County Wicklow

“We don’t have any automatics left today”.

“But I have a reservation.”

“I know, but we don’t have any remaining.”

At this point I can’t help but be reminded of the Seinfeld episode.

Actually, my truck back in Denver and my new Volvo in Brussels are both manuals. But I was trying to eliminate at least one of the following three problematic variables: lack of "Sat Nav" (aka GPS system), manual transmission, and driving on the “wrong side” of the road. I thought the combination of trying to figure out where I was going and shifting with my left hand while driving on the left could potentially be disastrous. Hence, my request for an automatic.

“Well, what else do you have?”

“A Land Rover Discovery Commercial, or a Mini, but both are manuals. Or I can search around and maybe get an automatic here in a couple of hours.”

That’s not much of a decision. Ripping around tiny Irish country lanes in a bright red Mini with its BMW engine sounded like a fine idea to me. Considering our original reservation was for a Nissan Micra, the non-reservation reservation turned out OK.

An Irish colleague had recommended we visit County Wicklow, known as The Garden of Ireland, located immediately south of Dublin. Our first stop on the drive down was Powerscourt Estate. Sweet digs, nice plot of ground, and a "mountain" view -- that's the Great Sugar Loaf in the background of the second picture below. What you can't see is that the interior of the "house" was completely destroyed after a devastating fire in 1974, right after the completion of a major renovation. Instead of rebuilding it as before, they converted it to a public building and took a more austere approach with the restoration, cleaning and repairing everything, but leaving bricks exposed, not rebuilding certain floors, and keeping furnishings to a minimum.

As luck would have it, the Powerscourt Picnic Run and Rally just happened to be there on the same day. Rows and rows of antique cars, trophies, and champagne for everyone! That's Simone and a vintage Rolls in the picture below - check out the serpent horn above the wheel.

After Powerscourt, it was on to our residence for our short stay in County Wicklow: Kilpatrick House. Kilpatrick House is a 300 year-old home that has been in the current family for the last hundred years. Our young and funny host, Howard, ensured our time at the B&B was perfect by greeting us with tea and scones, and including Bailey's Irish Cream in our porridge. The estate is a working dairy farm, and the family home became a guesthouse in 1941. Amazingly, our host's grandmother cooked and served three meals each day for the three families who stayed there. And, this all without the benefit of electricity, which didn’t arrive until 1955.

A bit of history. St. Patrick initially came to Ireland as a slave. At some point he left the island, and when he returned to spread Christianity he landed somewhere on the coast southeast of the Kilpatrick House. One of his earliest churches (perhaps the first) is about 500 meters from the Kilpatrick House, and a well said to have been blessed by The Saint Himself is on the Kilpatrick House grounds. Kil is “church” in Gaelic, hence the name Kilpatrick House.

Simone at Kilpatrick House.

The next morning we embarked on a tour of County Wicklow. First, we visited the Avoca Handweavers' mill. It claims to be the oldest traditional mill still operating in Ireland, and, sure enough, there is still handweaving going on.

Rain thwarted our attempt to see the historic monastical ruins of Glendalough, so we decided to take a scenic driving tour instead. The scenery, what little we were able to see through the driving rain, was beautiful in a haunting way. Lush green valleys, jutted with slate gray rocks, barren of trees, and covered in heather. It's easy to see why movie execs chose this area to film "Braveheart," though interesting in that it's Ireland not Scotland.

Here’s Simone enjoying the Irish weather. This is August.

Despite the weather, it was a great drive through Wicklow and we ended the day back in the tiny village of Redcross at the Snug Restaurant. It seems reasonable to assume that, being in Ireland, we might take in some traditional Irish song and dance so we inquired with our waiter. He replied in a thick brogue, "Well, if it's dance, then it'll have to be in a hall because Irish dance, ya know, legs everywhere." But alas, we were unable to find a hall with "legs everywhere".

On our final day in Ireland the rain let up just long enough for us to see Glendalough. St. Kevin founded the monastery in the 6th century and it was active for over 600 years. All that remains today are its ruins. Check out the roofs...they are made of stone!

We packed a lot into our visit to the Emerald Isle, and will post a photo album as soon as the talented customer service folks at Picasa deign us worthy of a reply. But until then...sláinte.

Irish Rain

Have you missed me?  Yes, I'm back after a three month hiatus.  What should I blog about after these long months? How about something that happened three months ago...Ireland! First - Dublin.

Our first flight ever on Ryanair was uneventful, but I must say the cattle call is quite disconcerting.  The way people queue up you’d think they were handing out free turkeys at King Soopers the day before Thanksgiving.  Come on people, we’re talking about plastic seats, boarding music that makes you feel like you are in video game, and customer service that screams, "I'd love my job, if these stupid customers would just go away!".  Basically, it's an hour long ride on an inner-city bus, so where’s the need to get onboard in a hurry?

