Travel

Berlin – Part 1

9 September, 2022
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Monday, 8 August 2022

We arrived safely in Berlin. Our luggage arrived safely in Berlin. We were able to travel direct to our Airbnb by train from the airport. The wonderful Germans, as a summer experiment, were charging â‚¬9 for all transport tickets for the month. We could have gone to Bavaria for â‚¬9 each but instead we just travelled all over Berlin. Honestly, what fantastic value. The public transport system in Berlin is excellent as well. I mean it was hot but already, financially, it felt like a big saving over Sweden.

The house when we got there was a 19th century flat with parquet floors and high ceilings. It was also home to two artists and their children. It was slightly disorganised and untidy but quite homely. I opened the door beside the bathroom and there was a biggish room filled to the ceiling with all sorts of random stuff recreating the effect in my parents’ attic. A very Bohemian vibe. “What exactly does Bohemian mean?” asked Dan. “You know, a bit arty,” I said. “Oh,” he said, “I thought it just meant poor.” Alas. I contacted our host Jan to ask where was the mobile air conditioning unit which was referred to in the ad. “It’s an old apartment with high ceilings, it holds the cool of the night into the day,” said he. Yeah, there was no air conditioning unit. And that was only partly true about holding the heat of the night when the temperature is over 30 degrees.

We went out for our dinner on the street and discovered that we were staying in the most wonderful place: full of restaurants, cafes, and lovely old buildings, lively but very safe. Such were the gentrification levels that even in the arches of the city commuter railway (the S-Bahn), there were all sorts of lovely shops and cafes. In my previous experience railway arches leave a lot to be desired. The area is called Charlottenburg and I can unhesitatingly recommend it for all your Berlin accommodation needs. It’s perfect. We were about a minute’s walk from the S-Bahn station which was super handy but was a bit loud at night. Windows had to remain open all night or we would die.

Tuesday, 9 August, 2022

Leaving the boys in bed to recover from the exertions of the previous day, Mr. Waffle and I went out for a stroll around the neighborhood. We were a stone’s throw from the KurfÃ¼rstendamm (Berlin’s main shopping street). It is very chic and I found myself saying mournfully, “You know O’Connell Street could be like this.” O’Connell Street is Dublin’s main street. It is not very chic but it has similar dimensions to the KurfÃ¼rstendamm .

We passed the house of Rudolf Diesel. Who knew Diesel was somebody’s name? Poor Rudolf, he has a lot to answer for though, like many another thing, I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time.

As befits a trendy happening city like Berlin, there was a poster campaign supporting the introduction of a basic income scheme.

We had breakfast in the garden of the Literaturhaus and it was absolutely lovely. I couldn’t help feeling (gleefully) that my gloom about Berlin had been entirely misplaced.

There was a lot more mask wearing in Berlin than there had been in Sweden or than there is in Dublin (where masks have pretty much disappeared entirely) and on the non-air conditioned public transport that took a bit of getting used to but I was surprised how quickly we got used to it though always very warm.

We went to the Brandenberg Gate for a look around and as we were standing in the shade panting from the heat, someone called out Daniel’s name and half a dozen beautiful girls descended upon him. It turned out that they were friends of his Italian exchange and Daniel had met them in Rome. The girls were in Berlin for the weekend. I mean, what are the odds? I was absolutely charmed. It ‘s so nice to see him having a chance to meet more people from other countries now that Covid is over (more over in Dublin than Berlin, mind).

We walked down to the Holocaust memorial. Berlin is full of references to the Holocaust. Everywhere there are Stolpersteine – these show where Jewish families once lived before they fled or were taken to the concentration camps and killed. World War II is everywhere in Berlin; much more so than any other German city I have visited. In the station opposite the KaDeWe department store there is an enormous sign indicating that it was a point for deporting people to concentration camps and listing the destinations where most of them probably died.

We went to visit the DDR museum which is relatively small. It was strange for me because I was in Berlin in 1984 on a language exchange when the DDR was still with us and I kept looking at things and saying to myself, that happened after I was here. My host family let me see the wall I think, though they weren’t particularly keen, but only a day or two after my arrival, to my intense chagrin, they whisked me out of Berlin and brought me to Bavaria on a two week hiking holiday. I had plenty of walking and scenery at home, so I would have preferred to stay in Berlin. I do remember when we were leaving in the car, the East German border guards threatened not to let me through but in the end they relented (unusual). Now I find the idea of a long drive through East Germany fascinating but then I found it pretty dull and I retain no real recollection of the surrounding scenery or anything else. I didn’t think much of Benediktbeuren either. Teenagers are difficult to please.

