I hope I don't come across as insensitive, but I work in the airport now, and between that and living in a tourism-heavy area, I see my fair share of tourists, mostly American. I've always thought, and now, see that it is usually much better and makes things easier to assimilate with the culture and scenery in which you are traveling, rather than stick out like a sore thumb. With that in mind, I wanted to share a few tips for my fellow countrymen in how to better blend in.
1. When traveling to Ireland, it is obvious you're a tourist if you wear every piece of green you own with the novelty "The leprechauns made me drink it!" t-shirt you bought at Target last St. Patrick's Day. You're in Ireland, now, you see? We get it!
2. Those passport pouches worn around the neck. The horrible fanny pack (and by the way, if you must, call it a bum bag over in Ireland/UK or you'll be getting strange looks - "fanny" is slang for a part of the female anatomy!!!). They may be convenient, but I think it screams "I'm a tourist!!! I probably have my passport, a credit card or two and about $2000 in traveler's checks in here!!! Please rob me!!!" If you must, wear the passport pouch inside your shirt or jacket. I think that's it's intended purpose, anyway.
3. I realize that white socks are a staple of American athletic fashion, but in Europe, they're just plain tacky. If you are wearing shorts and playing basketball, okay. If you are wearing dress pants and loafers, go ahead and hang your head.
4. Baseball hats are fine if you're outside, otherwise, they're tacky and inappropriate. Seriously.
5. If you begin sentences with "Well, in the US, we do...." you're not going to get better service. You're in a foreign country. It's different. That's part of the experience, so embrace it!
6. There's no Splenda in Europe.
7. At the risk of offending, the upcoming election is a hot topic here, too. Try to avoid talking about it if possible. And, if for some strange reason you ever voted for a Bush, do not tell anyone - they'll think you're psychotic.
That pretty well sums it up. Please know that Americans still have a reputation for being some of, if not the most polite tourists, despite these petty embarassments, which is something to be proud of.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Signs
In Ireland, license plates follow a format: XX(the year the car was first registered, or to tell everyone how old the vehicle you're driving is)AA (the county abbreviation for the county in which the car was first registered) and XXXX (numbers). So, mine is 00D5something, something something, which means mine is a 2000 registered in Dublin first.
For some reason, even though I have known the county codes (most of them are the first and last letters of the county name, i.e. CE for Clare) for some time now, I still do a double take at Kerry's: KY. For a split-second, my first thought is that they're from Kentucky!
Another sign, or headline, rather, caught my eye last night. "Air Strike May Hit 90,000 Passengers." Perhaps it's because I'm American and read the words "air strike" automatically in the context of war, but I seriously thought for a moment that possibly 90,000 people might die from some sort of missile attack. Then I realized that it was in reference to the air traffic control staff going on strike in Ireland's three main airports, which could delay some flights for people. Yeah, slight difference.
For some reason, even though I have known the county codes (most of them are the first and last letters of the county name, i.e. CE for Clare) for some time now, I still do a double take at Kerry's: KY. For a split-second, my first thought is that they're from Kentucky!
Another sign, or headline, rather, caught my eye last night. "Air Strike May Hit 90,000 Passengers." Perhaps it's because I'm American and read the words "air strike" automatically in the context of war, but I seriously thought for a moment that possibly 90,000 people might die from some sort of missile attack. Then I realized that it was in reference to the air traffic control staff going on strike in Ireland's three main airports, which could delay some flights for people. Yeah, slight difference.
Friday, February 08, 2008
The cat is sitting on me
Which is why this will be short - it's hard to type with such a behemoth on your forearms!
I noticed it had been ages since I posted something. That's not so say that I haven't tried. I have about 4 saved drafts on here, all of which are too whiny and negative to put in public space but have probably provided some therapy for me in my writing them.
I have a dear friend who has been on lots of adventures in her life and has maintained enough balance in all of that to continue on a successful career path. I had, for a number of years, dubbed her my "fabulous New York friend." And then she moved again. But she's still fabulous. Anyway, she advised me ages ago that if I move somewhere I have to give it two years to really know if I can like it there. I've always remembered that, largely because she's made some big moves in her life and has found success along the way. Naturally, I'd want to follow suit. Not that I always adhered to it. In the context she advised that originally, I uprooted from DC after only 4 short months.
