Babylon

If you want it,

Come and get it

Crying out loud.

The love that I was

Giving you was

Never in doubt.

Let go your heart,

Let go your head,

And feel it now.

                        -David Gray, Babylon

In 1752 Arthur Guinness inherited 100 pounds from his Godfather, Church of Ireland Archbishop, Arthur Price.   Seven years later, Mr. Guinness signed a lease with remarkable terms for an unused brewery in Dublin: 

-100 pounds down;

-45 pounds/year rent;

-water rights included; 

-for up to 9,000 years.

Thus began the Guinness Brewery.  According to the Guinness website, 150 million glasses of Guinness are enjoyed every day in over 150 counties.

Last year the company marked their 250^th anniversary by launching the Arthur Guinness Fund which is designed to support social entrepreneurs.  The Guinness website defines a social entrepreneur as “someone who has a social heart and a business head,” a person who wants to deliver “transformational change in society.”  Of course, the anniversary also called for a big party and Guinness fans around the world marked the 250^th anniversary at “Arthur’s Day” concerts at multiple venues.

I learned about Arthur’s Day a few weeks ago when reading a Galway newspaper online.  I discovered that one of my favorite musicians, David Gray, was scheduled to perform at a 2010 Arthur’s Day event at a place called Folan Quay in Galway Harbor. 

I live on Galway Harbor, but I had no idea where Folan Quay is.  I searched maps, looked online and asked random people at church.  No one was sure.  Galway Harbor isn’t that big, so I imagined in any case I’d be able to hear the concert from my balcony.

On Monday I noticed some workers putting up what looked like a stage not 100 yards from my apartment.  The good news, apparently I LIVE on Folan Quay.  The bad news, the stage faced the other way.  I didn’t mind too much, though, because what matters most in a concert is sound.

Stage construction, view from my balcony

D'oh!  The put a "back" on the stage

Yesterday was Arthur’s Day and I went out in the early afternoon to see what I could see. 

Guinness trucks

Lots of Arthur's Day "drapes"

Temporary fences made it almost impossible to see anything.  I talked to a guard who told me that 2,500 tickets were sold and the event was sold out.

The stage from behind the barricades--you really do need a ticket if you want to see

All afternoon I was treated to sound checks.  I was beside myself when David Gray himself played three songs for his sound check.  I was twittering around my apartment as I heard him sing one of his most famous songs, Bablyon. 

The concert began at 5:59 PM (17:59 military time, the year Guinness was founded).  David Gray took the stage at 9:45 PM.  Kevin Skyped in during Gray’s second song and I took the computer out onto the balcony.  Kevin couldn’t hear the music very well over the computer’s microphone, but he was able to pick up the ambiance.  While we Skyped, Gray performed a song I put on a mixed CD I gave Kevin before I left for Ireland.  After we “hung up,” I went back out on the balcony.  It was the coolest night I remember since my arrival.   I wore a t-shirt, fleece shirt, and a fall jacket.  I then wrapped myself in my wool blanket from Inishmoore  It was wonderful.  As I said in an email to Kevin after the concert, “I will remember this night as long as I have memories.” 

The concert, from my balcony

Don’t see Elysium

Don’t see no fiery hell

Just the lights up bright baby

In the bay hotel

Next wave coming in

Like an ocean roar

Won’t you take my hand darling

On that old dance floor

            David Gray, The One I Love

Confessions

            Confession #1:  I watched (ahem) several hours of the Murder She Wrote 

            star-studded marathon today on the Alibi network. 

Confession #2:  I am afraid of my oven. 

In my defense, I got to see Julianna Margulies and George Clooney before they became so famous.  So far my favorite George Clooney line is, “No, no way.  Not Phil.” 

Also in my defense, my oven IS scary. 

