The myth of the mystical Phoenix is that when it dies it turns to ashes, those ashes then ignite into a golden flame of rebirth, and the Phoenix lives on, renewed.
Traveling opens the heart, mind, body, and soul through all of its wanderings. Traveling creates the ashes from which the traveler is reborn, and love lights the fire.

I am a backpacker, a social worker, a grateful receiver, an eternal empathizer, a seed growing, an ear listening, a child learning, a sister sharing, an American evolving, a therapist reflecting, a daughter caring, an embrace holding tightly, a friend to all - I am a Traveling Phoenix, experiencing the world that sets my soul on fire with love. Thanks for joining me.
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Norway in a Nutshell

Talk about beauty in the world.

On my 9 day journey throughout Norway I witnessed some of the most breathtaking scenery. Fjords, mountains surrounded by lakes and rivers, covered with sporadic snow patches from the previous winter, and houses all along them - scattered or in rows zigzagging all along the cliffs and hills. The mountains were like Croatia's rock cliffs, with less cliffs and more fully formed mountains. Or like Greece's mountains, but covered in beautiful forestry with no dessert-like surroundings. Or like the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, but again, the forestry winter-mountainous look rather than the desert-mountainous look. Even, at a distance, appearing in the backdrop as the Appalachian Trail through New Hampshire and Maine, or the White Mountains. Real breathtaking, untouched, natural beauty.

My first stop after leaving the paradise of Greece was Oslo, Norway. Furthermore, my first stop in Oslo, Norway was to the Huk (pronounced "hewk") nude beach on the Bygdøy ("big day") peninsula of the city. My first day was spent in the 60-70 degree weather, in the 50-60 degree water. It felt like swimming in the middle of Boston harbor on the last day of the summer swimming season. And it was. The days to follow would be brisk. A layer or two of jackets would only reduce the breeze to a cool shutter.

Despite my having rested thoroughly for the last 10 days in Greece (a time and place my mind is still fixated on), each day in Norway has been quite physical and quite tiring in its own way. In order to pace myself and self-care the way that my body is screaming I should, "Sleep you idiot! Do less! Do less, please!" - I tried my restless best to do less and less. So this week I did one, maybe two activities a day.

 When I arrived at Huk on the shore of the North Sea, i took one look around to see the few men and women there, in their 50s or 60s most likely, and stark naked. I thought, with all of these sagging butts around me, what do I have to lose? Without a second more, I dropped my things, dropped my trousers, and went straight to where I belonged - the sea. It wasn't so bad, the coldness of it I mean. I immediately had goosebumps all over my naked brown and white body. Mind you, I was the only person on the beach with extreme tan lines. I had never thought of appearing - so obviously - as a foreigner, simply because below my waist is currently the whitest full-moon any Norwegian has ever seen, particularly in contrast with my Grecian brown legs. 

When i got out of the water, it wasn't so terribly cold that i would have to dress right away. So I sat on the beach drawing the landscape in my sketchbook. I am no artist, but creativity is a coping mechanism - music, dance, art, writing, cooking - i crave it because it makes me feel at home. Its good to know how to be comfortable and make every place feel like home. Even better to do it. So i began to draw a childish interpretation of far off mountains - me in my bareness pretending to be Rembrandt or Da Vinci. Suddenly, the ugliest seagull I had ever seen made a wretched crow, and shit all over my drawing and on me and my things.

I couldn't tell if it was vomit or poo.

I trudged slowly and gently to the sea, as I noticed locals did - probably in order to not make too much jelly shake, if you know what I mean. I laughed while I washed off in the water among the seaweeds. Either I am really lucky - and this is a sign, as everyone says about bird shit landing on you - or, and this is most likely, Norwegian birds are harsh art critics and my Da Vinci attempt was just as shit as the actual shit that landed on it. Either way, I laughed at circumstance. Luckily I wasn't wearing clothes, or it would have been a bird shitty day all over the back of my shirt.

All in all, my broad daylight public nudity debut was quite the event. No regrets. No embarrassment. It may have been the most carefree I would ever feel while naked in public. Not that this is a regular occurrence. I wish it was. I may have found my calling as a nudist.

