AngeLog

Irish road(s) rule(s)

Now if you’ve read my previous posts on Ireland you’ll know that we came across some funny road related things. Does ‘keep left’ ring a bell?

This post is my place to summarise the other funny road signs that I couldn’t find a place for anywhere else.

1. DEAD SLOW RAMP AHEAD.

Is this a ramp that is moving at a dead slow speed? This is how I first read it but I found it even more amusing when I read it in the way intended by the Irish road authority people. Imagine a sign not just asking you to slow down because there’s a ramp ahead, but wanting you to go dead slow. Say it in an Irish accent and it’ll be funnier. And anyway, technically wouldn’t ‘dead’ slow mean not moving at all?

2. Black spot area.

OK, doesn’t look funny yet but that’s because I haven’t put a snooker ball onto my post. That’s right, a sign warning the driver of a black spot area with a black snooker ball! Is that trying to say, ‘Careful, there’s a lot of good snooker players around these traps and they’ll take you for everything,’? Maybe not.

3. YIELD

Found at every roundabout. OK, not all that funny but it is slightly humourous when you come from a ‘Give Way’ sort of country. Say it ending with an exclamation mark and you’ll just, um, yield, so much attention.

4. Lismore. The sister city to Lismore in NSW.

We definitely stumbled across this one by accident. I had Darren Hanlon’s song Lismore in my head for the rest of the day. Only problem was that I couldn’t remember the postcode so each time it was sung with a different postcode. Such a versatile song. Maybe I’ll post a picture of the sign soon.

Anyone with an interesting road sign from around the world is welcome to leave their little bit in a post :)

Ireland. The funny country.

After two weeks of cold and rainy weather in London I dressed on Monday to be wearing as many clothes as possible. Why? No, not just because it should be cold, but mainly because I wanted my bag to be as light as possible for my cheap Ryan Air flight to Dublin. Fifteen kilograms max. I left Amy’s place for a powerwalk to the train station and realised that I had far too many clothes on. Wimbledon was over so of course the weather improved.

I changed at London Bridge station with heaps of time to get my connection to Gatwick. Only problem was that the connecting train was running five minutes late. No problem, I’ve got five minutes to spare. Ten minutes later the train arrived and it then proceeded to run even later, stopping to give way to other trains along the way.
I had to put a lot of effort into staying awake on the train. What did I do the night before? Can’t miss my stop. Stay awake Dreadful thoughts of the station being travelators or bus rides away enter my thoughts. I’m usually fine with missing the odd Qantas flight to Melbourne. They run every 30 minutes and are more than happy to just stick you on the next, but not at Ryan Air. I sprint out the doors and up the stairs two at a time (quite a feat with the load on my back… the load which I hope is only 15 kgs). I’m most impressed to find that the terminal is only at the top of the stairs and I get to the check-in counter with at least three minutes to spare. Fortunately my slightly flustered state must have been enough to distract the check-in guy from the 17kgs which displayed when I heaved my bag onto the belt with a thud.

The reason for being so flustered was partly due to Justine, my cousin with whom I was now travelling, was also late for the flight. I did my best to stall but there was no way of stopping those stubborn Ryan Air guys from putting up the ‘Desk Closed’ sign and walking away.

And then there was one. And then there was Dublin. On arrival at Dublin airport I got an sms from Justine saying that she’d be in at 2:30pm so I decided to make the most of the few hours I had to kill and take a trip into the city. I instantly got a taste of Irish friendliness when a guy saw me debating my coins and the bus ticket machine. He offered me what was remaining on his ticket – enough to get me to the city. Why is it that public transport away from airports is always to difficult? You either need exact change (with no way of changing notes anywhere nearby), a valid travelcard for the city (which isn’t available where the buses leave from), or you need to decide between paying $10 for the tourist city-direct bus, or otherwise risk getting lost on the standard bus which is a tenth of the price.

Anyway, I made the long trip into the city. I ended up only having enough time to briefly get a taste of the mall as well as a taste of lunch. I didn’t want to be late back to the airport because Justine and I had big plans for getting to Galway and exploring it that evening.

The express airport bus certainly is express so I got back to the airport with heaps of time to spare before Justine arrived. Luckily there’s a Vodaphone shop which didn’t charge me for using the net (had I known I would’ve spent more time there). Sometime between 3 and 4 in the afternoon we set off for Galway.

What a pretty drive it was. I wasn’t all that excited by the amount of driving we’d be cramming into a few days, but upon seeing the Irish countryside I realised that it would keep me entertained for much longer than the Australian bush can. Galway was lovely and we had a pretty good dinner of fish, chips and mushy peas from a very unpretentious but popular shop on the main mall. We had a brief wander around in the morning along the water’s edge and past the Spanish bridge before setting off for a big day of driving around the Ring of Kerry.