My mother was in Berlin in the late 50s and as well as buying some dual language books in German and Russian (and not easy ones either, Gogol features) which still grace my parents’ bookshelves (her plan to teach herself Russian through German was largely unsuccessful), she was detained by the East German police for jay walking. She was a free spirit but this did make an impression. So over three generations, my mother was in Berlin before the wall went up, I was there during and herself was there after. Berlin has had quite the 20th century. It turns out that like the Balkans, Berliners make more history than they can consume locally.

I inspected every exhibit in the museum. Daniel tried out the full size Trabant they had installed.

Here’s some East German propaganda indicating how dangerous it was for their citizens to go to the West. That’s why they had to wall them in. As they say on the airlines, “For your convenience, and especially for your safety.”

The men lost interest before me and I came outside to find them sitting outside where the temperature had gone down (slightly) and there was a nice view of the cathedral. They seemed a bit put out by my desire to get full value by inspecting every single thing in the museum.

When we got home the four of us spent a long time bouncing a small rubber ball across the dining room table trying to make it bounce seven times in a row. It was a game of Daniel’s invention and surprisingly entertaining but eventually Mr. Waffle made us stop in case we were driving the people downstairs crazy.

Wednesday, 10 August 2022

Mr. Waffle and I went out to breakfast again. Berlin is a city that appreciates breakfast. There were many, many options. We went to somewhere trendy and expensive. Nice but positively Swedish levels of expense and not a lot nicer than the 100s of other spots within a stone’s throw of the quite delightful Savigny Platz.

We went out to the computer museum. It was a bit of a trek and I put the boys in charge of getting us there which they did admirably.

We got a guide to Berlin out of the library (pause to yet again sing the praises of the library service) and I found it great. There is something very satisfactory about a hard copy guidebook. I find it much more comprehensive and useful than internet advice. Possibly due to coming of age before the internet.

The computer museum itself was not fantastic although there were a lot of free computer games once you got in. I was defeated on Pong by my sons despite having played it quite a bit at a friend’s house in the 70s. However, my hours of playing Tetris were not wasted as I managed to defeat Michael (actually, to be honest, they probably were wasted). It was quite toasty in the museum so we didn’t stay very long.

The computer museum was on Karl Marx Allee which I found a bit unnerving. It was built as a socialist showcase and it felt very Eastern European to me. It was a bit like being behind the iron curtain. I mean, not really, but there was something creepy about it. I seem to have been too hot and tired to take any photos so you’re on your own there.

We took the U-bahn back to the Nikolai Viertiel. Our guide book described it as mostly being filled with exhausted tourists. We certainly contributed our mite to this. It was re-constructed by the East Germans and is largely pastiche. I’m not an architecture expert and maybe if I hadn’t known this I would have thought it was charming but it’s hard to work up enthusiasm when you know most of it was re-constructed in the 1980s.

We decided it was time for dinner. We wandered from restaurant to restaurant in the restaurant filled Nikolai Viertel: “nichts frei”. Or on one occasion – “We only have one person in the kitchen, we can give you a table but you will have to wait an hour to eat.”

We had a footsore return to the S-bahn. As we crossed the desolate plain, Mr. Waffle said, “Let’s go to that van and get a Currywurst.” I was very much against, so against. But we did. And lads, it was the Currywurst of dreams. Possibly the best meal we had in Berlin. Was I hungry? Yeah, a bit.

As we sat into the S-bahn, Mr. Waffle realised that we had forgotten the guidebook (a library book, remember) outside the Currywurst van. Like a saint, he went back to get it while the rest of us carried on home and I am pleased to report that it had suffered no injury.

Tune in for part 2 where I will try to keep excitement levels at an equivalent level.

Stockholm – Part II (Now with Extra Luggage)

7 September, 2022
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Friday August 5

We went to the fun fair. We were inspired by our trip to Tivoli in Copenhagen years ago which probably remains our most successful day out ever. GrÃ¶na Lund was reasonably successful but, I’ll say it now, it’s no Tivoli.