When I was on sabbatical in Florence, I didn’t have an oven.  Or a microwave.  Or a coffeepot (which didn’t matter because I had been caffeine free for years at that point—oh, how times change).  I have all those things plus a dishwasher here in Galway.  Having a dishwasher makes me think of the Westside Story song lyric, “I have my own washing machine.”  “What will you have, though, to keep clean?”

But back to the oven.  I am afraid of my oven for two reasons.  First, I don’t know how it works.  Second, it’s kind of greasy. 

Nevertheless, I decided to confront my fear.  I bought a lovely piece of fresh salmon at the grocery store and I returned home to beard the lion in its den. 

First, I turned the oven on to preheat it.  I least I thought that was what I was doing since my oven has buttons and knobs that don’t make intuitive sense to me.  I heard a fan start and determined that my oven is not conventional, it’s convection.  I have never used a convection oven so I did some searching online.  I learned that a convection oven bakes at a lower temperature for shorter periods of time. 

Second, I prepared the salmon.  I addressed the greasy oven issue by wrapping the salmon in foil (to protect it and, therefore, me) with sea salt, pepper, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil and a little white wine. 

I opened the oven and smoke came out.  The smoke alarm went off.  “See,” I thought, “this IS dangerous.  I was right.”  Vindicated.  I opened the balcony door to let the smoke out and the fresh air in and the smoke detector stopped.  I put the salmon in the oven and sat down to contemplate the wonders of microwave cooking. 

Despite what I read online, I baked the salmon for twice as long as I needed to.  I hoped it wouldn’t dry out as it was wrapped in foil.  It didn’t.  It was, in fact, delicious. 

Confession #3:  I’m still a little bit afraid of my oven.  

Rash Behavior

When I lived in Italy during my first sabbatical, I feared having to see a doctor.  I definitely didn’t want a health problem, especially when I didn’t speak the language.  Thankfully, I was lucky. Though I suffered what I came to call the “Florence drip” (runny nose) quite a lot, I never needed an MD.

Alas, my international lucky streak has ended. 

This summer I was preoccupied with preparing for my sabbatical.  At some point I noticed I had a bug bite on the side of my right calf, but I didn’t thing much of it.  When I got to Ireland, I noticed the bite was still there.  It itched, sometimes badly.  I still didn’t think much about it.  About the time Kevin left, I started to pay closer attention to the spot.  I couldn’t remember when it appeared, but I remembered it had been there for a few weeks before I left the country.  I decided it should have healed in that amount of time.

One evening while Skyping with my dad, I showed it to him and he said, “Hmmm… You should have someone look at that.”  I said, “I am.  You.”  The next day I went into a pharmacy and asked for something for a bug bite.  I used the cream for three days, the limit for use indicated on the tube.  No improvement. 

In fact, it seemed worse.  Yesterday I went into a pharmacy near Eyre Square and talked to a very kind pharmacist.  He brought me into a side room and looked at the spot and said, “That is not a bug bite.”  He said he thought it might be a fungal infection but he wasn’t sure because they are usually bigger.  He then told me I really should see a doctor, just in case.  He insisted that he was pretty sure there was nothing SERIOUSLY wrong with me, but just to be safe...  The more he reassured me, the more I began to think that something serious could actually be wrong. 

Of course, I assumed cancer.  Val disabused me of that notion quite handily during a conversation yesterday when she said, “Um, how exactly would YOU get skin cancer.  Now SHADE cancer, I could see that.”  Point taken. 

After a diligent web search of pictures of all sorts of skin problems (really, I can’t recommend it) the closest I could come is ringworm.  I learned all sorts of things about it.  For example, there is a ring but there is no worm.  Also, it’s easily treated with an anti-fungal cream.

I called Dr. Sinead Murphy, the doctor recommended by the pharmacist, and I was able to get an appointment for this afternoon.  Dr. Murphy’s office is only a five-minute walk from my apartment.  I was surprised to discover that the entrance to her suite is directly across the hall from the offices of one of the management companies I visited when I was apartment hunting; I didn’t notice it back then.