After moving back to Indy from DC, I was very resolute in my decision. For all its pros and cons, Indy was my home and would continue to be. Until, of course an Irishman named Tristan skipped into my life and became my husband instead of just the far-flung email pen pal I expected. Now I've been in Ireland for exactly 2 years, 7 months and 10 days. One of my cool friends from work back in Indy, KAJ, gave me a Daruma doll as a going away gift. The doll is just a head with exotically painted features except for the eyes. The idea is that you paint one eye on the doll when you begin your journey and paint the other one upon completion. I painted the one eye on exactly 2 years, 7 months and 10 days ago. In the meantime, the doll has collected dust, but never his second eye. I haven't forgotten about it or determined that he's to remain a cyclops. I just don't know if my journey is complete yet.
I had this idea that I'd get a job in Ireland, be settled and feel whole here. I've made friends, have a wonderful husband and cat and family, a comfortable home and work. I don't know that I want to move back to Indy. It's not that. I suppose I'm just waiting to paint on the second eye - even after my 2 year deadline. I'll keep you posted if some lightening bolt moment prompts me to paint the poor thing's eye on.
I noticed it had been ages since I posted something. That's not so say that I haven't tried. I have about 4 saved drafts on here, all of which are too whiny and negative to put in public space but have probably provided some therapy for me in my writing them.
I have a dear friend who has been on lots of adventures in her life and has maintained enough balance in all of that to continue on a successful career path. I had, for a number of years, dubbed her my "fabulous New York friend." And then she moved again. But she's still fabulous. Anyway, she advised me ages ago that if I move somewhere I have to give it two years to really know if I can like it there. I've always remembered that, largely because she's made some big moves in her life and has found success along the way. Naturally, I'd want to follow suit. Not that I always adhered to it. In the context she advised that originally, I uprooted from DC after only 4 short months.
After moving back to Indy from DC, I was very resolute in my decision. For all its pros and cons, Indy was my home and would continue to be. Until, of course an Irishman named Tristan skipped into my life and became my husband instead of just the far-flung email pen pal I expected. Now I've been in Ireland for exactly 2 years, 7 months and 10 days. One of my cool friends from work back in Indy, KAJ, gave me a Daruma doll as a going away gift. The doll is just a head with exotically painted features except for the eyes. The idea is that you paint one eye on the doll when you begin your journey and paint the other one upon completion. I painted the one eye on exactly 2 years, 7 months and 10 days ago. In the meantime, the doll has collected dust, but never his second eye. I haven't forgotten about it or determined that he's to remain a cyclops. I just don't know if my journey is complete yet.
I had this idea that I'd get a job in Ireland, be settled and feel whole here. I've made friends, have a wonderful husband and cat and family, a comfortable home and work. I don't know that I want to move back to Indy. It's not that. I suppose I'm just waiting to paint on the second eye - even after my 2 year deadline. I'll keep you posted if some lightening bolt moment prompts me to paint the poor thing's eye on.
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Portal to the Past
I'm careful not to write about work here for all the world to read. It would be very easy to, of course, and even though I don't flatter myself enough to believe that I have that wide a readership that I could actually really incriminate myself too much, just as soon as I take that for granted, I could actually turn into one of those people who gets fired for airing their place of business's dirty laundry out on the internet.
However, as this is such a fun and cute story, I don't think I risk getting myself into any trouble here by sharing it. As you know, I work in a medieval castle entertaining and serving at banquets. We welcome people into the castle and have a bit of a show to give the night some framework as we serve their dinner and perform music, all the while dressed up in costume for the medieval theme.
It's usually quite fun when kids come to visit. They're often so excited about being a knight or princess for the evening. Some even come dressed up for the occasion. Just a couple nights ago, we had a very inquisitive young man pass through our doors. As loads of people were filing in, he insisted on staying back so that he could ask "a very important question." Fortunately, his dad was accompanying him who explained that his son is convinced that we travel through a portal in order to go back in time to be a part of the castle. So, the little lad, who couldn't have been more than 5, managed to get out (although his brain was so actively going, his mouth could hardly keep up to articulate the words for him!) "Um, um, um, is there a door to the portal?" Thankfully, our seasoned, talented and ever so sweet butler didn't miss a beat. He replied that a gatekeeper lets us in every night.