The great thing about Tivoli was the lovely restaurants and walks as well as fairground rides appealing to young and middle aged alike. To be fair to GrÃ¶na Lund it does have some charming rides and attractions and lunch on site was grand if not spectacular. We all rather enjoyed the fun house.

I deeply, deeply regretted my choice to try the Monster ride but the boys seem to have enjoyed it. The children went on most of the rides but after the Monster ride, I felt a nice cup of tea was more my thing. Speaking of tea, I enjoyed the Fika ride concept.

It lashed rain on us but that beat the blistering heat of the previous day. I mean, we’re used to rain. Herself persuaded me to go on one of those chair rides with chains, you know the kind. It swung out over the Baltic in a rather charming way and I was really quite enjoying myself until I realised that I was wearing slip on sandals and that there was a good chance that one of them might end up in the Baltic with the attendant complications of being bare foot in a fun park in the centre of Stockholm. I spent the remainder of the ride with curled up toes and clenched teeth.

When we got home, Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went for a stroll to the Buddhist temple at the end of the road. Weird, right?

Over dinner, herself looked around the table and said, not in a pleased voice, “Why does everybody look like me?” I think she needs to spend more time with her family.

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Herself and myself decided to go into Stockholm for the day. We had an early start. We identified a car park in the Gamla Stan and got ourselves there with the help of Half-Right Helga without too much difficulty. But the parking meter was broken. I stood disconsolately in front of it it for a while poking it with my cards. Then I fell upon this lone Swede (it was early) going across the car park. He was so kind. He said I needed a local parking app. He found the app in the app store; he waited while I installed it (giving it all my credit card details, my life history, you know what these things are like). Then he showed me on the app where we were and how to pay. It took ages but he was chirpy, he was off to his boat to go sailing for the day and in no rush he said. Apparently Swedes own more boats per capita than any other nation on earth (so said our boat tour guide, certainly feels true).

We wandered around the old town which was charming and pretty much deserted. We had breakfast in a trendy cafe. Herself had given us a number of recommendations from Gwyneth Paltrow. I was pretty dubious but I have to say, Gwnny did not let us down. I am most surprised to find myself saying this but would definitely recommend.

Then we went shopping and we saw the sights and we just had a lovely, lovely time. You know those days when everything goes right? It was just delightful. As we drove home, I said to herself, “You know, I finally feel like a grown-up, driving with my daughter to a foreign capital city, getting home again and absolutely nothing going wrong.”

I must say that even now when I see a picture of the old town in Stockholm, my eyes are rivetted to the open air car park by the harbour and I think, “I parked there, yes there.” Achievement level unlocked, guys.

The five of us went back into town that evening. We needed another kind Swede to help us with the car park. Car parking in Stockholm is complex for the reasons outlined previously.

We had booked ourselves into a programme of Nordic songs in the Opera House. Herself felt we needed some culture. Definite win.

We arrived a bit early and had drinks on a beautiful terrace looking out over the city. The opera house itself was elaborate; the Nordic songs were interesting; the singer explained them to us in English; the performance was under an hour (there’s only so much Nordic opera that is really fun). I would really recommend, I have to say.

Although the singer explained the songs in English she was Swedish as were most of the audience although there were some foreigners (including a very forceful English woman who made an Opera House employee who she made find her another bathroom down a locked corridor because the queue in the open one was too long. “I’ll miss the start,” she said. “I don’t think you will,” said the employee who you would think might know. She prevailed. I was both disapproving and admiring). English is amazingly prevalent in Sweden. A lot of the cafe/restaurant staff who are not Swedish appear not to speak it which I find pretty startling. I mean they were serving Swedes, in Sweden and speaking to them in English. Peculiar. Though very useful for those of us whose Swedish language skills are rudimentary at best.

We had drinks in the old town and then went for dinner to the Flying Elk which was also a Gwyneth Paltrow recommendation. I had dutifully booked but that proved unnecessary. When we arrived, they said, “You’re the booking!” We were the booking, the place was pretty empty – a gastropub by the harbour – but perfectly pleasant.

Honestly a perfect day.