I checked in with a receptionist who gave me a short form to fill out and then I waited in a small waiting room filled with health information and magazines.  Dr. Murphy herself called me into her office.  No one weighed me or took my blood pressure.  I sat in a chair and she sat at her desk.  The setting felt much less “clinical” than I am used to.  Frankly, I felt much more comfortable than I do in most doctors' offices. 

Dr. Murphy looked very closely at the spot on my leg and determined I have an “odd sort of fungal infection.”  It’s not ringworm, but it’s similar.  She entered information for a prescription into her computer and it printed out on her desk.  This seems like a great way to avoid errors caused by bad handwriting. 

I stopped at the desk and gave the receptionist 50 euro and walked out of the office, prescription and receipt in hand and ready to go about the business of killing a fungus.

Apparently, there was nothing to fear.  

What Lane?

Claddagh Park offers a great walking path that I utilize often.  The left is marked with a walking stick figure and the right is marked with a bicycle.  Clear enough.  The walking lane also has “fat lane” spray painted in small words on it.  Lovely.  I have done quite a bit of searching to determine if this is a common term for a ”walking lane” and I don’t think it is.  My best guess is that it is a joke.  I can’t figure out the humor, though.  I could understand it if someone spray-painted that on my couch, but why the walking lane?

I canceled yesterday's walk due to rain, so I was particularly anxious to get out today.  When I checked the hourly forecast this morning, I was surprised.  Weather.com listed the projected weather from 11:00 – 3:00 as “windy.”  I’ve experienced some strong wind on walks along the shore, but I have never seen “windy” as a description online, so I was curious to see what it would be like.  I set out shortly after 1:00. 

It….  Was…. Windy….  My eyes watered, my nose ran and the wind blew my downwind iPod earbud out of my ear.   Twice. 

And I loved it. 

It was exhilarating.  Cleansing.  I felt like everything in me was being aired out.  I thought, “if a person has a black spot in his or her soul after being in this wind, well, that person is holding on pretty tight.”

When my walk was almost done, I met Joe, an older man pushing a bicycle.   He was missing many teeth but he seemed quite agile.  He said hello and asked if I was on holiday.  Here is, loosely, how our conversation unfolded:

Rachel:  I’m here for ten months. 

Joe:  Oh, are you studying?

Rachel:  I’m writing a book.

Joe:  What are you writing about?

Rachel:  Catholic Church reform

Joe:  Catholic Church reform.  Now there’s a bloody topic. 

Rachel:  Yes, bloody topic indeed. 

Joe:  Well I’m surprised they’re not turning all the churches into mosques.

Rachel:  (pause)  Well…

Joe:  You know they want to build a mosque at ground zero.  Building mosques everywhere. 

Rachel:  Well, it is a very populous religion.

Joe:  (agitated) It’s not about religion, it’s about world domination.

Rachel:  (pause, weighing options)  Well I guess we could pray.

Joe:  (pause)  Ah… pray.

Rachel:  Yes.  Well, I better be going; I'm expecting a call.

Joe:  I’m Joe.  What’s your name?

Rachel:  Rachel

Joe:  Okay, Rachel, see you around, then. 

As I left Joe I was thinking about bigotry and misinformation and it made me sad.  

A few minutes later an Irish woman stopped and asked me for directions and I could give them to her.  I must admit, though, she looked dubious when she heard my accent. 

An unusually eventful walk! 

First I walk along the Corrib River on a street called "The Long Walk."

Then I walk around this area where boats are moored.

This is the entrance to Claddagh Park and the walking trail.

The walking path

Galway Bay from Claddagh Park, low tide

At the foot of the causeway

The causeway

The end of the causeway--Mutton Island

Updates

            Friendliness: 

When I mentioned how friendly the Irish are, I neglected to tell you the sweetest and funniest example.  The first time Kevin and I walked out the causeway, we took pictures of each other.  A spry elderly woman out for, what I assumed was, her daily constitutional asked us if we would like her to take our picture together.  We happily accepted her gracious offer.  While she took our picture she said, “I’m not very good at this but I get asked all the time.”  Here is the picture she took of us: 

Those are our feet in the upper right corner.

