in St. Joseph's Street. "Yeah, must be that house", a neighbour said. "O'Mahony, yeah, solicitor, yeah, she lets people into her house". Was that a sneer? Wasn't I looking alright? What the heck did she mean? When I arrived I saw that there were some wooden slats put behind the window (see picture). Since there was not even a door bell, I hammered with my fist against the door. Woof-woof. Gosh, dogs, I should have known. A security freak. "Just a mo:ment, do:n't go: away!" An elderly lady with greasy hair and a very, very old-fashioned skirt appeared. She looked like anything but a solicitor. "Come in, but don't judge the house yet - I'm in the middle of renovating everything - your room will be the best part of the house - come into the kitchen". I tiptoed carefully through the construction site and entered the messy kitchen. "I have just brand-new stuff, you see? Brand-new stove, brand-new fridge - always the best". I nodded and blinked at the dirty table - were these beans? Mmh, something that had been edible at one point, at any rate. "Yeah, don't judge by the table, we had a meal some days ago." Some days ago? She took away the wooden planks from the back window to reveal two large black dogs which she had locked into the court. "Good dogs, good dogs. Caught somebody climbing over the wall the other day, good dogs." By Jove! I stepped back. "They don't attack if you come through the front door", she tried to calm me. I see. What a relief! Mere lap dogs.
We then moved to the "best part of the house". On the way we passed another window and she quickly pulled back the curtains. "Normally, they are always pulled back, always", she muttered. Of course, they are. I'm sure that also the wooden slats are only there when you expect students to drop by. Normally your house is bright and light. Now, there it was: the best part! There was a bed, in front of which she had put some cardboard boxes - covered with a table-cloth: "A perfect place to study, isn't it?" she smiled. "By the way, all extra costs are included in the rent - unless you want to heat more. Now, this heater always has to be put to level 1. You do NOT turn it up, ok? 1 is enough." 1 of 9, sure. 1 is enough or I'll pay more, understood. "Now, there you have a windo:", yes, thank you, what a great addition to the room, "and a TV, because I don't like sharing my living room with other people." I see, thank you, goodbye, I will tell you by tomorrow.
What do you think? Have I moved?

Explaining my meanness

You might think that I have been a bit hard on my fat mate, sorry, flat mate (what a funny misspelling - and it really was one!), but let me explain: On the first day, he came to see me in the kitchen and said: "What you have to know about me: basically (I will leave these out in future, they annoy me enough in his speech after all!), I am a weirdo. "
Huh? Don't you too think that these people are the worst? Those that already think they are strange? I'm convinced they will always try, and that very hard, to be weird. It is their pride - pride of being odd.
When I told him today that I was looking for a new room, he kicked me in my bottom.(!) "This is how we wish good luck in Finland." I think I have every right to be a bit mean, don't you?

Basically a place to leave

I have actually not much time to write because I'll soon be off looking for some new accommodation. The dampness in this flat makes me ill. I tried to fight it by heating - now I feel as if I lived in the Masoala hall in the zoo of Zurich.
What I will miss here, basically, is my dear flat mate Sweaty Hand, who, basically, entertains me very much with his basically acquired American style of speaking. He basically spends his days shopping at SuperValu (because it's the nearest), watching TV and basically, drawing. So, when he watched Lord of the Rings last night - and I was waiting for a phone call - he started romanticising his abilities: "When I watch TV, I aaalways start drawing... I don't know why. Basically, I can't help it. Wanna have a look?" Gosh, really what I needed. He handed me about 30 sheets of paper, all covered with square-cut cartoon characters carrying guns or wearing horrifying masks. "Wow", I said because I couldn't think of more. These reminded me of our old paintings of Simba or Mowgli or Baloo when we still watched Lion King and other animated films and then doodled our heroes. "Don't look at the female bodies, though, basically I'm not very good at these." Oh dear, oh dear. Consequences of a long distance relationship can be severe, it seems. (His girlfriend lives in Tennessee.) He must be a faithful guy - I'm sure he hasn't even blinked at a woman since he last saw her.

Getting up in Hell

When I got up yesterday, I had lost all my cynicism. I was fed up and longing to go home. Yes, longing to go: ho:me! My new place was damp and dirty and worst of all: incredibly loud. I wished back all the Salesianum Ticinesi and would have given them gladly TWO electric guitars - well, no, one maybe.
As the floors are so cold here, I went to Penneys to buy some slippers. Queuing in front of the cashdesks, I saw that they also sold body milk and eye shadow. This, I definitely did not need - eye shadows come quite naturally with me these days.
For calming down my nerves I went walking along the river, which had unfortunately the opposite effect. I suddenly abhorred the place. Watch my film and tell me what YOU think.

PS: There is a new quiz and a new quote, as always on Sundays.