On the bus ride back from Huk I met a retired Norwegian professor. He interjected himself into my studies as I was reading and practicing Norwegian phrases silently under my breath. He sat next to me and heard me studying, and laughed at my pronunciation. He was quite helpful and taught me key phrases while we rode along.

On day one, I hadn't learned yet that speaking Norwegian was not necessary in Norway. Everyone not only spoke English, but spoke it well and with a clear accent - even though most people said "I speak a little bit." I learned that those responses were because they don't want to speak English. I earned respect from people simply by acknowledging that. I said, I have no choice but to speak English, please help me, I don't mean to disrespect the Norwegian language or culture - I said this indirectly by saying in Norwegian, rather than outright in English, "I don't speak Norwegian, do you speak English?" I feel it does make a difference, even if only a slight difference. It doesn't work because its some brilliant idea of mine either, it works because it evokes different responses in people, the warmth and welcomes, rather than the rush to get away. I have tried it both ways, and using the local language, - even a little bit - always gets the better response.

The following days I walked about a bit - along a river leading to the city center with waterfalls and thick brush, zigzagging through boroughs and universities on paths and back roads covered with runners, and bicyclists. Along Sogsvann, a lake at the  last stop of one of the city train lines, I lost myself on a hiking path in the woods, sat by a freshwater stream for a picnic and fell asleep on a dock in the middle of the vann (lake). It took me a while to find a dock that was not loud with playing children or the trudging of hundreds of feet on a dirt path. It was Sunday, and because nothing other than expensive restaurants is open on Sunday, everyone was out walking, biking, or running, at this lovely lake.

Everything I have done here has been slowly paced, and truly peaceful. I think I have felt drained because Norway puts a lot of stress on the wallet. Although the exchange is 7 Norwegian Kroner for every 1USD, everything is priced in the 100s. What would normally cost $20, costs 300-400 Kroner - the equivalent to $50-65. When I am paying 59 Kroner ($10) for a street vendor hot dog, that's when you know - this country ain't cheap. 

The universe must know and feel my concerns, because the people I have come across here have been hospitable and free-giving. In Greece, I was cared for by family or friends of family and they were always giving. Here in Norway, it has been tens of people, complete strangers who sometimes don't even know my name, giving me free food, more free food, free advice, free transport, free this, cheap that. It has been a real gift and - like every time so much fortune and hospitality comes my way - I find myself wondering what did I do to deserve this? But then, reasons don't matter do they? I just try to be grateful... maybe the bird shit really worked.

On one occasion, I made friends at a bar. I don't normally go out at night when I am traveling alone, nevertheless to a bar, but I wanted to make a point to try Norwegian beer and I did so when the sun was still out. After all, it was the last night of the weekend. During weekdays Norwegian law does not allow the selling of alcohol after 3pm. I went to an Irish pub, of course, and I ended up meeting some people, of course. After chatting a thrilling conversation with a jolly couple who laughed and smiled about everything (how fantastic! I found myself laughing and not knowing what I was laughing at) they left and I continued the conversation with the man next to me who had joined in. I found myself complaining to the man at the bar about the cost of food. I try hard not to complain when I am traveling, but this one thing irked me. I found myself thinking how rude! The nerve of the Norwegian government to really think they can charge this much for bare necessities is really just a cruel joke. Petroleum independent UNESCO World Heritage Site Assholes. The government, of course, not the people. One thing I've learned is that most people don't like their government. Maybe they like the school system, or they like the way taxes are, or they like a few things here and there - but disagreeing with some aspects of the way the government does things is not considered a direct insult to the culture. So I freely say, it irks me that the Norwegian government has the nerve to charge so much money for things.

One of the things I was so excited to come to Norway for, was to eat lots of seafood. Low and behold this self-sufficient seafood exporting country has some of the most expensive local fish I have ever seen. Too bad - I've been making cheese sandwiches for days. After complaining about cost of food to the man at the bar, he told me poignantly, "well, I'm actually quite wealthy working in the Petroleum business here, and there's this posh restaurant around the corner I would like to take you to, no pressure though." I thought for a moment. I was direct in return to his poignancy, telling him that I don't want to accept his offer and imply anything further. He was understanding, generous, and kind. "No pressure." He kept saying. Anyway, the restaurant was right next door on a busy street and not less than 4 hrs earlier someone I had met gave me the wise advice to never turn down an invitation for food. 

