Oh Oslo

Have you ever been so frustrated that you are reduced to a crazed laughing fit? Oslo ripped out our souls & trampled them to a standardized pulp. And since its a country and not an actual opposing force, we could do nothing but sit back and decide to simply get thru the day & survive the barrage of horrific bad luck.

But Im not going to expand on all the bad things that happened. In a nutshell: food is ridiculously expensive (imagine paying 15 euro for a cruddy hot dog from 7 Eleven, because thats what we had to do), we missed a once-an-hour train by 10 seconds (literally watched the doors shut in our faces), got locked out of our hotel for 6 hours (when theres a specified check-in time, dont ever get there early), and lost Jons camera (left it on the 12 tram and spent the next hour and a half tracking it down). These are some of the worst things. The lesser things were just bonuses that Oslo decided were totally necessary to our trip. Like the heavy rain the entire weekend, making us move hotel rooms half way thru the night, and to top it all off the sun doesnt even set this time of year! Hell is an eternal day!

But we all agreed that once we were back in Dublin, we started to forget the pain. Like childbirth. Looking back through our photos, we started to remember just the good things: the way fresh pine permeated the air, photo bombing other tourists' pictures in the statue garden, cooking ramen noodles in a hot water kettle in the hotel room to save money. And of course our invented games of rubber-sock-umbrella golf/baseball in the park at midnight, under the gorgeous ever-lit sky. Raw boredom fosters creativity like nothing else can!

The biggest highlight of the entire weekend for us (other than rubber-sock-umbrella golf/baseball of course) was the incredible Norwegian fjords, and the trains getting there. We took the historic Flam Railway, which is said to be the most scenic one in Europe. And we think it truly must be! It starts in the snowy mountains of Myrdal, and takes about an hour to travel slowly back downhill to the town called Flam. On the way down we got to see serene nature, roaring waterfalls, and picturesque valleys. The town Flam itself is graceful in its tourist-trap position in life. At the mouth of Flam is the fjord called Nærøyfjord, on which we took a ferry to the other side.

Being inside the majestic fjords on a slow ferry was heart-stirring. The weather wasnt great for photos, but it was entirely something else in person. The boat ride was a long one, and it took us by innumerable waterfalls along the way. It was freezing cold, and we were the only ones on the boat to stay outside the whole time! We didnt want to waste the once-in-a-lifetime view looking at it all through some foggy glass windowpane.

Every minute I kept expecting & hoping to see a narwhal, or even a mermaid. The bottomless water was a darkly luminous green and navy blue. The carved mountain peaks loomed over us like so many imposing sentinels guarding something precious. The air was cold and clear, and deeply refreshing. Other than our ferry, the only other human life we encountered was a group of (super lucky) people on kayaks. We went away from this place happy to be alive, thankful to be together experiencing what Norway had to offer.

Overall I definitely think this trip was a big helping of bad, with a side dish of good. But sometimes even that little bit of good can be great, and can carry over into the memories that will last forever. We will most likely never go back to Norway, but we are very glad we went at all.

People Smells & Memories

What does home smell like? It isnt something I can ever put my finger on exactly, and simply saying that home smells like hot weather and faded cigarette smoke doesnt really convey the feelings attached to these smells. Its like that friend whose house just smells that certain way, its just their "people smell", and when you walk in you know youre in the right place.

There are quite a few places on earth that when I park on the steep driveway of one, or pass the white fence on the way to another, I get that flutter of home inside. That indescribable gut instinct of wholeness and safety, and somehow it brings back that feeling of a carefree childhood. Sometimes certain sounds and smells can appear quite suddenly, and startle me into profound longing for a place called home. Ill get a heady whiff of cigarette smoke walking behind someone on the street, and I know its bad for my health, but I breathe in as deeply as I possibly can, and hang on to the scent for just a moment. And in that moment Im transported back in time.

When I was little, my family lived in Orange County, and we had relatives Up North in a place called Oakhurst. A few times a year Mom & Dad would wake everyone up before dawn, pile all four of us kids into our family van, and we'd spend the next 5 to 6 hours watching movies and driving up to the place that would eventually become home to us all. We all knew we were on the way to see Grandma, and Aunt Celia, and cousins, and everyone. The one landmark we always looked for was The White Fence. Once we saw The White Fence fly by the windows, we all started to yell and get really excited, because it meant we were almost there!