I don’t know why, but we weren't blown away by Dublin on our first day, despite all the great things we'd heard. Regardless, Stephen the student gave us a great tour of Trinity College Dublin, where we saw the 1200 year-old illuminated manuscript, The Book of Kells.  We strolled through Temple Bar, saw Joyce’s “cat and the rat” at Christ Church Cathedral, learned the history of my beloved Minnesota Vikings at the otherwise very lame Dublinia, and cruised by St. Patrick’s Cathedral . . . which provided my only blog-worthy pic of the afternoon.

After days of begging, pleading, imploring, and beseeching, Simone indulged me by actually attending a Riverdance show (or as our friend refers to it, DanceDance).  OK, it was Simone’s idea (dare I say, passion), but I went along with it, which is pretty big of me considering it was two straight hours of dancing (so the link is actually monkeys doing riverdance, but you get the idea).     

Time for full disclosure.  I secretly enjoyed the show, even enough to keep me from dreaming about the pints of Guinness I could be drinking in any number of classic Dublin pubs.

We ended the day with me a pint o' Guinness, and Simone a pint o' Bulmers in O’Neills pub, which also happened to be our B&B.  

Day two in the city was all about Guinness, Irish pubs, and Jameson.  And rain.  Lots of rain.  Here’s a pic of our view from the top of the Guinness Storehouse to give you an idea of the type of day it was in Dublin.  A Perfect Irish Day.  

The Guinness Storehouse, the brewery's original storehouse located at St. James Gate, has been restored and serves as a great example of adaptive reuse (can you tell my wife is a historic preservationist?).  It is really cool . . . seven stories of beer bliss followed by a “free” pint of the dark stuff at the top of the building in a 360-degree glass-enclosed floating pub.

Before we did our next tour we decided to grab some lunch.  Hmm, how about fish n’ chips at the oldest pub in Ireland?  Don’t know what I’m actually doing in this picture, perhaps welcoming you to the Brazen Head, est. 1198. 

We had a great couple of hours in the Brazen Head, conversing with the bar staff and our fellow patrons, and watching Usain Bolt’s amazing 100-meter Beijing run. 

  

Not certain about this next picture though.

On to the Jameson Irish Whiskey tour!  A local gentlemen at the Brazen Head told us to volunteer when they asked for volunteers at the end of the tour, so we took his good advice.  We did a tasting of Scotch, Bourbon, and Irish Whiskey.  I’m not a big fan of gasoline (aka Scotch). I've always been a Bourbon guy, but have never really given Irish Whiskey a chance.  The triple distillation process really produces a very smooth beverage.  I’m a convert.  I still love my Evan Williams Single Barrel, but Jameson may have taken its place as my favorite whiskey.

Guinness, the Brazen Head, and Jameson.  Mmmmm . . . Dublin restored on Day Two.  

Next up, County Wicklow.

Remembrances

We are back in the blogosphere! As you may have noticed, we have been off the grid for a month. Two weeks of that was due to a trip to Hong Kong, and then another two weeks passed owing to post-trip-down-with-a-cold-madness. I am still figuring out how to tackle writing about Hong Kong, and Troy is working on a long overdue post on our trip to Ireland (we went back in August), so in the meantime I wanted to take just a second to talk about life and, specifically, its fragility.

On November 11th, Belgium commemorated the 90th Anniversary of the end of World War I, known as Armistice Day here, called Veterans Day and Remembrance Day elsewhere. Troy and I went to the memorial service held at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and though we understood practically nothing that was said, the ceremony was still moving. It served as a somber reminder of man's inhumanity to man and the horrors of war. It was also a poignant tribute to the courage and sacrifice of those who serve in uniform. The service was held to commemorate the past, but I used the time to pray for peace and reconciliation in our modern world.



The man in the center/back with the purple sash is Albert II, King of Belgium






The day before, I learned that a dear colleague of mine from my LoDo days had passed away. He was a wonderful mentor to me, both professionally and personally, and seemed more like a dear uncle than a work acquaintance. He was a truly good man, and his days on earth were far too short. Even though there are probably few if any among you who knew him, I still wanted to publicly honor the life of Dave Moore (1945-2008), may he rest in peace.

Admittedly, heavy topics for a blog such as this, but sometimes it is good to take a moment simply to reflect.

Just a Typical Night

Two times in the last week I have found myself walking home from the tram stop thinking, "Well, that was really interesting. You probably wouldn't have had a night like that in the States." So, on this second instance I thought I would do what any good expat does: blog about it.

It is, of course, a mass generalization to presume that these two scenes couldn't happen Stateside, so perhaps it is fairer merely to say that these events were exciting and new to me and are intricately tied to my new life here in Brussels.

Scene Number #1: Last Thursday was my first rehearsal as a bona fide member of the Brussels Choral Society. Somehow, just knowing that I passed the audition made me feel like I belonged, and thus I wanted to get started on the friend-making process immediately. Like magic, one of the young men in the choir approached me as things were wrapping up and asked if I wanted to join their group at a pub after rehearsal. So, I ended up at a table with four classical singers, all of them Europeans of varying ages and nationalities (Zoltan - Hungary; Alan - Scotland; Georges - France; Nora - Hungary) drinking Trappist beer and discussing the comparative genius of Billie Holiday, Freddie Mercury, and Amy Winehouse. It was fantastic.