This is when we really started finding things to laugh about in Ireland. The morning involved a relatively uneventful drive south through the outskirts of Limerick and through numerous other small and pretty towns. We stopped for lunch at a place called Castleisland rather than in the more touristy Killarney or Tipperary. Castleisland is one of many places where men in trousers and gum boots made us laugh. Why wear trousers if you’re doing dirty work? Very high standards. We also got our first taste of the Irish cuisine we’d been so looking forward to. No, that’s not sarcasm either. We found a little bakery in the main street which had excellent wholemeal bread (you’ve got no idea how good it is unless you’ve tried it), as well as pots of tea Irish style. ‘Tea for two’ is the equivalent of tea for six in Australia. Gotta keep warm somehow. Another funny part of Irish cuisine, at least at this bakery, was that they served their Shepard’s Pie with mashed potato.

Castleisland is the home of a sort of hardware shop called A Little Something for Everything (I *think* that’s what it was), and nearby was a pub called Chalky Whytey’s amusing because it’s our mothers’maiden name.

We approached the Ring of Kerry with the knowledge that no one gets around it without either being stuck behind a tour bus, or otherwise having to pull off the road to get past one driving in the opposite direction. No idea where the tourists were on this day because we didn’t pass a single bus (except for that one mini bus with three people on it… and it really should’ve known that you don’t drive in the middle of a narrow road when someone is trying to pass).

We observed most of the gorgeous scenery of the Ring of Kerry from the car but did make a brief stop in Waterville to take some photos and buy some postcards.

The end of the Ring of Kerry presented us with a lovely town called Kenmare where we thought about buying far too much wool, but instead came away with minimal amounts of mohair and lambswool. A lovely dinner at a pub later (more great brown bread and an average cider… why does it remind me of champagne?), we confirmed that we could still drive further before stopping for the night.

We aimed for Cork because it’s a big town where we should easily be able to find a room at short notice. After driving around Cork aimlessly as the sun really started to disappear, we decided to find out if there’s a boring Ibis to stay at. Justine decided that we would just ask a cab driver for how to find one and I made sure she was the one to do so. The cab driver she asked must be the friendliest person in Ireland. I watched the episode from a side street through the rear-vision mirror. A good five minutes and lots of hand signals later Justine runs back to the car. ‘Keep left!’ she says. Apparently the cab driver thought it was most important for us to ‘Keep left! Just keep left!’ to find the Ibis. So important that he even offered to lead the way as we followed. The journey ahead sounded like a treacherous one. Turns out that we kept a little TOOOO left because we needed to stop to ask another nice Irishman for details. This guy was so friendly that he leaned into the car to get the pen and paper from me and then proceeded to draw a map. This time we found it, checked in and headed back to the city for some emailing at a 24 hour net cafe seen advertised on a tourist info board. We had only been stopped for a moment to check the address on the board when another helpful Irishman asked if we needed any help. More hand directions and thankyous later and we were there. The rest of our trip around Ireland was spotted with commands to one each other to “Keep left! God almighty, just keep left!”.

We wandered around the city in the morning for breakfast (potato bread from Marks & Spencer) and hit the road once again. After studying the map we worked out that Youghal (Justine’s favourite town) wasn’t all that far away. It’s a pretty little coastal town with a main street which is one way (Lonely Planet describes the city with the line ‘You’ll miss it if you come from the wrong direction’). Justine bought some tack (tacky souvenirs) and we were once again on the road, this time headed for Cashel and its famous castle.

Now that I mention ‘on the road’ I should also mention that I was reading Jack Kerouac’s novel On The Road at the time… in fact I’m still supposedly reading it but I’m not even half way through. It really doesn’t do it for me. But more on that later.

The roads we took between Youghal and Cashel were beautiful. Narrow roads that hugged steep green rolling fields, beautiful little but bustling towns and goats that grazed on the edges of the roads – very narrow roads. At one point I was in the passenger’s seat bent over getting something from the floor. Justine slammed on the brakes and I tilted my head forward to see a goat (or was it a sheep) less than two metres from my face. Some choice words came out of both of our mouths as the goat-sheep galloped off the road.

Cashel isn’t very exciting. We stopped for lunch and wandered up to the castle anyway. Considering that seeing any more than one side of the castle would’ve involved some expense and an hour of our time, we instead focused on Hore Abbey which is just down the hill (mostly because its name makes us laugh). We took some sultry photos near the Hore Abbey sign and then hit the road again.