When we sat down to order, I took one look at the menu and my jaw dropped. He asked me what I wanted, and feeling slightly uncomfortable at choosing between such expensive things (and truthfully wanting all of it), I told him to choose for me. Well, he didn't really. Instead he said, "we'll have two of the 5 course meal you have here." Jaw dropped again. But cheerfully, of course. Even though he and the waitress spoke Norwegian, he insisted on speaking only English while I was around, and I felt grateful for his consideration.

Thanks to Arne, that was his name, I delighted my way through long and meaningful conversation - complete with impressions of Sean Connery, Clint Eastwood and even some singing, while we both childishly played at being "posh" for the night. And oh the seafood! Some of the most tantalizing seafood I have eaten. Octopus! Eal! Cod! Delicious stuff that was completely new to me just because of the unique Norwegian methods of preparation and the fresh flavor. At the end of dinner, and practically closing down the place, Arne was a perfect gentlemen by walking me to a taxi and paying the cost to send me on my way.

Such generosity, and friendship truly is touching. Even on bad days, or days when I don't give a damn. Countless people have been kind to me and generous. I try to pay homage to them in this blog by recognizing the beauty in their souls that is expressed through their generosity, but I really am only touching on the amount of people. Sometimes they pass quickly in and out of my life so that I can't learn their names, but I try. The generosity has been so touching that a few days after dinner with Arne, when  I befriended a cafe clerk who, upon parting, sent me on my way with all of the leftover pastries of the day - I cried as I walked out the door. A happy, grateful cry. In Norway I have hardly been able to afford food, which I had not anticipated. And this 20-something man just gave me enough pastries for 3 meals.

The luck of bird shit does not come short of the delivery of friends and food. Alas, disgusting seagulls - my deliverers it turns out!

The rest of my time in Norway was somewhat of a rush. While leaving the hostel in Oslo, I twisted my ankle with all of my backpack weight pulling me down harder than a normal fall. It would have just been a stagger for walking crooked. Now, my ankle is wrapped and due to that, and not being able to afford a tour, I have been quite limited to what my day has been full of.

Luckily, the pain didn't kick in until after my long day in Lillehammer, Norway. There I stayed with a sweet Norwegian girl named Helle. She was kind enough to take me in for two nights, and help me to get where I needed to be. Staying with Helle was like staying on an old friends couch, or a buddy that I see often and feel right at home with. 
The morning of my one and only full day in Lillehammer, Helle took me in her car to the bus station as a meeting point. Once I was left on my own, I learned quickly that to access any of the hikes I was interested in doing, I would need a car. "Buses don't go there" the information desk lady told me. It was unfortunate, but I was also relieved, because I started feeling like my body was tired again. My head was heavy. 

Instead of my original plan, I hiked from the bottom of Norway's largest lake, to the top of Lillehammer's 1994 Olympic ski jump. From far away the ski jump looked like a green slide made for a giant, or aliens, or God, and it was sitting with fields of hay at the foot of it that made it look like the slide went into a sandbox. On my walk up the road twisting and turning I started to hear the sound of water off in the woods behind the guardrail. Curious of course, I jumped the rail and started off into the woods. After only a few minutes of searching I came across waterfalls on waterfalls on waterfalls. Untouched! Although there was the occasional old tent stuck in the trees - of course locals must know about this - there was still the river and it was left as is, despite all of the surrounding development beyond the woods. There was no bike or walking path - no path at all. I climbed up the side of the waterfall. Testing my feet on the rocks so as not to slip. I slipped at a freshwater stream only two days earlier and was stuck in cold damp pants the rest of the day. We will not be fooled again Mother Nature!! When I reached the top of the waterfall I felt triumphant! I looked around, sat, and listened to the water. How soothing it is to listen to water rushing, falling, landing, and doing it all over again thousands of drops per second. I sat with my feet hanging over the edge and enjoyed the scenery until I couldn't sit anymore. Little did I know, my little nature hike would be followed by a 936 step hike to the top of the 1994 Olympic ski lift (its important in Lillehammer to always mention that it is the 1994 Olympic ski lift, not just a ski lift.) From there, after sitting and reading a book at the top while professional skiers practiced their jumps, I enjoyed a brisk run down the mountain and back to Norway's largest lake (also important to mention that it is Norway's largest lake, not just a lake.) I didn't learn until the pain kicked in later that I was running and hiking on a damaged ankle. 