Grove Island Student Village

Going to Supermac's was a good preparation for moving into this flat. Have a look at this microwave! "Oh, I'm moving out tomorrow anyway", Sarah says, placing her mug between two coal-like popcorns and bits of paint that have come off the interior of this dirt box. "Oh, and be careful where you place your food in the fridge, somebody has spilt milk or something". Mmh, this really might have been milk - some years ago.
"Holy shit", somebody behind me roars. It is Sweaty-Hand from Finland, who has just discovered wet plates in the cupboard. Wet? Who cares?! It is dirt I hate. I have spent an hour cleaning the stove in my old flat, as the Polish left without even saying goodbye. So I handed in my key with my fingers a centimetre shorter just to arrive here and carry on scrubbing?

Where "super" is the Creed

When I was in Dublin, I discovered the Irish version of McDonald's: Supermac's!
Supermac's is
- super-cheap (always about 20 Cents cheaper than McDonald's),
- super-delicious (try the chocolate muffin with ice-cream),
- in Limerick super-empty,
- and in general super-dirty.

Yesterday, I felt like having a chocolate muffin, so I entered the restaurant and was immediately served (remember: super-empty). The Asian assistant shuffled away to get a muffin and cut it with a spoon (!) so that half of what I paid for landed on the floor. I think she didn't care at all. Super-indifferent. GRR. I also got only half of the icecream I would have been served with in Dublin - so, super-mean too. I went upstairs to find an empty seat, which was not very difficult. The really hard thing was to find a clean seat. Yeah, there was one, in the corner. I sat down. And was stuck.
Amazing, this dirt: super-present and sometimes even super-invisible.

Impression 2: Penneys in Pictures

Today, I entered Penneys and tiptoed through the shop, secretely filming "the place where chaos rules". Hope you'll enjoy the result!

Dearest Creature in Creation, Studying Irish Pronunciation

Heading to a destination you cannot pronounce is always difficult. Was it "Cliffs of Moher" or "Cliffs of Moher"? Moher sounded strange, but Moher?! Couldn't be either, after all, these rocks were famous for being enormous and not for consisting of mohair!
I decided to compromise and stressed both syllables equally - the woman at the ticket office seemed to understand me. I then asked the busdriver if I had to change at Ennis or if this was a direct bus. He obviously did not want to be disturbed and let his head sink even lower, concentrating on the newspaper he was reading. And yet, I then tracked a slight nod. Yes, he was nodding! Well - was that "yes, change at Ennis" or "yes, it is a direct bus"?! Good for him I haven't learnt any Irish four-letter words (so far), really.
I did not have to change, but in Ennis the bus driver was replaced. Yeah, FIRED! - well, probably not, just finished his working hours, I suppose. The new bus driver was the exact opposite, absolutely sweet. "Sorry, folks, it is sooo hot in here!" Hot? It was the first time I did not need my extra jacket! Irish buses are freezing - they should really provide blankets. Still, our poor man was obviously sweating, checking nervously the air-conditioning ("not working - SHIT"), climbing seats, trying to open the roof window - which was (thank God) locked.
"Anybody for Cliffs of Moher?" he asked after we had passed the extensive golf course of Lahinch. There it was! "Mo:hR". What an R! Irish out-and-out. My family can confirm that I have been practising Irish vowels: "O:wen, tho:se two lo:nely, mo:aning gho:sts have to go: ho:me." I think I have come near it, but I might never be able to pronounce an Irish "r". How can they put so much drama into one small letter?

Painters

Yesterday I went to the Cliffs of Moher - I will tell you all about it as soon as I have finished the text. I hope it will still be today! There are painters in the house who slightly distract me. Apparently they want to paint all the flats in our block. Now guess what the corridor smells like!
Paint, perhaps?

No, alcohol.
And I don't think it's the solvent.

Impression 1: Train Station

I'm helping you with the quiz..

Gaelic everywhere - really?

When I first came here, I was absolutely overwhelmed by the amount of Irish Gaelic I heard. I had thought that most people would speak English - but no, at every corner I came across a language I did not understand.
It took me some days to realise that it was not Gaelic but Polish.

My (Polish) flat mates once complained that there were just too many Polish people in Limerick and that you could divide them into three groups:
Group 1: Older people who came here ages ago and have adapted to Irish life. (except for the bread maybe)
Group 2: Young people who work a lot and send some money home.
Group 3: Young people who do not work a lot and do not send money home.

They assured me that they deeply abhorred group 3. Mmmh, after one week I was still not sure what group THEY belonged to. They had hardly left the flat, spent hours watching TV, DVDs and playing video games, had stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning and slept till lunchtime. They could not possibly belong to group 3, could they? They did not look as if they hated themselves.
If they had ever belonged to group 3: In my second week they apparently changed to group 2. When I came home from my "holidays", they all had a job. Thank God - now I have the telly for myself.

Are my neighbours in quarantine?