We went back to the car park and it appeared to be locked against us. We asked the bouncer in a club beside the locked entrance whether he had any idea what we might do. “It’s the same problem every night, people get locked out,” he said gloomily. We were even more gloomy. You will be pleased to hear – but not at all as pleased as we were – that we did eventually find our way back to the car via a night entrance quite a distance away.

Sunday, August 7, 2022

Feeling that further delights were available in town, herself went in to Stockholm on the bus. As she departed she announced that her phone battery was low and she might be uncontactable. Sigh.

Daniel emerged late from his bedroom. He had got up at 4.30 to see the sunrise and it was a very early start. Also, as he dolefully informed us, “4.30 is not sunrise time”.

After the excitements of the previous day we had a quiet time knocking around the house and swimming in the Baltic.

We went to the supermarket where some German tourists, taking us for Swedes asked where the milk was. We got chatting. “Actually, we’re going to Germany tomorrow,” I said chirpily. “Where are you going?” they asked. “To Berlin,” I said. The father actually physically recoiled in horror. “To Berlin?” he squeaked. This did not make me feel good about my choices. I went into mourning for the lovely Airbnb, the beautiful surroundings, the closeness to the delightful city of Stockholm. What, what were we thinking? The temperatures predicted for Berlin were horrifying. I was horrified.

We were distracted from our Berlin horror by two things: 1. herself had found a charger and called us to let us know that she’d missed the bus and could we collect her from town (we could and we did, that’s parents for you – she had, inevitably, found this very cool cafe quarter where, blindly following the directions of Half-Right Helga, we inadvertently drove through a pedestrianised street to pick her up) and 2. our luggage debacle.

When booking our flights via Expedia, we had neglected to add hold baggage – even Homer nods etc. We then found ourselves in this hideous loop where Expedia said only the airline could add luggage and the airline said that they couldn’t because we’d booked through Expedia. When we checked in online 24 hours before departure could we add luggage? We could not. Our lovely luggage with which we had only so recently been reunited. Poor Mr. Waffle spent a couple of hours on the Norwegian airlines helpline and was told maybe they could do something at the airport. A number of hideous plan Bs were developed. We went with the following.

Herself was flying to Dublin on the following day having had enough of Berlin for one summer. Mr. Waffle booked her an extra item of checked luggage (â‚¬35) and then as plans developed a further item of checked luggage (“So â‚¬70 total, not so bad I suppose,” said I. “Ah,” said Mr. Waffle “you assumed the second checked bag cost the same as the first.” So worse.) Michael and Mr. Waffle took the pessimistic view that we would not manage to get our luggage to Berlin and packed their hand baggage to the gunnels. Daniel and I were more optimistic. We put all of our essentials in one of the hold bags and hoped we wouldn’t have to unpack it and load some of the contents into our hand luggage. Herself was beyond delighted at the prospect of taking two large additional pieces of hold baggage.

We went down for a last walk to the seaside. Daniel pointed up to the moon and said, “Le lune”. He was somewhat mortified as it turned out there were French people nearby. Mr. Waffle reassured him, “They probably thought you were Swedish.” In case you were wondering it’s la lune and that’s a mistake he’s unlikely to make again.

We went to bed early. “We’ve to be up at 6.30,” I said to the children. Poor Daniel, continuing his bewilderment at the flight arrangements in Europe this summer protested, “But I thought the flight was at 12.” It was but with the three hour early check-in advice, the need to bring back the car and the hour long drive to the airport, this seemed the latest we could leave it.

Monday August 8, 2022

We got to the airport no problem. In fairness, returning the hire car was pretty smooth but, irritatingly, the petrol station at the airport had closed down so waiting to get there to fill up with petrol wasn’t the cunning move we had assumed it would be.

We went to check-in filled with trepidation. People, they took our luggage. We would have paid almost anything at that stage but it wasn’t too dear and it was ultimately pretty painless.

We went and spent a fortune on a last family breakfast in the airport to celebrate clearing the luggage hurdle.

We said goodbye to herself. We had been crimping her style with our inadequate airport expertise, but she still seemed moderately sad to say goodbye, I mean not extremely sad now, to be clear. She was going home to Dublin where my brother was staying in our house for a couple of weeks while we were away. Herself and my brother get on like a house on fire but nonetheless, in my view, he is a challenging housemate. “But,” I said to her, “if anyone can make him toe the line, it’s you.” “Yes,” she said, “if it were a film, I would be a sensitive but troubled teenage boy and he would be a wild horse that no one except me can tame.” Quite.