You already know that Oakhurst is a typical small country town. In the summertime its as commonplace to see rusty old pickups loaded with hay as it is to see colorful tour buses in the Raley's parking lot loaded with tourists. Its the kind of place where youll see sun-wrinkled old men wearing cowboy hats, because they are actually cowboys. If I myself had made one or two different choices at key points in my life, I too would have become a cowgirl competitively barrel-racing my Arabian/Thoroughbred cross named Freedom.

Home smells like memories I guess. And horseflies buzzing in hot summer air. And cigarette smoke from my Aunts kitchen. And sunburns. And Christmas turkey. And penny-poker nights in the living room with brownies. When we walked into our hostel room in Estonia, I was shocked by all these memories in my nose all at once. The cool, dark hallway had that lingering scent of someone trying to hide a habit. The room itself was overly, deliciously still and warm. The only sounds coming in from the window was a couple happy birds, a faraway hammer, and balmy wind through the trees.

Usually taking trips outside of Ireland invigorates us, and we come back to our apartment happy to be living here in Europe. But something about Estonia made us feel the opposite, as if we were flying back into the wrong airport. Like the right one is really thousands of miles away. Like we werent flying home.

Nice Knowin' Ya!

Hey California. I love you, you know that. But living in California can sometimes be like having a mean old dad who has no sense of humor, and doesnt like to see anyone having fun. Theres so many rules and laws about stuff, that its a small wonder we arent all locked up all the time. I feel like a lot of these crazy laws revolve around animals. You may not hunt moths under a street light, it is illegal to shoot jackrabbits from the back of a streetcar, and ducks have the right of way to cross Rancho California St. at all times. You also cant own ferrets or gerbils, because if they are let into the wild they'll turn rabid and start killing off the cattle or something. But they ARE legal in Montana. Isnt that where all the cows are? Y U SO CRAY, CALI?

Living in Europe however, is like having a sleep-over at your cool friend's house, and her mom lets you guys do anything you want. Sometimes we feel like this is what the 1940s or 50s must have felt like in the states. Its a simpler way of life here, slower paced and sleepy, where the children's toys might have lead in them, but they sure last a long time! Its like we have been transported back in time, and everyone trusts everyone, and nobody thinks the worst about the strangers around them. Even the Irish President Michael Higgins walks around town, WITHOUT a swat team or secret service or body double or anything! Just walks around!

I try to imagine Obama sauntering down any street in California, alone or maybe hand-in-hand with his daughters. Wearing a plaid shirt and high-water khakis, he stops in a store and buys a lollypop for one of them. He waves to the smiling barber shop owner, who's busy sweeping his front porch. I told you, its like being back in the 50s or something! Jon asked one of his co-workers if their President isnt worried about getting assassinated. With a confused look on his face, the co-worker asked Jon, "Why would someone want to hurt the President?" Isnt that sweet.

This general lackadaisical approach to life is great! Its freeing! Until you get home and open up that carton of eggs, and find a couple feathers and maybe even a little bit of poo on the shells. Or the milk you just bought yesterday has already gone bad, and leaves you wondering just how old it really was. Or youre eating at a nice restaurant, and a silky black cat walks by, apparently there to help keep down the rat population. Appetizing thoughts. I guess a lot of the time, that mean old Californian dad does what he does to keep you healthy and safe, as annoying as his stringent rules and laws are.

Far less important than thoughts of the President or national worries, theres this thing called a fish pedicure, where you stick your feet in warm water and all these little bitty fish suck the dead skin cells right off! It is (of course) illegal in California, due to health regulations that say for sanitation purposes, tools must be sanitized before and after each use by a patron. Well you cannot sanitize a living fish. Then it says you can use the fish, but the fish must be thrown out after every use. Well that would probably just open up a big ol' can of PETA whoop-ass, so they just made it illegal as a whole.

But yay for us, we are having a sleep-over in Ireland, and its totally ok here! Fish pedicures for everyone! The best part: its cheap at only 15euro for a half hour, plus you get a lovely foot gel to lash on afterwards! Whats that you say about infection? Mold? Cross-contamination and flesh-eating bacteria? Nah, we dont have to worry about that stuff here. Its Europe, darling!

Verdict: super terrifying!