The Beast: 

The plumber who came out to kill the beast installed some sort of plug in the shower drain and it worked quite well.  I had an occasional and faint unpleasant smell emanating from the bathroom, but nothing I’d complain about.  Until last Sunday.  When I walked in the door after church I thought, “My God, what happened in here?”  The Beast was back and with a vengeance.   I called the property management company and they said the problem is that the shower is not used regularly (I have two).  They asked me to run the water in the shower for two minutes twice a day for a few days and then every day for two minutes after that.  The woman I talked to commented on the warm weather we had the week before.  She was right—we reached 70 degrees two different times!  She was also right about the Beast.  It seems the Beast cannot be killed, he can only be kept at bay. 

The Scrap Heap:

I watched the mountain of scrap metal grow with both fascination and occasional bad humor.  I found the process surprisingly intriguing but the erratic noise of the machines and the metal hitting metal challenged my patience.  As the pile grew, I was surprised to twice observe people climbing the old metal looking for treasure.  The heap looked to me like lock jaw waiting to happen.  I was also interested to observe a group of about nine adolescents near the pile one evening.  They appeared to be staging some sort of fake fight.  I assumed their “weapons” were scavenged from the scrap heap.

It took seven days to build the pile after which I experienced two days of peace and quiet.  On the third day after completion, yesterday, I woke to the sight of a large ship, the Suurhusen St. John’s docked next to the scrap heap.  Workers loaded scrap metal onto the Suurhusen until 7:30 PM last night.  The job wasn’t done, so I assumed the work would continue today; I doubted the ship would sit all weekend.  Boy was I right.  At 6:00 AM this morning (today is a Saturday!), the noisy work began again and continued until the job was completed at around 10:30 AM.  Whew.  I’m not sure why they needed to start at 6:00 AM because the ship appears ready to go, but it cannot go anywhere until high tide, just before 8:00 PM. 

I learned from email inquiry that “the scrap metal is loaded and shipped out of the port at regular intervals” and Galway Harbor Company receives “notification approximately one week beforehand.”  In other words, “get used to it.”  I am considering working somewhere other than my apartment when the next round begins. 

The pictures below (and these are a fraction of the pictures I took) are photographic evidence of how fascinated I was by the whole spectacle.  

Notice the man in white on the scrap heap.

The complete pile of scrap

The "claw"--I love this picture

Loading the Suurhusen

Almost done

The Suurhusen all packed and ready to go!

And she sails...  

Routine

When I was in graduate school I attended a protest in Washington DC (close the School of the Assassins!) which involved sitting on the steps of the capitol building for hours.  I learned something about myself that day:  I can sit for hours.  All my Indiana companions were restless, but I wasn’t.   Because of this, let’s call it “ability,” I have learned that I have to set rules for myself to ensure I accomplish my work.  The trick is setting the right kind of rules to achieve balance. 

One rule:  TV and computer off at 10:00 PM.  Because I am a morning person, I want to get to sleep fairly early so I can wake up in time to capitalize on my early-in-the-day energy.  I miss Morning Edition on National Public Radio, but I have started listening to podcasts of NPR shows in the morning when I get ready. 

I eat my breakfast while I am watching “Ireland AM” on TV.  This show is like “Good Morning America.”  I have enjoyed watching it because it has given me a little window on the culture in which I find myself.  I don’t generally watch morning shows at home, but it seems that the show and the hosts are “gentler” than those on similar shows in the US.  I often play computer solitaire while I am drinking my coffee and watching Ireland AM.  I predict a soon-to-be imposed rule that when my coffee is gone, I get right to work.