I wondered for almost three weeks what this building opposite my place exactly was. It looks like an old prison somehow, but I have often observed taxis stopping in front of it, dropping off elderly women or people just like you and me. The mysterious gate is then opened and the visitors are welcomed by people in military uniforms. Could it be an army camp? But would Irish soldiers be visited by their grannies so often? Are all Irish soldiers softies? Oh my God - the sign said "Sarsfield Barracks". They could not mean "SARS-field", could they? Was I neighbour to thousands of infected people locked up behind barbwire?! Was this the reason why I was here one of about 15 students in a building set up for hundreds?
Don't worry about me :-). By now I have also come across Sarsfield Bridge and Sarsfield Statue, which has convinced me that I should do some research and stop speculating. Apparently, Patrick Sarsfield was an important miliary figure here in Limerick, which suggests that my neighbours are no patients but mere milksops. What a relief!

PS: There is a new quiz and a new quote.

Modern Praying

I thought that after almost three weeks here, I should start looking for my college. Meandering through the south of Limerick, I passed an enormous church which I just had to enter. Now you tell me how people in your churches pray for whatever is on their minds. They pay a franc and light a candle?! Oh gosh, how old-fashioned! Look, what we have here! You pay some money and then you switch on any bulb you choose. Switch on, switch off, switch on - you may even pray if you still feel like it. I just wonder who switches the bulbs off again. Does the sacristan "reset" them in the morning? Probably each bulb has a timer - it switches off automatically when the lifetime of a candle has passed. Eh, envious?

By the way: I have to take back what I said about bags from Penneys. They are NOT worth more than their content, not even "almost". This is what my bag looked like after I had run after the bus for 15 seconds; then I had to stop - not because I was out of breath, but because I had to collect all my things again.

Outside "Limérique"

After several days of illness and rain, it was high time we had done something! Happily woken up by the fire alarm (it was only the third time in one and a half days that it had gone off - they will probably test it until students get used to it, so until the alarm alarms no longer), we prepared to go to Bunratty Castle.
How many chickens you get to see for 10 Euros only! Well, no, I mean, the castle is really well restored, and the re-enacted village is absolutely charming. They show how fishermen and farmers lived and how people shared one room with their cows. Still, although I've grown up in the country, it was the chickens that were the attraction - and not only for me. A tiny boy left the fisherman's house almost before his parents could even enter. On his face utter boredom. "No chickens inside!" he declared vigorously and trudged along.
After two, three hours of exploration we walked back to the bus stop. "Bes do Limérique?" a French woman asked the two Irish ladies sitting next to us. How did they do it? The corners of their mouths didn't twitch even once!
It was the first day in a very long time that should have been sunny according to the weather forecast. And it really was. When we were back in Limerick, of course.

When even sheep laugh at you

The Wicklow Way is absolutely beautiful - I believe. We've seen the first ten kilometres after all! And as the signposts are painted in a striking colour (black): a lot of surroundings too.. a lot!
On the day before we started, Christine told me hahaha about the five top flops hahaha of some tourists in Sweden hahaha. In the picture on the left, you see us smiling naively, not even dreaming of the amount of top flops WE were facing.
All began when we missed one signpost and carried on walking the wrong way. (Rain on) At some point we were told that we were wrong and started walking back. (Rain off) Soon, however, we met about 7 huge rucksacks, under which we then spotted some French speaking scouts who assured us that we had been right all the same. We turned round again. On the peak of the hill we realised that we really had been wrong. We stood on "Three Rock" instead of "Two Rock". (Why do we always have to exaggerate?!) A nice lady showed us a shortcut through which we should have got back to the Wicklow Way, yet, instead of listening to her, we followed the scouts again... After THREE hours of detour we decided to walk back and look for the signpost we had missed in the beginning. How happy we were to see this forest track a forth time.

Yeah, back on track! With such a lot of delay, we had to find an other accommodation. Glencullen looked like a decent village on the map. There just had to be some B&Bs. (Rain on) Look at these sheep! All staring at us and baaing. Baa! I agree, we must have been funny to look at – with more than 10 kilos on our backs and I wearing a pinkish mac. Baa! How tired we were! Nice surprise that Glencullen was hardly anything more than a junction of two roads. Even nicer that there was not even a dog kennel to sleep in. “There’s a bus stop up the hill”, someone said. Mmmmh, up the hill and down the hill and down and down and down we walked. There you are, bloomy bus stop. “Bus 43 diverted”. Enough!
Someone then told us that it was only diverted later on, but still: no bus was in sight. I entered the petrol station to ask what we should do just to see bus 43 passing in front of me... Heck, and it was already six o’clock.
We caught the next bus, went back to Dublin, luckily got an accommodation, slept really well, felt absolutely great and eager to take up the trail again when we suddenly felt the first symptoms of a nasty cold. We spent another night (this time a miserable one) in Dublin, where we had to bear a fat English lady, ah, who could hardly move, ah, without ah. No, she could not climb the upper bed, because of her leg, ah (yeah… I’m sure it was the leg and not her 140 kilos). “Oh, you are not drunk?” she asked us in the evening for example, or: “Oh, you are already 23? I would never have guessed! You look so MUCH younger! And still travelling, at your age?”
The best was yet to come: “Ah, we had such a hard day, ah!” I started looking for my earplugs. Woman, you want to tell ME about a hard day?