Anyway we got to our gate, herself got to her gate and there was, frankly, relief all round. Honestly the airport experience is now so uniformly vile. It’s just got worse and worse over my life time. My fatherâ€™s experience of airports in the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s (which he hated, he travelled regularly for work) is almost unrecognisable. Even my own experience from 20 years ago was way better. I suppose discouraging air travel is good for the climate emergency. I am discouraged.

Stay tuned for the next installment where our brave adventurers go to the fiery cauldron that is Berlin in a heatwave.

Stockholm – Part 1

6 September, 2022
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Monday, August 1, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I made a list of things that could go wrong with our complex travel arrangements.

1. Our taxi mightnâ€™t come.

2. Lufthansa luggage check in wouldn’t work in advance and would there be a problem at the airport in the cold early hours of the following morning?

3. For reasons which seemed good to us at the time, we booked to travel to Stockholm via Frankfurt and gave ourselves an hour to make our connection in Frankfurt.

4. There was a good chance our luggage would get lost.

5. Herself was travelling to Stockholm from London separately and it was quite possible that we would be stuck in Stockholm without her or she would be stuck in Stockholm without us.

Over dinner that evening we mulled over our various problems. “And I’m not looking forward to the 6.15 start either,” I said gloomily. “What’s wrong with 6.15?” said Dan. Pause. “Wait, is it 6.15 in the morning?” To be fair, airport chaos wasn’t the issue it became when we originally booked the flight and we didn’t expect to have to be at the airport three hours before take off.

Tuesday, August 2, 2022

We made it safely to the gate, high as kites at having overcome obstacles one and two on our list. As we went through security, I saw Daniel and Michael chatting to a beautiful, tall, blonde stranger who, on closer inspection, turned out to be a girl from their class in primary school. She was off to a musical festival in Romania. Would you look at the young people?

Our connection at Frankfurt was tight but we made it and arrived safely in Stockholm. Our delight was tempered by the fact that our luggage, sadly, did not make it. But on the plus side, herself was there to greet us. She had been scheduled to fly via Copenhagen and arrive a bit later but when she got to the airport in London they put her on a direct flight instead. Mysterious but not unwelcome.

Stockholm airport is undergoing some redevelopment and signage for hire cars leaves a lot to be desired. This was not the Nordic efficiency we had hoped for. We schlepped for what felt like miles and then got a bus and we travelled in relative uncertainty that we were going in the right direction. At least we weren’t weighed down by our luggage.

We hired the Kia Sportage which has a very distracting instrument display which in no way showed how to turn off the wretched radio. We consulted the manual and the internet (we were not the first people to have this problem with the Kia Sportage) to no avail and ended up having to mute the wretched thing every time we got into the car for our week in Sweden. The standard handy bar under the front seat to move it forward was replaced by an automatic lever which moved it up/down and reclined the seat but never really got my little feet quite as close to the pedals as I would have liked.

I drove while Mr. Waffle played with the various buttons, bells and whistles. The built in sat nav introduced us to the concept of “turn half right” which was not something we were familiar with (slide right, is I think the more usual usage) and I found it trying enough as I navigated the tunnels of Stockholm. We were staying on the archipelago about 40 minutes drive from the city. As I stuggled with Half Right Helga (as we named the sat nav) and the various beeps (the Kia Sportage is a very judgey car, it beeps if you indicate you would like to change lane and there is another car beside you) and controls of a new car, I began to feel very warm. “Did you press a heating button?” I asked my husband accusingly. “No,” he said. My seat was feeling dangerously warm, like, uncomfortably, burningly warm. “Are you sure?” I yelped. “Oh yeah, actually, sorry, there’s a heated seat button here that seems to be pressed,” he said. It was a trying drive.

I am pleased to report that our hired house was delightful when we got there.

I was pretty impressed by the huge bank of solar panels out the back.

They had fake old plugs with USB ports. A bit weird but you know, very cottagecore.

We made a quick raid on the very expensive (dear God, Sweden is expensive) supermarket nearby and made dinner. At bed time we put everyone’s clothes in the wash – except for herself who had not lost her luggage and filled us all with sickening envy. Wasn’t it well for her? However she cooked dinner which was v welcome indeed, so much was forgiven.