Somewhere between Cork and Cashel we passed a bus with an ad on the back of it for a factory outlet in a town called Rathdowney. We were particularly excited by the words Pringle and Joseph on it. We decided we had time on our way back to Dublin to make a diversion to this place. Two hours, several sheep and one Joseph skirt later we left. Oh how I love my cashmere. Lugging our load of shopping from the hire car to our hotel in Dublin was quite some effort, but surely amusing for passers-by.

Markets galore

I’ll make this post really really brief. I know you’re all dying to hear about Ireland and what made it so damn hilarious. But first some news from the best of London’s markets.

Amy and I got up bright and early (well, maybe 8 or 9) to make the trip to Portobello Road Markets. It was here that I discovered fantastic clothes which I could actually afford. I bought a crazy bag from a crazy Japanese lady, and an even crazier jacket which I’m still working out how to wear. No room here to describe everything I bought, but next time you see me you can probably count on the fact that I’ll be wearing something bought that day.

We met my cousin Justine at the markets. She’d just arrived in London fresh from that wonderful 24 hour flight. And straight to the shops. That’s the way.

We’d reached the far end (the antique end) of Portobello Road by mid afternoon and stumbled across a fantastic looking cake shop. It was the Alannah Hill of the cake world with pink walls, cupcakes that looked like something plastic from a dolls house and giant cheesecakes and chocolate cakes under glass lids. I never knew a cupcake could taste so good.

Saturday was my last chance to see the BP Portrait Prize at the National Portrait Gallery so we dragged our tired bones to the other side of town for a quick viewing. We all agreed that the winning portraits didn’t excite us very much but that there were a few good ones in there including one by an Australian Ralph Heimans. You can have a look at it here. My favourite of the exhibition was probably the self-portrait by Mark Roscoe which you can have a look at here. The exhibition is a bit like Archibald really, right down to the popular voting opportunity.

That evening Amy and I (after ordering in some excellent Indian) took off to yet another end of town to see a local band play. The venue was the Half Moon in Putney and the band was Second Sun. I was quite surprised at how good they were. I don’t go for that indie-rock style of music so much these days, but seeing them made me realise that there are many bands which could be the next big thing… it just takes a good marketing campaign to make it happen.

We were kicked out of the pub at precisely midnight and proceeded to race to the station for the last train. The train was packed with jubilent people heading home, or maybe just somewhere else, after a night out. Not long before we were due to change trains a guy in a kilt came into our carriage and began playing the bagpipes. The bagpipes make such a horrible sound but in a train full of happy people it couldn’t have been more fun.

You’d think by Sunday that we’d be all marketed out. Oh no. Not when they’re this good. You may remember me going to Spitalfields markets on the previous Sunday. Well this Sunday we returned to finish the place off. My Spitalfields highlight for this particular visit probably had to have been the coconut. Yes, once again my travel blog is being dominated by food, but does anyone really mind? For a pound or two a nice gentleman with a big sword lopped the top off a coconut and a put a straw in it. Lovely.
We wandered around a little aimlessly. I had started to think that the weight of my bag was catching up with my body weight, and that my savings balance and credit balance were becoming the inverse of what they were a few weeks earlier. So I bought a very cute stripey dress for Maxie and a Japanese Radiohead album. Amy* bought a very funky and weirdly folding bag made of gorgeous Japanese fabric. I’d convinced her the week before to think over whether she needed it, so the decision only took another 20 minutes or so ;)
*Note: This is the girl who counted her shoe and bag collection for me and both counts were around 30. Keep in mind that this collection really only goes back 18 months to when she moved to London.

We met up with Justine again and headed across the road to a little caf� called S & M, or Sausage and Mash. Being the lover of mashed potato that I am, I was very excited to see the place. Good mushy peas too. It was mostly great except that I wasn’t nearly as hungry as I thought I was. Never a good idea to eat a big plate of stodgy food when all you really need is a slice of toast.

Amy and I decided to split up for a few hours with Justine following me back up to Portobello Rd to chat to someone at Rough Trade. I wanted to take advantage of all the exciting people and things I’d encounter overseas and so interviewing someone at Rough Trade about the store was one of them. Hopefully I’ll make it up into something for broadcast on FBi or anywhere else that’ll take it.

Justine and I then made a quick last stop at Selfridges because I didn’t want to leave London thinking that I should’ve gone back. There really wasn’t anything we needed to go back for so we got some perfume samples and a birthday present for Nicole then set off once again. This time for Wimbledon.