At the end of the day, Helle picked me up and we had pizza and watched a movie. It really was like hanging out with my old buddy - and so relaxing because of it!

The next day I left early to journey from Lillehammer - Oslo - Bergen.

On the 5am train I slept.

On the 8am train, I slept some more. In fact I sprawled out on two seats and pretended like I was a sleeping giant.

I was awakened suddenly, when something in my mind said "get up! get up!" I sat up instantly, took a look around, and when I looked out the window there it was. Fjords upon fjords, and a glacier in the distance. I could see the snow caps on top of these colossal perfectly formed stone piles. Some of the patches of snow reflected the sun so brightly that I couldn't tell if they were lakes on the sides of mountains or leftover snow.

It was breathtaking. I tried to soak it all in, as I definitely wouldn't be able to afford a tour once I arrived in Bergen on the west coast of the country.

[My internal alarm must know when I want to be awake for something.
I learned later that immediately after my train had passed, there was a dynamite explosion on the tracks and all other trains for the day were detoured 2.5 hours on bus. It was at exactly the time I had awakened that the explosion occurred 2 hours away. Three rail construction workers died. No passengers or civilians were harmed, as trains were not passing through at the time. A terrible tragedy from a faulty dynamite. Thank God that it was an isolated incident, the deaths could have been far greater if a train were passing through. The death could have been mine, if my train were passing through. When I heard the news my heart pounded and my next breath was deep - I felt immense gratitude for it, followed by sadness for these men and their families.]

At 4pm I arrived in Bergen. I learned from the information center that, I was right, I definitely wouldn't be affording any tours. What would have been 50pounds in England, or 30Euros in Greece, was 1400 Kroners in Norway. It was unfortunate. I had gone to Bergen to do hikes, tours, see glaciers and fjords - with a bum ankle and an empty wallet I was limited to walking around the cobblestone fish market town. I was grateful that I took the 6 hour train to the town because that was the best tour I would have afforded, and free with my rail pass.
It was not so unfortunate to be forced to stay in Bergen. It is a beautiful town stacked in layers on the hills, and pouring into the sea where countless boats dock for fjord tours, and boat travel. The buildings are close together, different colors, and the year-round "fiskmarket" is held in tents in the city center for all to see... and smell.

After gaining hindsight, I realized that the universe was giving me a real gift. Sitting around and doing nothing in a beautiful seaside town in Norway! I had been exhausted, I had been worried, I had been in pain - and now all of that is gone because I have nothing more to do than to care for myself, sleep, do what I like on a slow-paced day. And also be reminded of the gift of life that I have, while some people lose theirs in tragic accidents. My diet has been restored by eating very little (due to affordability) and now, in the next week, when I am back to paying semi-regular prices in Sweden, Finland, Estonia, and Russia, I will not feel so stressed. I am finishing writing this entry from Stockholm Sweden, and already I have no stress, feel completely rested, and thanks to an ankle brace and taking it easy, I almost have no pain!

Norway really was a place to remind me of generosity, and humility. There had been times before when concern for money left me hungry, but never to the degree that I experienced these last 9 days. Even so, I had only a glimpse into that world. The world where people are always worried, always begging, starving. I noticed in many countries like Norway, Greece, Turkey (and a few other places) that beggars and gypsies are given money more frequently, rather than treated indifferently or looked down upon. People see them and know in their hearts I have a coin, and this woman will surely starve herself before her children. She could live with my coin and die without it. Maybe it's not that grandiose... but then again, maybe it is - and I have seen a great amount of generosity in the last month. In New York, it is common to see a mentally ill person in the street, or an addict begging for money - for that reason the approach to the homeless there is drastically different. People are often cautious or indifferent. I'd be more likely to call 911 for someone than give them money. I'd be more likely to give them food or talk to them than give them money. My mom - with her big heart that she inherited from her smiling loving parents - she goes by the rule of keeping Dunkin Donuts gift cards in the car for giving out. They are chains that only serve food and non-alcoholic beverages. The same with Subway. In Norway and Greece those aren't as big concerns. The concern is getting fed. Surviving. Even surviving to the point of being able to live a little.