This night was even more unusual in that we witnessed a fist-fight just outside the café window, which, though oft-glamorized in movies, is in fact quite disturbing to witness in real life. It turns out that this was the first real-life fight that any of my compatriots had witnessed too, so it sparked a thoughtful conversation universally condemning physical violence as an answer to petty disagreements.

Anyways, as I was deep in thought on my tram ride home, we came to a sudden and unexpected halt right at Place Flagey, which was recently refurbished and re-opened after a rather lengthy construction process (to the tune of nearly 6 years, but who's counting?). The Bruxellois have an interesting relationship with the automobile, and it seems that they view it as a super-hero vehicle instead of the Opel/Citroën/Peugeot that it really is. In this instance, two brave/fool-hearty souls had parked their vehicles OVER THE TRAM TRACKS, the result of which was the stopping of the tram, and the calling of central command and tow-trucks. Thankfully for me, though sadly not my fellow tram-riders, we were within two stops of my house, so I took to my feet. It was on the walk home that I contemplated the uniqueness of the evening and thought that I should write about it.

Scene #2: This evening the pleasure of my company was requested by the Ambassador of the United States of America to the Kingdom of Belgium and Mrs. Sam Fox at a reception in honor of the 175th Anniversary of Diplomatic Relations Between the United States and Belgium, or so says the invitation. Technically, this invite comes via my membership in the American Women's Club of Brussels, but, really, isn't that splitting hairs?

At any rate, the event was actually a screening of the new film commemorating this auspicious anniversary: From Explorer Ships to Partnerships. Despite the incredibly cheesified name, the film was actually pretty good. And, I can admit to getting verklempt during the scenes depicting the privation and loss during the two world wars. The Belgians suffered deeply and sincerely during the wars, and they honor the sacrifices and service of military personnel of yesteryear as if they were known and cherished friends. I even had the opportunity to meet an elderly Belgian woman, a true heroine really, who daily risked her life to assist downed Allied pilots to safety and transport in Spain. I addressed her in my stilted French, and she responded with a genuine warmth that needed no translation.

So that's it. No real moral or neat summary. Just the banal and yet moving events of a new type of life lived in a new place.

Triumph!

I am super excited to report that my audition last Thursday night for the Brussels Choral Society went well and....I was ACCEPTED to the choir! Thanks to everyone who kept encouraging me and sending good vibes as I was preparing for this audition. (Seriously, it's been months now!)

For those of you who have never heard me sing (which is probably most of you), here are a couple of pics from past gigs.

Singing at Pathways Church last Christmas -- that's my brother on mandolin behind me


Singing classically with the Cherry Creek Chorale


For those of you not musically-inclined, that's about all you need to know. But just in case you're curious about the choir and how an audition works, here are some details:

The Brussels Choral Society was founded about 30 years ago and is the leading amateur symphony chorus in Brussels. There are about 100 people in the choir, and singers hail from 20+ countries. The conductor gives his direction half in English, half in French (with some Italian and German thrown in for good measure!) The director is American, but he has been in Brussels for many years as he chairs the Performing Arts Department at the International School of Brussels. From what I have seen thus far, he is an inspiring director. His passion for the music is obvious, as is his attention to the subtleties and fine details that really make the music come to life. Simply put, he makes you want to sing well for him.

The audition process is rather serious, and they require that prospective members sit in on a couple of rehearsals before doing the audition. The audition itself consists of four parts: a piece of your own choosing, a selection from the work the choir is currently rehearsing (in my case, this was the most challenging movement of Brahms' Deutsches Requiem, in German of course, which is NOT one of my good languages--yikes!), some scales and vocalization, and then a short piece to sight-read (thankfully, the piece they gave me was in Latin, which is arguably my best language to sing in after English).

Mentally, this was my best audition ever: I was calm, I was prepared, I felt comfortable in front of the committee. Singing-wise, I'm not exactly sure how it went. My prepared piece, Robert Burns' Ae Fond Kiss set to a traditional Scottish melody, went really well. But the rest....it's sort of a blur to me. Point being, the committee observed something they liked and thus I was accepted. Hooray for that!

My first concert with the BCS will be Brahms' Ein Deutsches Requiem at the Palais des Beaux-Arts (aka Bozar) in Brussels in late November. In December, we sing at the wedding of an archduke who is a friend of one of the Belgian princesses. (Yes, really a duke...only in Europe, right?) Then, next March, we travel to Madrid to sing at the ceremony commemorating the five year anniversary of the terrorist bombings there. It's terribly professional and serious, n'est-ce pas? I am SO excited to meet the diverse members of the choir, explore the music with the director, and sing in some amazing places and spaces here in Europe.