Dublin - Week 1

The weirdest thing about being in Dublin is hearing English.

When you're in a country where you don't speak the language, you tune out conversations that go on around you. Incomprehensible to you, they become white noise. But your ear becomes fine-tuned to languages that you recognize. In Switzerland, if anyone within a one-block radius was speaking English, French or Spanish, I knew. It was like a homing beacon.

Even in Spain, where I understood the conversation around me, English conversation reverberated at a particular pitch in my ear. Usually, it made me cross the street to get away, but the point is that I could always pick it out.

So imagine the feeling when I walked down O'Connell Street a few days ago. At first, I heard the people next to me, and thought, Hey, I understand them! How cool is that? And of course, I had to remind myself that I am in an English-speaking country. Just like that, my natural tendency to eavesdrop was turned up to 11. Suddenly I could hear every conversation, every uttered word, all at once. A bit overwhelming, I must say.

You know in the movies, when a character suddenly gets the power to hear people's thoughts, and all of the thoughts come rushing in all at once, indistinguishably, chaotically, and the character feels like they might go mad? That’s the way I feel right now. There is way too much noise in my head. It's going to take a little time to get used to.

Now, as long as I don't get crushed by a car driving on the left side of the road, I'll be just fine.

No pictures yet, but I will put some up as soon as I've got them....

Everything Was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt

Some sad news this week.... Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., passed away on Wednesday.

I mention this because Vonnegut has always been one of my favourite authors. An inspiration in his witty and sarcastic ability to expose a stark and often painful truth, his novels have a special place in my heart. In fact, on Wednesday night, by complete coincidence, Diana and I were talking about Slaughterhouse Five.

Whenever people play the game of Who would you have dinner with, living or dead? my answer is always the same: Kurt Vonnegut. I'd make steamed artichokes. We'd laugh a lot, and he would help me with the dishes. I've always liked the answer, because it seemed somehow plausible.

When I mentioned Vonnegut's death to Diana, she informed me that we went to high school with his grandson. How had I not known this?

We are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you any different. - Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

On Boredom, Art and Mountains…

I have been bouncing around like a pinball in Zurich, killing time before my next move (to Dublin on Wednesday), and am beginning to go stir crazy. Everything here is too perfect. Even the hoodlum kids who drink beer by the riverbank dutifully deposit their empties into the nearby garbage cans. The closest I have gotten to a seedy underbelly of this city was drinking absinthe with a couple of leery but very nerdy Swiss men that I met in a pub near my hotel.

At the very least, there is some decent art to be seen. I spent an entire afternoon at the Kunsthaus, checking out the Rodin exhibit and their varied permanent collection, and another at the industrial design museum which had a couple of very specialized exhibits. A third afternoon was spent in the park by the lake, reading Chuck Palahniuk (you were right, Jesus! I loved it!) and checking out the Le Courboisier Pavilion (closed, unfortunately, but neat from the outside anyway).

Today I took the train into Luzern to spend the day. Luzern is a bit smaller than Zurich, but just as idyllic. The air is a bit crisper, and you can see the mountains (see photo above). I walked around for 5 hours, visiting the churches and crisscrossing the river over the two medieval bridges. I conquered my fears and climbed the stairs of the ancient city ramparts to enjoy the spectacular view. And of course, I continued my ongoing quest to take a decent self-portrait without feeling like a complete dork (as yet unsuccessful)…

Now I’m back at my hotel, where I plan to spend the evening watching CSI in three languages (it’s equally predictable in German) and eating chocolate in bed…

Happy Easter!

Hello, Zurich? Disney called. They want their movie set back.

Zurich might just be the perfect city. The streets are clean and cobblestoned. The people are beautiful and speak Swiss German (like German sprinkled with fairy dust). The water of the river is so clear, I have to resist the temptation to strip off my clothes and dive right in. Sure, it’s ridiculously expensive, but that’s the price you pay for perfection.

So what could be wrong?

I’ve wandered around for two days, and I’ve found myself thinking, “Come on! This can’t actually be real!” I’ve seen daffodils and baby swans and honeysuckle (I’m not making that up), and skies that were so blue even the clouds seemed idyllic. I keep waiting for someone (probably me) to lean up against the wrong thing, and for this whole, 2-dimensional façade - this movie set - to come crashing down.




Frankly, Zurich might just be too perfect. I find myself wondering, don’t these people get bored? Where’s the dirt and the chaos and the seedy underbelly that makes the heart beat just a little faster?

I went into Grossmunster (pictured above), and found it underwhelming. A couple of densely coloured stained glass windows, but otherwise unimpressive.

At a bakery near my hotel, they had sandwiches that were glazed like pastries. Salami, pickle and boiled egg beckoned in eerily shiny perfection. I bought one, not because I was hungry, but just because I was curious. The sandwich was, I think, a bit like Zurich – perfection to the eye, ordinary flavour.



In a way, this is the ideal setting for me right now. This implacable beauty and calm helps me approach my inner chaos (the part of me that ravenously wants to be back in Barcelona) with some disconnection. And yet, at every turn, I feel just a little more visible – like my inner turmoil might boil to the surface, and they might kick me out of the city for being, you know, not perfect enough...

Reflections on a Barcelona Experience

Today is my last day in Spain.

The last 3 months have been some of the best times of my entire life. When I got here, I expected that I would have some difficulties, a few small successes and a healthy dose of homesickness. It didn't work that way. Instead, I accomplished more than I even thought possible -- both professionally and personally.

Ever since I realized that I was leaving the city, I've been living like I was 20 years old -- staying up most of the night and stumbling into work in the morning. I decided to set aside any decision-making and truly enjoy the time I had left in the city. And enjoy it I did -- to the fullest.





In the last week I've been hyper-aware of how much I have actually settled into this city. In the last week, 4 strangers have asked me for directions on the street, and I was able to answer all of them. I've come to love the spontaneous nature of a neighbourhood festival (when a dragon, fireworks and a marching band pass below your window unexpectedly, you just look, smile, and go back to your lunch.) I've found a local bar where I feel at home (sadly, I just found it in the last two weeks). I've met enough people that I coincidentally run into them on the street or at concerts. I've seen contemporary classical concerts in auditoriums and jazz or flamenco bands in smokey back rooms (sometimes all in one night).

I've met some amazing people, from amazing places (Italy, Germany, Argentina, Catalunya, Cadiz, New Zealand, to name a few...). I've had incredible students who truly made me feel like a great teacher. I've laughed and clapped and toasted, and maybe even loved a tiny bit.

But there are still a lot of things that I never did. Below, a shortlist:
- I never went into Sagrada Familia
- I never stayed up past sunrise (almost, but the time change saved me...)
- I never stepped in dogshit (this isn't something I wanted to do, but it's nothing short of a miracle that it never happened)
- I never learned Catalan
- I never stepped into the sea
- I never went up Mont Juic
- I never learned enough about the local politics

All of this to say that I need to come back. And I will. Somehow.

It's been raining in Barcelona for the last few days, and I have joked that Barcelona is crying about my departure. It's a joke, but it keeps me from having waterworks of my own...

Tonight, I board an overnight train to Zurich with no idea of where I will be next week or what I'll be doing. It's a strange feeling, but I've been pretty calm about the whole thing (at least so far). But the melancholy is starting to sink in, and will likely increase the further away I get. I expect at least a few tearful Swiss days...