Of course, if the little guy knew that the portal was a very boring dressing room where we shed our 21st century gear to don our velvet frocks, he could be disappointed. No need. He was so off in his own element that I don't think a) anything could've spoiled it for him, or b)that anyone could actually be allowed into his own little world to actually ruin it for him. I think a lot of very magical things happen up there!
Just a little fun tidbit. I hope the gatekeeper lets you into your magic portal today, too!
However, as this is such a fun and cute story, I don't think I risk getting myself into any trouble here by sharing it. As you know, I work in a medieval castle entertaining and serving at banquets. We welcome people into the castle and have a bit of a show to give the night some framework as we serve their dinner and perform music, all the while dressed up in costume for the medieval theme.
It's usually quite fun when kids come to visit. They're often so excited about being a knight or princess for the evening. Some even come dressed up for the occasion. Just a couple nights ago, we had a very inquisitive young man pass through our doors. As loads of people were filing in, he insisted on staying back so that he could ask "a very important question." Fortunately, his dad was accompanying him who explained that his son is convinced that we travel through a portal in order to go back in time to be a part of the castle. So, the little lad, who couldn't have been more than 5, managed to get out (although his brain was so actively going, his mouth could hardly keep up to articulate the words for him!) "Um, um, um, is there a door to the portal?" Thankfully, our seasoned, talented and ever so sweet butler didn't miss a beat. He replied that a gatekeeper lets us in every night.
Of course, if the little guy knew that the portal was a very boring dressing room where we shed our 21st century gear to don our velvet frocks, he could be disappointed. No need. He was so off in his own element that I don't think a) anything could've spoiled it for him, or b)that anyone could actually be allowed into his own little world to actually ruin it for him. I think a lot of very magical things happen up there!
Just a little fun tidbit. I hope the gatekeeper lets you into your magic portal today, too!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
I Do Not Heart The Beckhams
A bit of a departure from my normal ramblings of observation today to use this medium in order to vent. I don't know how you feel, but I for one am so sick and tired of David and Victoria Beckham that it pains me to give them the validation of even more internet space, not to mention my energy. I probably have to endure more reports about them on this side of the pond than my American friends and family, due to the dominance of British media (of which they are the darlings, miles before the Royal Fam) over here, but I have a feeling that the Beckhams will have worn out their welcome in America before David has the chance to don a Galaxy jersey.
I was sick of hearing about this famed couple shortly after I moved here. They were living in Spain, David Beckham playing for Real Madrid. Victoria "Posh" Beckham is plastered over every magazine in print over here as if she actually contributes something to society by wearing a different Gucci ski suit in every snap of their weekend ski trip. Her Spice Girls past and marriage to the soccer hero seem to have earned her some sort of invinceablity status. Barf. Then David Beckham announced he was signing a contract with the LA Galaxy and the couple were on their way to the Hills. Yay for them. This dominated news here for the few weeks surrounding the announcement. I'm not kidding. It was the headline, the lead story and the biggest use of ink. Part of David's announcement included his excitement to "bring football to the kids in America." Double barf.
This is probably the reason I'm the most irritated by this whole saga. It's not the obvious cry for attention by yet more rich people who aren't content enough with their current riches and fame. It's not the fact that I speculate this was more so that Victoria Beckham could rub noses with the Hollywood elite and have better shopping than a career move for her husband. It's all those things under the thin veil of martyrdom David Beckham uses by pretending to be some sort of soccer missionary. Reporters glommed onto this idea that David Beckham would be "educating" the American public by putting a more recognizable face on soccer, which is, outside America, the most popular sport in the world. The thing is, what they failed to distinguish in any of these "news" reports was that probably more American children play soccer than in any other country in the world. It's professional soccer that never took off. I'm pretty sure the infamous title of "Soccer Mom" wasn't an arbitrary moniker, and it doesn't refer to the likes of Victoria Beckham. And after watching enough scenes of how professional soccer fans act like gangs and delight in beating the crap out of each other just because of who they support, it's no wonder the fervor hasn't spread to the states. (And thank goodness, in a country where the president of the NRA may as well be a cabinet position.)
