Ze new office

In May it will be workplacement time. And if you have to do it, you'd better make sure you do it right. Therefore, I found myself a nice internship in probably the nicest (and poshestest) part of Dublin: Merrion Square.
I will be working at the National Museum for Natural History. HA!
This will be my new office:


It's one of those 18th Century museums Victorian-style, with a Fin Whale skeleton hanging from the sealing and every possible animal under the sun stuffed up and carefully collected throughout the centuries by the Royal Dublin Society. Just as these places are supposed to be.
As you can see, the interior is basically untouched:


I think the animals come alive at night....

The Dáil (Parliament) is connected to the building, because before they took over the premises, the Royal Dublin Society had its headquarters there and they owned the museum.

Oh and Bertie will be my neighbour, since the equally nice but of course much bigger building next door is 'Roinn na taoisigh' aka the Department of the Taoiseach (Prime Minister).

Anyway, I'll spend May there. Just so you know...

Paddy's Weekend

Since St Patrick's Day was on a Friday, there's no way around it: it had to last the whole weekend.
Zillions of years ago St Patrick brought Christianity to the Irish and chased all the snakes out of the country at the same time. (Since he was there anyway....) And he did such a good job that there still are no snakes that choose Ireland as their favourite habitat. Fair play to Paddy so.

Anyway, St Patrick is the national Saint and the 17th of March is the National holiday. People dress up in green, pin some shamrocks on their coat and go out and about for the day.

Kirstyanne, Sofia, Eros and me set out to watch the parade. By the time it was half way through we had frozen our toes off and decided to go for coffee in a nearby hotel and watch the rest of it on tv.

After the parade we went to Croke Park stadium to watch the All-Ireland Club finals. Two matches: Hurling and Gaelic Football. Although I don't know the rules of either exactly, Hurling can best be described as a sort of rough 3D fieldhockey (helmets can be worn and you may lift the hurler (stick) above your hip, in fact you have to swing it above your head ever so often) and Gaelic Football is a mixture of Football, Handball and Rugby. People like their contact sports over here.... But before I get into trouble, they are both very skillful games.
The Hurling final:

After that first match, the people from the lower tiers all ran onto the pitch to congratulate their team.

Voice over the speakers: We kindly ask all patrons to remain in their seats during the ceremony and not make their way into the field.

Kirstyanne: I don't think it's working
Mariekschen: you don't say...
Voice over the speakers: We kindly ask all patrons to return to their seats as soon as possible after the ceremony. We have a Gaelic Football match to play after this.

After we'd frozen our toes off again, Kirstyanne and I walked back to town and paid a visit to some pubs and a chipper on the way. That evening we convinced people that I was Scottish and Kirstyanne (who is actually Scottish) had won the Female Highland games. Good times good times.

Next year: parade on tv and more socks during the Club finals...

The last three six nations games were played on saturday. People had to go to the pub for 'a cure' anyway, so it was nice and full of people everywhere during the matches. Ireland beat England and considering that it was in England too, made the win even sweeter. Although France won the tournament, Ireland walked away with the Triple Crown trophy. So the whole city was celebrating this great victory that day after Paddy's day and the Rugby team were the new national heroes.

Rugby, Scots and their kilts

When Maartje came to visit me, it was also the weekend the Scottish had to play the boys in green in the 6 nations championship. Kilts and banter all over town, so Maartje definitely chose the right weekend to come here. Unfortunately we didn't have tickets to the match this time, so it was off to the pub for us to watch it on the big screen.

Saturday night
Maartje: I want a photo with a scot wearing a kilt
Kirstyanne: no prob. hey you! my dutch friends would like a photo with you
Scot in kilt: ok, sure
Random punter: I'll take it. All of yis get in there.
Bouncer: Ok people time to leave, we're closing
Random punter: Ah just one photo. You can be in it.
Bouncer: well ok. (grabs a few more people to get in to the photo)

Result:

the bouncer is the guy in black, right in front of me.

Fake tans and first communions

Lecturer: When you think about it, it's kind of rediculous that little 7 year old girls have to dress up as brides to receive the body of Christ for the first time. Let alone the whole circus that surrounds it these days. People lending money to pay for an exorbitant party complete with a stretched limo to bring their daughter to church that one time a year they actually go there. In my day there was only one kind of veil and the nuns picked that out for us. It's insane what they wear these days, they really are brides in miniature.
Danielle: And then there's also the fake tans, hair extensions and manicures they have to have ofcourse.
mariekschen: What?! the little girls or their mothers?
Danielle: No, the girls themselves.
Brian: When I have kids, I'll move to West-Cork, so my daughter won't have any other choice but to wear Wellies.*
Carmel (from West Cork): Hey!
Brian: No offence, but that really is my plan though.
Carmel: Well, I actually do own two pairs of Wellies...