Yeah, I wish I was going to the actual Wimbledon but seeing that I didn’t book a year ago and have a few thousand pounds to spare, I had to settle for watching it on a big screen from a park near Tower Bridge. We found Amy there who had been to some sort of costume/fashion museum as well as another ex-Fox Studios employee Melissa, and her sister who had just arrived from Sydney too. We laughed at Amy for buying a silly souvenir from the museum. I can’t remember exactly what it was now… maybe an unpicker or a pair of those little sewing thread scissors. Whatever it was, we laughed while Amy tried to defend the usefulness of the object.

Oh yeah, and the tennis. The men’s final had just resumed after some rain when Justine and I had arrived. We were mostly distracted by conversation and didn’t watch much of the match between Federer and Roddick but did manage to see match point and then paid attention to the speeches. Sitting on the grass in lovely weather by the Thames and the Tower Bridge (not the London Bridge as an American tourist called it when he asked Amy to take a photo of him in front of it), was simply lovely. I think I really started to appreciate the sun when it came out from behind the clouds in London, but I do much prefer taking it for granted in a Sydney summer.

Italian dinner nearby where I spent most of the time in silence looking from a person at one end of the table to another as they discussed the finer points of daytime soapies. Possibly The Young and the Restless. Oh dear.

Once again we didn’t manage to have an early night. I interviewed Amy about what it’s like to be a primary school teacher in London, but other than that I don’t know where the evening went. Once again I’ll blame it on being fooled by too many hours of daylight.

I got up early the next morning to pack for Ireland and I even had enough time to run up to Sainsbury’s for a last potato bread and eggs breakfast. Mmm.

I obviously lied when I said I would make this post short.

Last of London

Friday July 2nd is the last day I have in London on my own. So much to do. So little time. With Amy’s Globe Theatre membership card in my hand I headed to the Globe for a free guided tour. I highly recommend this one. Lots of interesting facts to learn about the Globe. Did you know that they were only allowed to have a thatched roof (banned in London since the great fire of 1666) after agreeing to have sprinklers installed in the roof, fire-resistant material between the roof and the people sitting below and a fire crew on duty for every performance? Or that the seating on the top floor was often used by prostitutes? Well now you do and there are many other exciting things to learn too.
There’s also a exhibition about Shakespeare and the Globe but my time was too precious to do anything but a quick lap around.

I then headed back to the Tate Modern (only a few minutes walk away) to do the 5th floor that I didn’t have time for when there with Peter. Overall I’d have to say that I preferred the 3rd floor. On the 5th floor I came across a most perplexing installation of two cylinders of light which one could walk into. The larger of the two had a light that changed from pinkish white to bluish white. The smaller cylinder had a warmer white light. I didn’t think much of it until I walked out of the cylinders and into the room and the walls were pink. I thought it was interesting to have pink walls in an art gallery instead of white. I had a last look in the cylinder and when I came out the walls were white again. I’m still confused about what was going on because I couldn’t get the walls to be pink again. Maybe I was just imagining all of it.

I left the Tate Modern to catch the Damien Hirst (so called because he decorated it in big colourful spots) Tate-to-Tate ferry. The original Tate is quite magnificent. It has a whole section devoted to Turner including a room upstairs devoted to materials from teaching he did at the Royal Academy as Professor of Perspective (I wonder if such a position still exists). All lines, angles and circles. This room was empty except for the security guard.

Somehow the day was almost over and I had to get back to Amy’s soon as we had tickets to see the Beta Band that evening at Brixton Academy. I quickly check email then stop at the Borough Food Markets near London Bridge en-route to Amy’s place. London Bridge is a damn big station. Almost every time I was there I exited a different way. As I rode up the huge escalators I had my fingers crossed that I’d come out at my favourite exit but no such luck. I take a punt on which direction to head in rather than waste time looking at my London A-Z. I don’t recognise where I am but I wouldn’t dare risk my pride by asking someone for directions in London. I overhear somebody else asking for the direction to the Tate and realise that I’m heading in the opposite direction. Oops.

I finally get to the pretty flower shop I’d spotted in the morning just as they were closing and grab some tulips for Amy (we’d previously discussed how horrible we both find mixed bunches of flowers). I then make a quick stop at the fish market next door to get a snapper for the feast I was to make that evening before having a quick wander through the food markets as they were closing. I was sad to not have been there when everything was open but it was probably best for my bank account that I wasn’t.

As I was boarding the bus at North Greenwich station to get to Amy’s place she calls me to tell me not to rush because the Beta Band has been cancelled. What? Due to nervous exhaustion of one of the band members she says. Nervous exhaustion before they’ve even played the gig? Interestingly enough, I’ve just read on their website that it was cancelled because Steve Mason lead singer and guitarist had a sprained wrist. Who is to know? After our rage died down we both realised that we were exhausted and a night in wasn’t such a bad thing. Especially when we had such a big weekend planned ahead.