We Dont Get That Channel Here

We have our blog listed on a website called expat-blog.com. Its basically an online community for people who have moved out of their native country to live in another. We are (of course) in the America-to-Ireland section, our blog listed right alongside a few others. Im never on that website, I just thought it would be cool to get my blog out there for other people who may be wrestling with the desire to move abroad. Hopefully my writing about our various trips and struggles encourages others to travel more, and have adventures that will create those forever-memories. It doesnt matter where you go or what you do, but every opportunity that arises to do something extraordinary should be leaped at and tackled immediately!

My whole life, Ive tried to live by the philosophy of "why not?" It applies to most situations. For example, we were in Brussels, and poking around cobblestone alleys trying to find this statue called Mannequin de Pis, which is a really funny statue of a little boy peeing into a fountain. On the way there, we saw a street vendor selling what looked like meatball soup. Upon closer inspection, I had to play my game: "Why not eat that? Because its snail soup, not meatball soup. Pass." Upon later reflection, Jon thinks we should have gone for it. Im ok with my decision to not contract salmonella, or whatever disease you get from eating boiled dirt and snail poop.

For a much larger and more personal example, a year ago we asked ourselves the very same "Why not" question when we were trying to decide what the next step in our lives would be. Should we have kids? Should we buy a house? At 23 and 25, we felt too young to be doing either, but didnt know where else to head. We were feeling a little stuck, a little suffocated, like our life together was so happy but so boring. And we both wanted more. After a going-away party for some friends, we started to ask ourselves why we werent the ones going away. And if we went away, how far would we go? Earlier, our friend Matt said he could see us living in Ireland. We laughed, but later that night we werent laughing anymore. Could we really move abroad? What about our families? What about kids, and that house we nearly bought? What about our dogs? What about our friends? What is Europe even like? What if we hate it? What if we get lost and scared? But then....Why not?

And so we did.

Now here we are, a couple months shy of a year living in Ireland, and we have no regrets. And we were recently given an opportunity to play my yet game again. She saw my blog listed on the expat-blog,com, and emailed me. Want to be on tv? she said. After searching her name on LinkedIn to be sure it wasnt a scam, I called her back. After all, why not?

Easter Bunnies in Holland

When we booked our hotel and flights to Holland, we were surprised at how expensive everything seemed compared to other weekend trips we've been on. Then we realized: it was going to be Easter weekend! The Netherlands are known for many things; Amsterdam specifically for it's seedy red light district, legal prostitution, and pot cafes. But when we thought of the Netherlands, we first thought Holland, windmills, tulips, and wooden shoes. We were not disappointed one bit! But we did stay away from the red light district. After all, if I want to look at boobs, all I have to do is look in the mirror.

To start our vacation right, and to see some quintessential Holland, we spent a day in Zaanse Schans, where there are real working windmills and old Dutch cottages! It was freezing cold out, with icy whipping wind chilling us to the core, but it was worth every second of nearly losing our extremities to frostbite. The sign inside the windmill said, "Enter entirely at your own risk!", at the base of the creaking staircase, but I guess you deserve to lose a finger or two if youre stupid enough to touch the machinery forcefully grinding away. So to the deafening sound of the wooden cranks & gear shaft, we carefully climbed our way to the top to see the view. The WOOSH-WOOSH-WOOSH of the windmill fans was powerful when standing right next to them. There are 8 mills there, and each one has its own name and function. The one we climbed to the top of was called, "De Kat" (The Cat), and was a working dye mill. Other mills made cheese, sawed timber, or refined oil.

We spent Easter Day differently. We woke up early, and had breakfast in Haarlem's sunny town square. The church bells rang every fifteen minutes into the warm blue sky, and we were serenaded table side by two older men: one with a trumpet and the other with an accordion. We then rode the a through Leiden to Keukenhof Gardens, which boasts that it is the "Largest Flower Garden on Earth". It is a lush, sprawling garden, covering nearly 80 acres of land! We spent hours there, looking at every shape and color of bulb flowers you could imagine! We were even able to take a narrated boat ride through the tulip & daffodil growing fields. We saw all sorts of native water fowl, and even a rabbit. It was a perfect way to spend Easter, celebrating new life and the Resurrection of Christ!

There's so much I could write about our trip to Holland, we loved the country so much! The architecture in Amterdam is surprisingly quaint, the narrow gables and roofs like so many gingerbread houses stacked crookedly together in long rows. The canals are used like extra streets, and bonus real estate. Lots of the floating houses roped to the stone bridges looked bigger and classier than our own apartment. Its an artistically leaning city, with pop-up art galleries, and really beautiful graffiti. I think the only other place Ive seen so many bikes and bicycle riders was in China. Public transport was a breeze, the pancakes were delicious, theres history down every canal. It was a great Easter weekend!