Lecturer: Ok, we drifted off here, back to the influence of the sociology of knowledge on science.

* Wellies (Wellingtons) are rainboots

Local elections

For the first time since I was allowed to, I have not voted. Shame on me, I know. Although I don't consider myself to be continually up to date with all that is happening in the political arena (and especially not the one in my home town where I'm registered now), I do have the opinion that if you don't bother to vote you shouldn't complain either.
The reason I did not vote is that my parents didn't come to visit me and bring my ballot for me to sign to give them authority to vote for me. This was all due to my brother's appendicitis (poor boy) and an Phost who should have delivered my ballot to me instead. It was sent to me a week ago and still I haven't received it. So much for trusting the Irish postal services. A combination of things I have had no control over, so I can't really blame myself for being lazy.
Fortunately the party I would have voted for won in my town, so I don't feel guilty for not fulfilling my civic duty this time.
Four years ago Ellen, Rob, David and myself went to the election night at Maastricht city hall. We watched the results unfold and celebrate Ellen's non-election with the free drink they served all evening. I was just wondering whether I have missed a good party at the Dutch embassy, but then again they probably won't really bother for local elections. Maybe next year for the national ones. Who knows...

Addendum

Unique selling point of my new place however is the videobox of Pride and Prejudice!
Yes, the BBC one with Colin Firth!!!

The 'experience' called: 'my new place'

After our landlord chucked us out, Karen and I had been looking for a place we could live in together. Fortunately, two single rooms in one house were advertised and when I went over to take a look, they turned out to be double rooms. This basically means that not only do you have a double bed, but you're also able to open the door and walk into the room without having to stand on your bed in order to be able to close the door. A single room is often called a box room for a reason you see....
Anyway, the house we moved in to is quite oldfashioned. I think my grandparents had the exact same couch that is sitting in our living room, the floors have wine-coloured carpet and the windows are dressed up with very flowery curtains. One could call it tacky, I prefer cozy since I actually have to live there.
The bathroom has a bathtub and the kitchen has all the equipment you'd need so that's all good.
My room, however is green. I know that green is my favourite colour, but that does not quite go for this shade of green. The walls have that light, minty, surgical green tint. It's basically the colour of the scrubs of Dr. Greene in ER. And the carpet on the floor has more of a moss-type shade. Very nauseating to wake up to, I can tell you. But I'm sure I'll get used to it after a week or two and it's big enough and cheap enough anyway.
I'll live....

Livin for the weekend

Between all the packing and moving and despite missing out on Carneval, I managed to have a good weekend.
On Friday, the Saw Doctors did what they do best: play really well and make sure the crowd has a really good time and a smile from ear to ear when they go home. Although they played at the university, the crowd was a curious mix of drunk Gaelic Football players from Mayo (there was a GAA tournament on campus that day) and men in their sixties (Guess old geezers need excitement too...). Afterwards I met up with my flatmate and some friends to go on a pubcrawl around phibsborough. All in all we ended up in a place called McGowan's and I can 'proudly' state that I have finally found a place that utterly and completely outdoes the 'Alla'. Pure and utter cheese, with a dance version of the fields of Athenry as the cheesy icing on the cheesecake. I watched it all in awe....

On saturday the orange order was going to march through the centre, so I decided not to leave my neighbourhood. An afternoon of rioting, petrol bombs and brickthrowing at the police by every scumbag in the city was the consequence and fortunately I was far away from it all.

In the evening Julie and I went to see the violent femmes. I have been a fan for about 10 years and since they never (or hardly ever) play in the Netherlands, this was an opportunity not to be missed. It was a really great gig and I'm happy I went. My photos turned out a bit dodge, so I won't bore you with them.

On our way to the concert, Rachel rang to say that she had two last minute tickets to the rugby match the next day. Horray! Ireland-Wales! And Ireland won big time! And I managed to take a photo of Ronan O'Gara's bum!

Update

To all the concerned people who've been sending me emails: Yes I have found a new place to live and will move in on monday and my knees are fine. The bruises are almost gone now. Just in time for me to get new ones on sunday...

On thursday, Carmel and I went to the Jack Johnson concert at the point. He played well, but the point was just too big for his kind of music. Too bad.