Wednesday, August 3, 2022

Mr. Waffle has an admirable habit of turning off his phone about 8 in the evening and not turning it on again until he gets up the next day. On balance this is a very good thing. However, he woke up to a stream of texts indicating that our luggage would be sent out to us that very day if we confirmed in time. Gentle reader, we did not confirm on time. We were therefore fated to go another 24 hours without luggage.

We made a raid on the local shops for clothes. Did I mention that Sweden is expensive? We found a H&M (still expensive) and kitted ourselves out with some t-shirts, underwear and swimsuits.

The pool in the house was very satisfactory. We were delighted with ourselves. The only problem was the wind chimes on the porch which made a sound eerily like my work phone. My work phone that I had handed back to my employer with a skip in my step at the end of June, I might add. Nevertheless the chimes provoked an unpleasant Pavlovian response.

We had a walk down to the local beach.

Daniel volunteered to cook dinner and he picked up smoky barbecue ribs from Lidl. On inspection these appeared to be from from Watergrasshill which was a surprise. I mean I know, globalisation and all that. I bet I was one of the very few Swedish Lidl consumers that could tell you that driving through Watergrasshill before it was bypassed was always a bit exciting in winter as it was high up and likely to be icy even when nowhere else was. Fascinating, you say.

The children explored the joys of the trampoline.

Note her dress which she bought in a second hand shop in Berlin. She tells me that it comes from the DDR. You don’t get that much any more.

Thursday, August 4, 2022

On the hottest day of our trip to Sweden we drove into the city for the day. Look, this was not our best move but that’s easy to say with hindsight. The Swedes do not approve of driving into Stockholm which is an instinct I applaud. However, to support this laudable ambition, the cost of parking is terrifying. We will not speak of it.

We had booked ourselves on to a water bus tour. Stockholm is all islands and, if memory serves from the tour, has 57 bridges. We had loads of time to get to the quay from which our tour departed but somehow we whiled away the time – lunch, tea in the park, strolling around, buying phenomenally expensive peaked caps – and found ourselves undertaking a forced march around the harbour in the blazing sun at the hottest time of day.

We made it in time for the tour but I am not sure that we enjoyed it as much as we might have done as we were roasted and continued to bake in the open topped boat. The children told me that my face was like a tomato. Thanks guys.

We went home and had a restorative swim in the pool and a nice walk down to the seashore. And, let joy be unconfined, our luggage arrived.

Further Adventures

1 August, 2022
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Monday, July 25

I spent a good part of the morning doing logistics with herself for her trip to Paris in September. She was in Berlin, I was in Armagh. It seems extraordinary how much one can do online now (old crone speaks). Anyhow, eventually we finished up and Michael and I went out for a look around Armagh. We went to the county museum on the Mall which was small and contained the charming, slightly random, exhibits I associate with local museums.

We found a cannon from the Crimea. Mr. Waffle says that they must have brought home a boatload when they were coming; apparently the one on Dun Laoghaire pier is very similar.

We went to the Robinson Library which both of us really liked. Coincidentally, I think the Piranesi books we saw in Dublin were actually on loan from the Robinson Library. Archbishop Robinson was the big cheese locally and established both the library and the observatory and was determined to make Armagh a university city to rival Dublin. This did not happen but it was not for the want of trying on his part.

The librarian was lovely and very helpful. And then she left us alone with all the books without so much as a velvet rope to impede access. She also left a pair of magnifying glasses.

There was Swift’s own first edition of Gulliver’s Travels where he had made slightly irate amendments to the text which the publisher had changed without Swift’s permission; I think because the publisher didn’t want to go to gaol. Archbishop Ussher was also a big name locally and a first edition of one of his works was displayed. He’s the man who worked out that the date of creation was 22 October 4004 BC.

Michael retired to the house after our cultural odyssey but I went into town to see whether I could find a paper (yes) and a cup of tea (definitely not). It was 4 in the afternoon and the only suggestion the woman in the newsagent’s could make was that I could get a takeaway tea from the Spar. I mean, really. I took myself back to the house with the paper and made my own cup of tea. An economy, I suppose.