I was sick of hearing about this famed couple shortly after I moved here. They were living in Spain, David Beckham playing for Real Madrid. Victoria "Posh" Beckham is plastered over every magazine in print over here as if she actually contributes something to society by wearing a different Gucci ski suit in every snap of their weekend ski trip. Her Spice Girls past and marriage to the soccer hero seem to have earned her some sort of invinceablity status. Barf. Then David Beckham announced he was signing a contract with the LA Galaxy and the couple were on their way to the Hills. Yay for them. This dominated news here for the few weeks surrounding the announcement. I'm not kidding. It was the headline, the lead story and the biggest use of ink. Part of David's announcement included his excitement to "bring football to the kids in America." Double barf.
This is probably the reason I'm the most irritated by this whole saga. It's not the obvious cry for attention by yet more rich people who aren't content enough with their current riches and fame. It's not the fact that I speculate this was more so that Victoria Beckham could rub noses with the Hollywood elite and have better shopping than a career move for her husband. It's all those things under the thin veil of martyrdom David Beckham uses by pretending to be some sort of soccer missionary. Reporters glommed onto this idea that David Beckham would be "educating" the American public by putting a more recognizable face on soccer, which is, outside America, the most popular sport in the world. The thing is, what they failed to distinguish in any of these "news" reports was that probably more American children play soccer than in any other country in the world. It's professional soccer that never took off. I'm pretty sure the infamous title of "Soccer Mom" wasn't an arbitrary moniker, and it doesn't refer to the likes of Victoria Beckham. And after watching enough scenes of how professional soccer fans act like gangs and delight in beating the crap out of each other just because of who they support, it's no wonder the fervor hasn't spread to the states. (And thank goodness, in a country where the president of the NRA may as well be a cabinet position.)
I recognize David Beckham's (I refuse to refer to him by his cutesy nickname of "Becks") athletic ability. But I really don't want to hear him wax philosophical about his move. If there's anything that obviously motivates this family, it's money. Moving back to his partner, my cynicism tells me that the latest announcement that the Spice Girls are reuniting is conveniently timed with Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham's move to a place that has evolved from 1996 far enough that they would need a reminder as to who she is. That's right, America, if you didn't already know, the Spice Girls are getting back together! Contain your excitement!!
Did I mention "barf" yet?
America needs the Beckhams like they need a few more Paris Hiltons. For the first time, in one of the lead stories about the couple's move, the reporter actually acknowledged that Americans do enjoy a number of their own professional sports already. Wow! What an epiphany! Too bad the story (which included nothing new) had to take top billing instead of the actual world events that had taken place that day (the plane crash in Brazil among them). So much for priorities. I only hope that maybe the move means I'll have to hear less about them over here. However, given that one of the favorite story angles over here is how "so-and-so" went to LA and made it, I have a feeling this is just the beginning...Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Welcome Summer(?)
It's the last week of June and our third week of solid rain. Outside it's overcast every day. We got a brief glimpse at the sun Sunday afternoon, but I commented on it, thereby jinxing it and sending another deluge of showers. My poor flowers out front are now actually too waterlogged and cold to bloom.
The first week of the month was toasty. Low 80's every day and very sunny. I remember commenting that it was going to be a long summer. Even though the low 80's doesn't sound very warm, the fact that the days here are so long in the summer and virtually no place has air conditioning can make one long for a cool breeze. I even said I might have to invest in a fan for the house. Ha! Global climate change went and smacked us in the face once more and we've been bundling up ever since.
Actually, if truth be told, I don't really mind this weather. This time of year makes me slightly homesick because it was two years ago that I moved. It's a bittersweet thing, really. And one thing that I'll always remember about the move is the weather. We were having one of those classic Midwest heat waves - you know, mid 90's with air so heavy you could scoop it up and put it in a jar. My parents' air conditioning conked out just a couple days before my move, which added to the experience. And the day before I moved, as I was racing in and out of places like the BMV to get my new driver's license in my married name, we were bombarded by a massive summer thunderstorm. It was one of those that was so strong you couldn't hear the radio in the car because the rain was so hard on the roof.
Weather is a funny thing. We really do mark our days by it. The Irish are quite accustomed to summers like we're having now, minus that week of sun and warmth at the beginning of the month. When I would comment during our warm spell that we could be in a for quite a warm summer here, my tone was twinged with a bit of whininess. But the response I'd get was almost always the same: "Please God!" Global warming is both a concern and a delight to the Irish who are experiencing and clinging onto warm, sunny summers quite often now, unlike the colder, overcast summers of the past. Hot, sticky summers were one thing I was happy to leave behind, however.