Tonight: Saw Doctors
Saturday: Violent Femmes

Yes, yes I know, but it's to console myself for not being able to dress up as a jellyfish or lighthouse this weekend and enjoy 'carnaval'. It's the first one I'm missing since I was 1 year old and my parents dressed me up in a clown's outfit with a wig that could have fit my little head twice and took me with them to the pub. Never too young to learn I guess.
So when my friends are listening to the best tearjerkers dutch music has to offer performed by a band called ziek, zwak en misselijk(ill, weak and nauseous), I will be moving house and trying not to think of what I'm missing out on.

Dear knees,

Please bare with me for a little longer. Just one more poledancing class to go and I promise I'll be nicer to you after that....

Thanks,

mariekschen

(great) Irish inventions part 3: cheddar cheese and crisp rolls

Ehm well yeah. After a series of pleas and hints from my flatmate Karen, I finally gave in. "Yes I will eat a crisp roll if that will make you happy."


Ingredients:
French roll
butter
three slices of red cheddar cheese
2 small packets of 'tayto' crisps (it'll have to be tayto because they are the real Irish crisps)in cheddar cheese and onion flavour

Ok, so the butter, cheese and one packet of crisps all go into the roll. Take a bite. Fill the gaps that are left from the crisps falling off with new crisps from the second packet, or just eat the contents of the second packet along with the roll.

So, apparently this is amongst the finest that Irish cuisine has to offer. I must agree, but that does not mean I'll eat it again.

Children, try this at home if you must, but don't say I didn't warn you!

About shit hitting the fan and Murphy's laws and all that

When things start to go wrong, it's only a slippery slope to complete and utter mayhem.
Last week I caught my flatmate Mark trying to sneak out of the house with all his belongings. Ok, you're moving out, thanks for letting the rest of us know. The next day, the landlord rang to tell us that Mark had not paid his rent for the last two months and was not answering his phonecalls. We had to do something about this, otherwise he would make us pay those two months. Ofcourse we told him to take a jump (not in those words obviously) and that it was definitely not our responsibility that someone else did not pay his rent. Yesterday he rang again to ask if we'd heard anything from Mark, and to our negative reply he answered that he was moving back into the house himself and we'd have to be out by the end of the month. Great. Especially since that's in two weeks. Eventually we got an extension to the end of March, but still.
Not only do I have to find a new place to live AGAIN, but I also have to leave my perfect location with DCU just across the road, my nice double room and nice flatmates.
Back to square one I guess. Not a happy bunny at the moment.....

Campus Life part 9: Rag week

They do try to keep us occupied, I must say. This week is Rag week and by the looks of the programme, it'll be about a 100 times better than the one in Maastricht. Bands every night, a trip to a secret location, and four people will be living in a red mini cooper for a week (mini-brother). Two of of the bands performing were actually nominated for a national music award last week. Just too bad for them that it was in the "best band" category aka: the "ah feck it, U2 is nominated too so we might as well go home" - category. But still, whether you like their music or not, they apparently are amongst the best Ireland has to offer at the moment.
On Thursday Karen, Kirsty and I are going to see Turn and Aslan play at the student union (make our contribution to the good cause).

Karen: You know those ugly highrise buildings you can see if you look further up the road?
mariekschen: Yes, where those horses run around without any fences around them.
Karen: exactly. Well that's Ballymun and this Aslan song is the Ballymun anthem.
mariekschen: ehm how come?
Karen: well it's basically the unmarried teenage mothers' anthem
mariekschen: ghe, well I guess that would about sum up Ballymun for you.

Campus Life part 8: Shag week

Yes, I was just as surprised as you are. It's shag week at DCU this week. All I know so far is that is has something to do with sexual awareness, speed dating and Ann Summers parties.
Since my lectures are staring again today and most of the events will be held when I'm listening to interesting talks about science, media and film, I doubt that my knowledge concerning this 'interesting' week will exceed what I know now, but I will keep you posted.

Oh next week is ragweek. I'm probably the only one that did not already know, but apparently 'rag' actually stands for raise-a-grant.