Tuesday, July 26 – Feast day of St. Anne

We were up with the lark (9 o’clock) to see Andy Pollak talk about whether the South is ready for re-unification. He thinks not, if I may summarise. It was funny because, aside from the obligatory man from the Department of Foreign Affairs, Michael and I were the only two Southerners there and it’s always interesting to hear what your neighbours are saying behind your back.

We found a nice cafe beside the cathedral and had breakfast and then went to have a look around the cathedral which had been closed the day before.

Mildly interesting and we had it to ourselves which I always enjoy.

And then onwards to the Jan Carson talk which was the reason we went on the trip in the first place.

“I’ll just double check the tickets,” I said to Michael. “1.30 is an odd time, maybe I have it wrong.” It was 1.30 but on the day before. I was furious with myself. Alas. We went to the Planetarium instead. It was fine in its way but aimed at a younger audience. It included an impressive exhibition of large lego dinosaurs (if that’s your thing) but our hearts weren’t in it when we should have been at the the talk.

We dutifully went to Archbishop Robinson’s observatory but you can’t get inside so we had to imagine what the Archbishop provided. Very impressive, I’m sure.

We cut our losses and drove home. It’s only an hour and a half away so we were home by late afternoon which was very pleasant too.

Wednesday, July 27

Mr. Waffle took me out to to breakfast to celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary which actually falls on the 28th but, look, we cut our cloth according to our measure.

Herself moved on to London on her European tour – her kind aunt and uncle let her stay in their place and she is pleased to be luxuriating in their empty house rather than sharing a dormitory in a Berlin hostel.

Our Ukranian cleaner came to our house with her sister who is visiting her. I decided to try out my fledgling Ukranian (one completed duolingo course, thanks for asking). It turns out I can only say certain set phrases. My comprehension is alright, actually, but my production is almost non-existant. I found myself listing the months of the year which, you know, isn’t a fantastic conversational gambit but the months of the year are weird in Ukranian, they’re named after plants and natural things and completely different from all the other Slavic languages. Also, to me, March (Ð±ÐµÑ€ÐµÐ·ÐµÐ½ÑŒ) and September (Ð²ÐµÑ€ÐµÑÐµÐ½ÑŒ) are almost identical (birch and gorse, I understand, in case you’re wondering). They were quite sympathetic but obviously baffled by my idiocy. To add to my difficulties, my cleaner’s sister has lived in Italy for many years. She speaks no English but good Italian. I also speak Italian and it’s much better than my Ukrainian, I can tell you. So we slipped and slid around English, Italian and Ukrainian for quite a while until I had to leave much to everyone’s relief.

Leaving Michael at home to recover from his exertions, I drove over to my friend’s house in a distant suburb to return the key to her Armagh house; give her a small present; and tell her about our doings. Then I drove to another friend’s new house in a different distant suburb; admired her new house and had a late lunch. I felt a bit guilty about not cycling but I have to recognise my not inconsiderable limitations. I could possibly have done with slightly fewer appointments but enjoyable all the same (world’s tiniest violin screeches). I actually still have my Covid wheeze although it is improving but I wonder am I absolutely 100%.

Thursday, July 28th

Michael and I went to Cork. In retrospect, the timing might have been better. We were barely unpacked from Armagh. But we took our bikes on the train which is a restful way to travel. We were staying in what I will have to get used to calling my sister’s house. I went in to the solicitor and signed the transfer in the afternoon. To be clear I am absolutely delighted that we are selling the house to my sister and not to a stranger; I know I can still stay there; and I have no need for a family home in Cork but it still felt a bit sad to be signing the papers. The end of an era, I guess. I feel that my links to Cork grow more and more tenuous and it is still very much where I am from and I miss it. To paraphrase James Joyce (whose father was from Cork, I might add) “When I die, Cork will be written in my heart.”

This is my 21st wedding anniversary and I am still pleased with my choice of husband. I am a genius. Yes it is all about me, thanks for asking.

The people organising Daniel’s course emailed that there was a chance to talk to the tutors on Friday. This is always a feature of the last day of this course – which herself did before Daniel – and I have never been able to go before because of work. And this was my last opportunity but, I had forgotten and Mr. Waffle was going to go again because I was in Cork. Such a waste because I am really interested in my children’s academic performance and he’s very much a “so long as they enjoyed it” man so our questions rarely overlap.