I spent my first week of work rewriting the introductory chapter of my book.  The last two weeks I have been organizing all the data I shipped here.  Going through this material has been an emotional endeavor and it has taken significantly more time than I anticipated.  I think it’s an important piece of the project, though, because I am once again becoming familiar with my data and I’m doing a lot of thinking about the book and what it will look like. 

I have become a devotee of Weather.com.  I am most interested in the “hourly forecast.”  I have never lived in a place where the weather changed so drastically so quickly.  I try to leave the apartment when there is the least chance of rain and, because of that, I sometimes run errands in the morning.  Today I went to the post office to pay my first internet/cable/phone bill.  Often I go to the grocery store in the late morning because it’s less crowded than at other times.

I feel most comfortable when I have a stock of things I use most regularly like paper towels, soy milk, cereal, tuna, etc.  While some brand loyalty is transferable to Ireland, most is not and I have been trying new types of almost everything.   I have discovered that I really like whole wheat Irish soda bread.  I bought an inexpensive food processor so I could make hummus.  My first foray here was, well, gross.  Thankfully, each subsequent batch has been better than the last.  The biggest challenge was a lack of tahini.  Thankfully I found it at a specialty store on Monday, so my next batch should be delicious.   

When I don’t have guests, I allow myself one “take-away” meal a week.  I have enjoyed a lamb donner (gyro), pizza and salad and fish and chips.  I think this weekend I am going to try a sushi place just down the street from my apartment. 

I stop work around 5:00 or 5:30 and go for a nice, long walk.  I generally walk through Claddagh Park along Galway Bay to the causeway to Mutton Island.  When I return to my apartment, I do a little yoga and then settle in for a night of watching TV, reading, listening to podcasts, talking on the phone, and/or Skyping.  I generally Skype with Kevin before he leaves for work in the morning, but others are more available for talking later in the day. 

So far I have been able to indulge my interest in mysteries and crime dramas quite easily.  I may, in fact, be indulging this interest too much.  Yesterday when I was walking along the quay, I noticed a blue rubber glove floating in the water and I thought to myself, “what if a hand is attached and there was a murder?”  I am happy to report that the glove was sans an actual hand. 

One of the most important things I did on my Italy sabbatical was what I called “stare at the wall.”  The equivalent on this sabbatical would be “stare out the window.”  And what a view!  A few days ago I saw a sea otter swimming in the bay.  In balance, staring out the window is a lovely and restorative activity.  

Staring up

Staring down

Heavy Metal

Living on the dock is a delight for the senses.  I spend much time watching the undulating water in the bay and the majestic ships that make their way in and out of Galway Harbor.  I feel the breeze and sweet-smelling fresh air it brings.  I hear the call of seagulls as they glide by my window.  And the taste of the seafood! 

This is why I was surprised on Monday morning when several dump trucks emptied loads of scrap metal onto the dock outside my window.  The trucks came and went all day.  They came again on Tuesday.  And Wednesday.  

On Wednesday I asked a neighbor about the growing pile of scrap metal.  I said, “I’ve been watching it grow for three days.” 

He replied, “And you’ll be watching for three more days.  Or three more weeks.” 

He told me the metal will be shipped away and I asked him where it will go.  “Spain.  Maybe Japan. “

Meanwhile, the trucks keep coming. 

The pile of scrap is oddly fascinating in appearance and it smells like an auto-body shop. 

The first evening I thought the pile could not get any bigger.  What a failure of imagination!  While I have some interest in seeing how big the pile can get, I find the noise associated with the endeavor assaulting.  Back-hoe-like equipment unloads the trucks with a claw-like attachment.  The metal-on-metal sound is jarring; it sounds like a car accident. 

I look forward to watching the metal get loaded onto a ship and waving it goodbye.   Hopefully that will bring peace back to the dock during the day.

The beginning....

For a sense of scale, note the person to the right of the pile...

Up close

and personal

and that's close enough....