Norway, in nutshell, is grandiose in its natural design, but humble, and generous in its people.

Add this to the "Revisit" list, underneath Morocco.


Saturday, July 26, 2014

Dublin, Ireland

From the moment I sat on the Aer Lingus flight from Boston to Dublin, my natural draw to people was on fire, and attracted kind people to me. On the plane I sat next to a woman, who I would classify as your typical suburban British woman. Ever see a Ricky Gervais show or movie? Well, she was the leading lady; witty, empathetic, comedic (the British sort) and of true grit. We talked about British shows we both liked, and how British humor is better than American humor because of its wit, and truth. I could tell right away that she was a warm person. She gave me advice for my UK travels, laughed with me about poppy cock, and was downright offended by the general idea that Americans have a food called "London broil." With every "t" pronounced, and a rising inflection, she said with her true Brit accent; "Its beef and gravy? And you named it after our capital city? Thas pure rubbish." We laughed a bit, and before parting she asked me if I had anyone in the UK to call in an emergency. I told her I had the U.S. Embassy. So she gave me her mobile number, and told me that it was in case I got arrested. I wondered for a second if, in the mostly silent 6 hour plane ride, that she deduced from my character that I may be a person who gets arrested. I assured her I wasn't that sort, and told her if I pass through Liverpool or Bermingham I would buzz her, and in return the next time she is in Boston on business I will treat her to a London broil and laugh at her mortified response to it - the rubbish.

Upon landing, I waited at the airport for a few hours until the bus system turned on at 6am. Waiting an hour or so to spend 6Euro on a bus instead of 30 on a taxi is just the beginning for me. We have to be choosey now.

My adventures begin in a city thriving in history and oppression. Parts of Dublin are like being back in Sol Madrid. Shops everywhere in the tourist areas so that it is almost like an outdoor mall. The cobblestone streets along the Temple Bar section is where all of the piss, and Guinness line the sidewalks during the day, and where live folk and rock music can be found at night. I wasn't able to check into the hostel to sleep until 3pm. So I locked up my bags, and from 6:30am until 3pm, I walked the city. It only took 3 or 4 hours to really see the whole of it. The section where I am staying is more rubbish than the tourist sections - not dangerous, but clearly somewhat trashier than the better kept parts of town - I didn't take to Dublin right away because of it. There are cigarette butts everywhere and it smells like the dry sweat of an Irish army. 

I never hesitated to tell anyone that I was from Boston. My plan for a lot of this trip was to say I am Canadian - I know I will need to in Central Europe because I have been discriminated against before for being American. I learned quickly that saying you're from Boston in Ireland gets you respect, because some people might even assume that you are Irish. They know that Boston is heavily Irish in history and they love it. Maybe thats why Boston is so resilient - Irish are certainly resilient. I learned a long time ago that foreigners know Boston better than New Hampshire, so i just don't bother with that unless they want to know more or we become friends.

After walking about I came and sat in the lobby of my hostel waiting for a walking tour to start. While I waited I met a kind Iranian family. I was drawn to them speaking Farsi on the couch next to mine. One was a young woman studying Middle Eastern conflicts for her PhD in Belfast, and the others were her aunt and uncle visiting from Norway. After much discussion on passions concerning the Middle East, good health, and the fascination of cultures - I was offered a place to stay in Belfast, and also in Oslo. I don't know that I will, but I was complimented by the generosity and smiles of this family. We continued to chat and exchanged emails before the tour started some time later.