Secret Spots

I let my feet hang loose off the pedals for just a moment, and the bike coasted for a few feet before stopping. The silence of nature descended on my ears like a physical weight. I stood still while the light wind cooled my face, and I reveled in the moment. On my right two horses grazed quietly, and beyond them was the beautiful Atlantic ocean, sparkly teal in the full mid-morning sun. Up the gradual hills to my left rose countless rock hedges, put together with obvious attention to detail. No mortar was used in the completion, only simple stacking techniques probably passed from one generation to the next. Lines and lines of these archaic rock walls turned the landscape into a unique display of ingenuity. Ireland isnt known for their roaming tree groves after all, and is in fact one of the most deforested areas of Europe.

To Jon & I, the perfect vacation spot is somewhere out of the way. We've always liked places that feel untouched, as if we're the only ones who know the secret. Especially since living in the capitol of the country now, we crave the hushed atmosphere only found on the road less taken. The beauty of the Aran Islands is hard to caricature in words, and we both fell perfectly in love with the place. It's the kind of region that feels unspoiled by modern living, seemingly stuck in time where people hang their clothes to dry in the sea-breeze air, and rely on the family livestock to sustain you through a harsh winter.

Its easy to be romantic about a place like the Aran Islands, wild and almost frightening in its sincerity. We saw more cows than people while biking about all day. There's only two ferries a day from the island: one at 10am going in, and one at 5pm going out. Hard luck if you miss one. As we stepped off the ferry, it was jarring to be suddenly assaulted by about fifty men standing by their vans, forcefully hawking tours of the island to every passerby. For a minute it really felt like Mexico or China, where they never really leave you alone, and if you buy anything it only gets worse.

But once we made it through the gauntlet to the bike shop and payed our measly 10euro a bike, we were really on our way. The next five or so hours were incredible, and so relaxing. Jon & I decided we will definitely be going back to stay in a B&B. Our very favorite B&B is the Shaw House Inn in Ferndale, California, but the Aran Islands may become our Irish fave while we're here. Its definitely our little secret.

St. Patrick Approves This Message

People had hyped St. Patrick's Day for us to where we went to bed with feelings akin to Christmas Eve. The present was going to be the big parade, passing right under our window! Big Window Bonus #389: Front row seats, every time! So when we woke up to a double-decker bus parked in front of our view of the street, we were less than pleased. Then they parked a second one behind that, cutting our view from full-on epic, to a hole here & there between the buses that were apparently for "the press". But they didnt stop there. Soon the paramedics came behind those buses, and set up two tents that we could nearly touch with our feet dangling from our sill. We were in the nose-bleeds by the time the city was done shattering our hopes for the morning. Did I mention the two giant buses remained nearly empty for the entire parade?

Feeling festive anyway, we bought 2 Ireland flags and hung one outside each window sill. My mother sent us blimp-like balloons (about 2 feet long each)! When the crowd got bigger, we let them fart along in the air above them, dissolving into hilarity when one landed in front of an unsuspecting face in the multitude. Jon made green pancakes for our guests who came to watch the parade with us, and we cooked loads of rashers. Rashers rashers rashers. My Irish friend even taught me how to make an honest Irish Coffee, including hand-whipped cream! I didnt believe her when she said it was easy to make, so I bought a can of aerosol whip, JUST in case...but I was so wrong! I will never buy pre-made whipped cream again!

It was so amazing to be in Ireland for their biggest holiday of the year. The city was entirely packed with tourists from all over the world. Most of them wore gaudy green Leprechaun hats, or chartreuse sweatshirts loudly pronouncing "IRELAND", just in case they forgot where they were. Jon's sister had just flown in from the States the night before, so she got a first-rate introduction to our fair isle! I learned new things too, like a clover and a shamrock are not the same thing at all, and corned beef & cabbage is a decidedly American tradition. Also, its only St. Patrick's Day, or Paddy's Day. Never St. Patty's, or St. Paddy's Day. Semantics, yet pertinent.

Without exception, this was the best St. Patrick's Day we've ever had. I hope the double-decker bus industry go out of business before next year though. Hope yours was just as fun!