6 Nations here I come!

Saturday was the kick off of the annual 6 nations rugby tournament. What basically happens is that France, Italy, England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland play against eachother over the course of a few weeks and the rugby fans get hammered and have a great time. Fortunately Rachel's uncle had spare tickets to the Ireland vs Italy match and thought she and a friend might like to go. So lucky us!
Dressed in an Ireland Rugby jersey and green hat and memorising the words to 'Ireland's call' on the bus to Landsdowne Road stadium, I was all set to be an honorary Irish lass for the day.
Apart from the two fourty minute halfs the teams are playing rugby on the field, there is much more to a rugby match. The pre-match rituals are as follows: Dressed in your team's jersey, you either walk from town down to Landsdowne road and stop at every pub along the way for a pint or you take the bus down. When you arrive at the stadium, there is a guinness tent (main sponsor of the Irish rugby) with a band playing Irish songs and the only drink they serve is guinness and lager. So you'll obviously have to spend some time there drinking a pint and singing along to the Irish Rover and the Fields of Athenry. Then it's time for a hot whiskey to keep you warm and find a place inside the stadium to watch the match. The Italian national anthem and Ireland's call are shouted out by fans and players and then the games can begin.
Even though Ireland did not play well at all and the referee was 'shite', we beat Italy and everyone could happily return to the Guinness tent for more beers and Molly Malone's. And that's where the post-match starts. Following the fine Irish tradition, this involves more beer, jokes and silly stories. First at the stadium and then in every pub on the way back to the city centre.
Rachel and I ofcourse could not quite ignore this and went on a pub crawl ourselves, talking to crazy Australians and even crazier Galwegians.
Good craic so it was.

Oh and I found out that the Dublin equivalent to Dutch hockey girls are D4 girls. D4 being the postcode for the area south of the Liffey where they all live apparently....

Quote of the day:
Rachel: "Hey, how come those Italians aren't as shite as they are supposed to be!"

the band in the guinness tent. Their microphone stands all have a little pint-holder. They managed to empty a pint every other song.


Rachel and me before the match in the guinness tent, wearing about 25 layers of clothing for insulation


Huge Irish and Italian men playing rugby


Rachel and I during half-time

"I went out for a video and came back with a tan"

Yesterday, Carmel Julie and myself went to a Bell X1 concert at the RDS.
When they were still called Juniper, they were Damien Rice's band. After he left and got famous as a solo artist, they changed their name in to Bell X1 and became the most recent best thing ever to have come out of Ireland.
Oh and they also made it to "the OC" soundtrack. horray for them!

Anyway, the concert was great, the music too ofourse...

quote of the night:
"This one's in honour of the arrival of Starbucks to Ireland. What's wrong with a nice cuppa tea, folks?!"

Bruised and battered

There's a bit to this pole-dancing business. Never knew that you can bruise your legs and knees without falling on the floor first or having your sister bump into you and knock you off your bike after a night out during Carnaval.
I have nice purple-black bruises on the inside of my right knee (original or what?!), the front of both my knees and the inside of my lower thighs. So happy it's not summer...

Glendalough

My friend David had some time off (or maybe just denied that he didn't really) and came to visit me for 3 days. Browsing the travelbooks for something nice and close to Dublin to visit, we came across Glendalough.
Glendalough (Valley of the two lakes) is situated south of Dublin in County Wicklow and is the site of an ancient Monastic city (6th century) of which the ruins and a few buildings remain. A priest named Kevin once came to the beautiful valley to live in absolute isolation as far as possible from any people, but the word spread and followers flocked the area. All ofcourse unaware of the irony that they wanted to hang out with a hermit who moved there to be as far away from everything as possible.
Anyway, a settlement and monastery grew and our Kevin became a saint. And now tourists flock the remains of the city in summer. Luckily the tourist season does not encompass January, so except for a group of Americans we had the place all to ourselves.
Some pics:

St Kevin's Church


The Round Tower as seen from the Lower Lake


Reefert Church


The cave called "St Kevin's Bed" as seen from across the Upper Lake. The story goes that a naked women tried to seduce St Kevin here, but he rejected her by throwing her into the lake.


And of course a nice view of the Lower Laker with some sheep

Bliss....

All my assignments are done, handed in and never looked at again (by me that is). Time for a whole bunch of nothing. Or well, nothing... there are movies to see, museums to visit and Rachel and I have started our pole-dancing course. I know, I know, but it's been on Oprah, one of the desparate housewives does it and it's good for your arms and abs. And it's also good fun with very normal people, of whom none is aspiring a carreer in the matter.
The rest of the time I'll just do absolutely nothing until february 6th. sigh....

I love it when unknown neighbours get Christmas presents I can use!

When I got back to Dublin, I was happily surprised when my cute and shiny iBook told me I could connect to a public network called 'swarder'. So somebody in my street I have probably never met got wireless broadband for Christmas (I guess, since the connection wasn't up before I left) and doesn't know he/she should secure the network. Until they find out, mariekschen is happily surfing away. Horray for Irish people discovering technology!
slainte