On the walking tour we skipped around Dublin seeing some parks, memorials, the Irish Castle, and Trinity College where the library holds the book of Kells (the only Gaelic version of the Bible.) The castle looked like any Plaza Mayor you've seen or heard of, minus people, minus restaurants and stores, minus everything but blank walls and an empty square. Its deserted. The Brits built and the Brits left, so thats what you get. I learned that, while in Ireland, I should have a distaste for the Brits. They enslaved the Irish and sent them to the Caribbean, just as Americans enslaved Africans. I knew this already, but the way that our tour-guide, Rory, spoke about it brought light to the fact that when Americans typically think of slavery they think of black Africans. Ever heard of slavery and thought of a bunch of poor famished Irishmen? I suppose racism is engraved in us in that way. Imagine though, you are put on a boat not knowing where you're going and then you and the famished guy next to you end up working cotton fields in between beatings for the rest of your life. Although the separation of Ireland with Northern Ireland was meant to bring peace between the Brits and the Irish, it caused conflict within Irish traditions, tearing apart families to the point of them killing one another over disagreeing about right and wrong. Politics. Religion as well. Rory told us about how most Irish are against Israel in the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Not because of politics, he assured us, but because of murder and immorality - because Irish see themselves and their history in the anguish and suffering of others. In my own opinion Israel is comitting a genocide - after having slimly escaped their own in history it makes it ironically sad to me. I suppose history shows us that every powerful nation at least attempts genocide before peace. Gaza Strip is the most densely populated region in the world. Drop a bomb anywhere and its the end for many, whoever the many may be. Oppression is very powerful - I'm sure it has something to do with Israel's desperation to get rid of Hamas no matter the consequences of their inhumanity towards the civilians. I'm sure it has something to do with why Ireland has such a drinking culture. Everyone's gotta cope. Even now, the Irish feel strongly about their culture and what history has to do with modern Ireland.

For instance, Gaelic is a dying language with less than 15% of Irish speaking it. The correct way to say the Irish language is "Gail-gah" not Gaelic. Gail-gah or Irish. Essentially its because of the British banning of Irish culture during their rule that the language is dying. Irish who can speak Irish are the super Irish Irish. :-) Back then community meetings weren't allowed, which forced Catholic mass to operate underground for fear of punishment. It sounded communist almost, or an effort to genocide. Well, it was an effort to genocide. Funny how the world forgives and forgets the mistakes the most powerful nations have made - Britain, America, Germany, Norway, France, Spain, Russia, China, etc. The Vietnamese and Koreans have forgiven us and are kind people to us... But take the money from Europeans and start hostile takeovers of downtroden Middle Eastern countries during an oppressed time and that sort of shit puts you on most of the worlds' shit list. Places that are safe for Europeans to travel, like Cairo, or Saudi Arabia, are not safe for Americans according to the US 
State Department. Anyone here will tell you, its a lot more dangerous to travel as an American than someone else. Thats why its so important that I am passionate about understanding a people/culture. It sets me apart from the typical traveling American who ignorantly goes on a vacation just to drink and dance and eat away from home - plowing through anyone and everything, not asking questions, having the mentality of "who cares I'll never see them again." Well, you may never see them again, but you just helped solidify their opinion of Americans.

Rory passionately spoke as an Irish purist to us, and (clearly) it ignited my passions. Aside from his degree in history, it was apparent that he chose to lead free walking tours as a job so that he could share his passion and the "real" history of Ireland. The grit of it - the humanity.

Much like New York City, Boston, Paris, Munich, or any other major city you can think of - the real majesty of the country is in suburbia, outside of the city. Also, all of the best major cities have a lake, river, or ocean in/next to it (Paris, Budapest, Athens, Dublin, Boston, Miami, NYC, London, Beijing, Ho Chi Minh - and so on.) So I chose to cut my plans short in Dublin so that I will have one more day and night to experience what I want in the city. Then I willl leave Dublin and spend an overnight in Galway to hike the Cliffs of Moher and walk along the Atlantic Bergen. It will set me back by making my trip to Belfast longer, but I will see more and pay the same.