Oh and yes, the snapper was excellent ;)

Tuesday 29th – Friday 2nd

Currently at Tokyo airport awaiting a connecting flight but more about that later. Back to where I left off.

Going all the way back to my second week in London now. On the Tuesday I decided to fit in yet another gallery, this time a Tracey Emin exhibition at a gallery off Bond St. Unfortunately it was closed for a private function so I wandered up and down the street window shopping because I was too scared to go into the expensive stores. The Vivienne Westwood store was particularly appealing but I was strong and kept walking.

I instead headed over to the British Museum via another Muji store where I bought yet another item of Muji clothing. Amy introduced me to Muji and I’ll take it over Top Shop any day.

I went to the British Museum specifically to see an exhibition of Alexander Walker’s private collection. I think the story goes that he was a highly esteemed film reviewer for a London newspaper and also a avid art collector. When he died he left all of the works to the British Museum. Nice guy. Great exhibition of mostly prints, drawings and watercolours.

I then headed back to the National Gallery for a wander around but once I got there I decided that I didn’t really have time because the tube strike was only an hour or so away and I need to get to Kensington to meet Chez. The tubes were packed thanks to a strike starting at 6:30 but I manage to make it across town before they stopped. Chez was late getting in from Wales due to extra traffic because of the strike so we didn’t meet until 8 or 9pm. In the meantime I had some dinner in a modern looking Chinese restaurant called Bowl and Stick (or was it Stick and Bowl?). The funny thing was that my dinner was served on a plate with a fork.

Chez was in the UK taking a group of about 60 of her music students on a world tour. I won’t name the school so as to protect her identity (so she can keep her job). Anyway, I met up with her as well as some of her other ex-students – Matt, Jeff and Nick. We got a cab over to Covent Garden and there was a lot to fit into the short time before the pubs closed at 11pm. We sampled beers at four different pubs before the final bell rang to tell us to go home. Home? No, the night was still young. And it’s not as if I spent the afternoon at an internet cafe working out what bus I could get back to Amy’s place around midnight or so. To make a long story (or is that a long night?) short I’ll just say that we danced along to bad music (`My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…‘), in a dodgy looking nightclub until it was so late that a cab was the only option. Purple monkey dishwasher indeed.

I didn’t quite realise that I had to get up so shortly after going to bed on Wednesday. I was heading off to a village called Harpole which is near Northampton to visit relatives. I was quite impressed with my skill of getting from the south east of London where Amy lives to Euston Station in the north without the use of a tube because of the strike. I risked buying some sushi for breakfast from Marks and Spencer and I wouldn’t suggest that anyone else tries it. I was picked up at Northampton station and then headed out to Altrope for lunch (where Diana is buried). Yes, the lunch was much better than the sushi.

Harpole is a lovely little village. There’s nothing like these villages in Australia. There’s only one road in and out of the village and everybody knows everybody else. And of course, no English village would be complete wtihout three bars. The house was a gorgeous 300 year old three story thing. We laughed at the fact that Australia doesn’t have any buildings over 200 years old. We went to the only decent pub in the village of the three. I tried Pimm’s which seems to be everywhere in the UK at the moment but wasn’t all that impressed. The fun began when we got into a cab to head to a nearby Italian restaurant for dinner. This wasn’t just any cab: this was Disco Cab. It was a black cab and I think the driver lived in the village. He loved his stereo and proceeded to pump out classics from Locomotion to Come on Eileen while flashing the interior lights on and off in time with the music. Maybe he needs to get out more.

I didn’t get much accomplished on Thursday after a late night and then a train trip back to London. I headed straight for Sainsbury’s for some potato bread and eggs. If only you could buy potato bread in Australian supermarkets. The afternoon went quickly and in the evening I met up with Geraldine, an old uni friend who is currently doing the working in London thing. She’s also doing the going to every festival in the UK thing. This included making me jealous of her weekend in Glastonbury. We tried to find a pub dinner but weren’t successful so we instead found a good Indian restaurant near London Bridge. Once again I found myself rushing to get the last train home even though we both agreed to have an early night. Ah well, that’s what holidays are for.

Friday was my last day on my own in London. Hard to believe I’d run out of time to do all that I wanted to considering that when Peter left, a week earlier, I didn’t know what I’d do with myself.

But that will have to wait until the next post because duty free shopping at Tokyo airport is calling. Stay tuned for some very funny stories from Ireland (`Murder, and I mean murder’) and a lovely few days in Paris. And of course more London. There’s always more London.