They say the weather will break. In some ways I hope it does. The air is heavy with all this humidity and it really does make nearly everyone a bit sluggish. And a few weeks of flip-flop wearing weather are always welcome. I hope that it doesn't break into a full-blown Midwestern America-style summer, though. Watermelon and corn on the cob are far too expensive here for that!!!
The first week of the month was toasty. Low 80's every day and very sunny. I remember commenting that it was going to be a long summer. Even though the low 80's doesn't sound very warm, the fact that the days here are so long in the summer and virtually no place has air conditioning can make one long for a cool breeze. I even said I might have to invest in a fan for the house. Ha! Global climate change went and smacked us in the face once more and we've been bundling up ever since.
Actually, if truth be told, I don't really mind this weather. This time of year makes me slightly homesick because it was two years ago that I moved. It's a bittersweet thing, really. And one thing that I'll always remember about the move is the weather. We were having one of those classic Midwest heat waves - you know, mid 90's with air so heavy you could scoop it up and put it in a jar. My parents' air conditioning conked out just a couple days before my move, which added to the experience. And the day before I moved, as I was racing in and out of places like the BMV to get my new driver's license in my married name, we were bombarded by a massive summer thunderstorm. It was one of those that was so strong you couldn't hear the radio in the car because the rain was so hard on the roof.
Weather is a funny thing. We really do mark our days by it. The Irish are quite accustomed to summers like we're having now, minus that week of sun and warmth at the beginning of the month. When I would comment during our warm spell that we could be in a for quite a warm summer here, my tone was twinged with a bit of whininess. But the response I'd get was almost always the same: "Please God!" Global warming is both a concern and a delight to the Irish who are experiencing and clinging onto warm, sunny summers quite often now, unlike the colder, overcast summers of the past. Hot, sticky summers were one thing I was happy to leave behind, however.
They say the weather will break. In some ways I hope it does. The air is heavy with all this humidity and it really does make nearly everyone a bit sluggish. And a few weeks of flip-flop wearing weather are always welcome. I hope that it doesn't break into a full-blown Midwestern America-style summer, though. Watermelon and corn on the cob are far too expensive here for that!!!
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
More Vocabulary Lessons
Here are a few more words to insert in your Irish-speak vocabulary, complete with definition and proper usage:
BANJAXED (ban'-jaxed): when one truly messes something up. "After getting his hand twisted around a drill while it was on, Tristan's hand was banjaxed for a week. It was so swollen, it looked like he was wearing a glove."
KNACKERED (nack'-erd): to be exhausted beyond recognition. "I was knackered after driving for several hours on country roads, the majority of the time spent behind a tractor."
CRAIC (krak): (Irish) good times, fun, enjoyment. "There was great craic in the pub last night - there was jokes and singing all night."
SESSION (seh'-shun): a period of entertainment or enjoyment; a period of music playing in a social setting. "There was a great ol' session on - an accordion, two guitars and a banjo played until the placed closed down."
BOG STANDARD (bahg stan'-derd): average, basic, plain. "There's nothing fancy about that restaurant, just bog standard bacon and cabbage."
Well, that concludes this edition of Irish vocabulary. I hope you enjoyed this bog standard entry and will go out an enjoy the craic this weekend. Don't get too knackered or banjaxed at the session!
BANJAXED (ban'-jaxed): when one truly messes something up. "After getting his hand twisted around a drill while it was on, Tristan's hand was banjaxed for a week. It was so swollen, it looked like he was wearing a glove."
KNACKERED (nack'-erd): to be exhausted beyond recognition. "I was knackered after driving for several hours on country roads, the majority of the time spent behind a tractor."
CRAIC (krak): (Irish) good times, fun, enjoyment. "There was great craic in the pub last night - there was jokes and singing all night."
SESSION (seh'-shun): a period of entertainment or enjoyment; a period of music playing in a social setting. "There was a great ol' session on - an accordion, two guitars and a banjo played until the placed closed down."
BOG STANDARD (bahg stan'-derd): average, basic, plain. "There's nothing fancy about that restaurant, just bog standard bacon and cabbage."
Well, that concludes this edition of Irish vocabulary. I hope you enjoyed this bog standard entry and will go out an enjoy the craic this weekend. Don't get too knackered or banjaxed at the session!
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