Rory told us on the tour that in the West are many Irish purists who work hard to preserve the language and culture. Even Irish who study 12 years of Gaelic in primary school are usually not fluent. Not to mention, listing "Irish" as one of your main languages, will not help you get a job anywhere. So the Irish westerners try to keep it up, to keep Gaelic from becoming a dead language. Just like any other culture, Rory said that people in the west tend to respect you more if you at least try to say some things in Gaelic. He taught us some phrases. All I remember is that "Slante" means cheers. I remember it because I heard it a lot at the bars.

I asked Rory if the cliche idea of Irishmen getting together, getting drunk, and singing Irish folk music was far from the truth. He told me to give him some beers and he would show me how true it is. Hah!
Foreshadowing of the night to follow - when I was walking to the pub later in the evening I saw a man in front of me peeing on the sidewalk. I have seen this a lot all over Europe. Except for this man wasn't pointing his peewee at the wall, he was aiming for the street and leaning against the wall. I thought, hey! You're doin it wrong! As he zipped his pants a woman walked past paying no mind and he said to her "oh fuck off!" which drew her attention. I liked her response when she said, "me fuck off? You fuck off!" And she kept on walking. I laughed to myself, lifted my skirt to my knees and took a large step over the stream and kept on going. That was my only negative experience of Irish people, even then I enjoyed it for a laugh.

Along the walking tour I became friendly with a lovely Sicilian woman. We talked about couchsurfing, and how she is going to meet her host after the tour. She invited me to a rock concert later in the evening as a couchsurfing event, to meet other hosts and surfers. I went.

An aside; couchsurfing (CS) is a website and community network of low budget travelers connecting and sharing their culture, language, and couch with others who want to do the same. Its a give and take, not immediately and not in any service, but overtime through community and gratitude. I will stay with you, and maybe we will be friends and maybe we wont, but when you have the time to travel and if you so happen to make it to my home town, I will do the same for you.

So now I'm at a pub for live music with these people who all met through the couchsurfing network. One thing I can say for certain, if you go to any Irish pub in the world, close your eyes and tell yourself you're in Ireland, and then open your eyes - believe it or not, you are in Ireland. Every Irish pub is the same, wooden panels, stools, the smell of beer everywhere, lots of beers on taps, samples of beers, green tapestries, and random framed whatevers all over the place with the occasional drinking slogan. Oh, and live music. In the group I met a few Italians, enjoyed speaking Spanish with a girl from outside of Madrid, there was a Nigerian man, and another man from San Diego. The band was American and played classic rock music - so I paid no mind to anyone else and did my hip-shaking foot stomping thing. Soon enough others were joining. It was a two piece sitdown band, like I had never heard before. One strumming all of the rock solos perfectly, and the other banging his head and singing better than any bar band I had ever witnessed. I felt right at home. The singer announced to the bar that he wanted the bartenders to bring him a Guinness. He got himself into a mess of trouble with that, because he was such a good singer that everyone in the bar was buying him Guinness. He had a stool of 4 pints sitting in front of him when he told everyone to fuck off with the Guinness. Literally, "fuck off with the Guinness already. Give me another and I'll fuckin kick you out. I'm serious" He drank two, gave another away to a handicapped man in a wheelchair, and then announced he was drunk. Fair enough, this was his second gig of the night, and first solo gig of the night. I know because we followed him barhopping from the two-piece band to the solo gig because he was amazing, and our group organizer knew him. After he told everyone he was drunk, the crowd roared with excitement. He then sang an Irish drinking song or two in between the Eagles and Thin Lizzy. An Irish song can be created, basically, by getting really drunk and depressed and singing your blues while clapping along. If you can mumble loudly with a drunken drawl, then you can get by during most drinking song choruses - da da die dah die dah die, la la lie, la la lie. Drinking is not my thing, but Irish pubs certainly are.

There is a music festival tonight in Merrion park next to Trinity college. I was invited again by the sweet Sicilian woman. I was also invited to pub crawl with a group of young people who met two years ago studying abroad in Germany. I might do both, one, or none. I would like to hear more local folk music, its fantastic. 

All in all, if it weren't for kind foreigners, or the Irish being generally friendly, fun, and passionate people, I might not have liked Dublin at all. So I'm ready to move on to where I not only love the people, but the environment. I think that will be Galway, and a suburban hike or two outside of Belfast next week.

Slante!