What seemed charming the first couple of days has worn a bit thin after only three weeks. The street performers are alright with me, provided they are not DIRECTLY UNDER MY WINDOW.
For two and three hours at a stretch.
Perhaps the biggest offender is what we refer to as: The Tuba Guy
(not pictured above, clearly that's The Trumpet Guy.)
He (Tuba) shows up Thursday thru Saturday nights at the pub at the end of our block. He knows one song. And I am not exaggerating.
And not even the whole song - he only knows the first three lines. I'd like everybody to stop and think about this, I mean really reflect on it, feel my pain people: a TUBA playing the first three lines of 'OH WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING IN' OVER and OVER and OVER and.....well, I guess you get the point.
On his best nights he gives the adoring throng a whistle or two to play along (a whistle like your gym teacher had, a LOUD, play stopping, whistle.)
So - one small complaint. Full of local color and "you knew what your were getting into, how many times did you brag about being in the city center" flavor.
Ok, fair enough.
But while I am at it, I may as well make some noise about the All Saints Store. God knows they are making enough noise of their own. I may not know Saintliness from Saltines, but these people are committing a SIN against music with the crap they boom out their wide open doors, again, just under my window. Avril Lavigne. J.Lo. etcetera, so on & so forth. I can take a lil' bubblegum pop, but all day???
The only consolation I take from this is that from 10am to 6pm they give the street performers a run for their money.
Another small issue I'm obliged to take with Dublin is the way people walk on the streets. I have tried and tried, to no avail, to figure out the rhythm. Give me an hour on the streets of NYC, Paris or Tokyo (that last one only in my imagination) and I'll be strutting like a native. Bobbing and weaving if necessary. Strolling. Strutting. Charging. Threading through, shooting the gap. I can do it all. I've even been known to saunter quite well when needed.
But this place----oi vey!
I chalk it up to a small city, bustling with lots o' people, all of who have very different agendas. There are business men & women with THINGS TO DO and PEOPLE TO SEE, ould souls perambulating, great big groups of tourists moving in slow packs, squinting at their maps, younger tourists with ginormous backpacks making their way to the nearest seedy hostel, shoppers laden with Brown Thomas Bags, teenagers needing a haircut & a job, people lugging groceries home, gypsies sending their small children onto sidewalk cafes to beg....ya know - the usual crowd. Mix that in with narrow, slippery sidewalks and lots of umbrellas and it's chaos theory at it finest. We are adapting at not being able to adapt. it's taking all our walking skillz to NOT collide with somebody every 4.3 seconds, but so far we've managed.
And now the big one.....
(if you could say that in a Monty Pythonesque accent I'd be much obliged.)
Three t-shirts and one sweatshirt take about 6 cycles to dry....but only after you've had them on the drying rack overnight first!
Whirlpool AWG 338......you suck. May I never see the likes of you again.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
So just to be clear, I LOVE my new city. I am having the time of my life!!! Things could be going better, but only if there were a winning lottery ticket and Hobbits on the menu. This place is great. Not working is more than great. Playing in the rainy streets, drinking too early, futzing with the blog, walking to the market 16 times a week - this is all getting chalked up in the plus column. Life is one big adventure and I am taking a bite...ok, wait. I may have mixed a metaphor in there somewhere. But the point is I don't want to sound little bitter barley (that's my irish version of sour grapes - whattya think?) It's just that kvetching is a little easier to write than praise...better laughs, at least I hope. And even a happy girl does need to vent now and again.