Friday, July 29

Michael and I had a look around the Crawford Gallery and the market. We visited my 93 year old aunt who was pleased to see us. My sister’s partner took Michael to spend an evening playing Magic The Gathering (if you don’t know, you’re better off) with a bunch of fellow enthusiasts and my sister and I went for a walk in the park. Tame pleasures but enjoyable.

In Dublin, Daniel had his last day on his course. It was great for him and he really enjoyed it. They have lots of quirky traditions one of which is formal Friday (worse when the weather was hotter but still odd, Dan says that many of the boys wear three piece suits, I mean how many boys have three piece suits?). Anyone else think that he looks like a Mormon missionary? You might like to note that his hair has been growing for two and a half months.

Saturday, July 30

Michael and I arrived back in Dublin in the late afternoon a bit exhausted from our excursions but, as I said to him, two full days with nothing planned before our trip to Stockholm. He was strangely uncomforted.

We are off to Stockholm on Tuesday and then onwards to Berlin. There will be no updates until the end of August when we get back from our holidays unless something really exciting happens. While we are away, my brother is staying in our house in Dublin along with herself (she is coming to Stockholm but leaving us when we fly to Berlin as she has had enough of Berlin for one summer) so the really exciting updates are likely to be Dublin ones.

Long Summer Ahead

20 June, 2022
Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Me (to Mr. Waffle) : In July you’ll be working, herself will be working and Daniel will be at his camp but Michael and I will be free. Maybe we’ll go away for a couple of days. Maybe to Northern Ireland.

Him: In July?

Let’s pause to sympathise with those who are responsible for promoting Northern Irish tourism.

Matters Funereal

7 June, 2022
Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Travel

A friend of mine’s brother died suddenly last month. He was 63 which is not as old as it once was and it was entirely unexpected.

I went up to leafy South Belfast for the funeral. I’ve never really ventured to the southern suburbs of Belfast before – I mean, why would I? – and I was surprised by just how pleasant and leafy it was.

The funeral was sad, the family were still in shock really. I had hoped that there would be more of a break between attending my friends’ parents funerals and their siblings’ funerals but there you are.

On my way back down to Dublin I stopped off at Lisburn for a look at the Linen Museum, advertised from the main road, in the firm belief that where there is a museum, there is a good tea shop. It is with regret that I inform you that this is not the case. I’d never been to Lisburn before. It’s a dormitory town for Belfast and on a Wednesday morning in May most of the inhabitants appeared to be school children or pensioners.

There was an exhibition in the museum on the foundation of Northern Ireland. A difficult time all round. I’m probably more used to a nationalist perspective on these matters. There was a panel about Oswald Swanzy’s murder. Not covered on the panel but it is my understanding that the local Cork IRA men asked to be deployed specially to Lisburn to take him out. If my experience is anything to go by, they must have stuck out like a sore thumb. I felt like I was the first Cork person to visit Lisburn since. Funny spot.

The main square is dominated by this eye-catching statue.

Again, a bit of a controversial subject.

The linen bit of the museum was really interesting. It was staffed by very knowledgeable locals who – when not dealing with primary school tours – had lots of time on their hands to talk to me. One man was spinning and I asked whether they used the thread in their looms in the museum. Apparently not because each person spins in a different way and you can only use thread that has been spun the same way on the loom.

They had a jacquard loom which looked immensely complex.

The woman who was in charge of the room with all the looms was very gloomy. “It’s like trying to raise the dead,” she said. Apparently, linen needs to be made in a damp place (weaver’s cottage ideal) and it does not take kindly to the dry museum air.

Apparently there are only four acres of land under flax in Ireland now which means that basically all Irish linen is made from flax grown abroad and some material labelled Irish linen is actually only packed in Ireland. I bought myself a table runner from one of the local companies that import flax and make their own linen. Another massive local company was Barbour which made thread. I remember the brand clearly from when I was growing up but apparently it is now no longer with us.

All very interesting actually and beautifully presented in the way of a small local museum.

A couple of days later, Mr. Waffle went to get some thread to repair a rent in a pillow case. Look what he found, inherited from my mother.

He says that he looked it up on eBay and people are willing to pay â‚¬10 for spools of Barbour thread. All I can say is that we are sitting on a goldmine.