Swinging Wales... and Dublin

Weekend trip to Wales, and then Dublin.

Things learned from this U.K. excursion?

1) Welsh guys are quite attractive, in much the same way as the Polish farmers are. Only the Welsh have lots more tattooes and a cooler language, all of which I can totally dig.

2) You can lose your wallet on a bus in Dublin and reclaim it, fully intact, within the hour. I think that was an off-Dublin experience though because I got honked at by a rowdy car full of Irish men, and one lady I asked for directions was very alarmed that I was walking by myself and told me, "For God's sake, stay in the well-lit areas."

3) Andy Rourke may or may not take the first class section of the train from Stansted airport to Liverpool Street. (!)

Okay. There is no point really in even trying to describe Wales since it was ridiculously wonderful. I realized how lucky I am sometimes to have the opportunities that I do. Here is a nice little castle I saw in the town of Caernarfon:

And some sheep...

And a scenic view of a mountain path... hmmm... I stole a piece of coal from the train that took us up there...

I have decided that I want to live on a mountainside and change my name to Krista Plays with Squirrels. Of course, I probably won't do that.

But really, Wales was awesome. This girl Susan (who is studying abroad with me)and I ate ate fish and chips on a park bench facing the Snowdonia mountains, overlooking a lake. The town that our hotel was in, Llanberis, was this slightly eerie place that reminded me a bit of Spector from the movie Big Fish. Kids were running around, everyone seemed really friendly, and there were few streetlights. I can definitely see how all those Welsh legends came about in the dark.

My group took a train trip to the top of the mountains, where we got off and chilled out for an hour or so. There were so many sheep running around, and now I'm a little scared I tracked into London some strain of sheep disease on the bottom of my shoes (I ignored the airport sign requesting anyone who has been around animals to notify a worker...).

But maybe the strain of sheep-illism was tracked into Dublin first, which, quite frankly, doesn't seem too bad. Just kidding, of course. Really, Dublin was pretty all right, just sort of dirty and filled with people that made you watch your wallet. Or leave it on a bus... That's my main Dublin story.

We took a ferry from Holyhead, Wales to Dublin, Ireland and since my group was predominately filled with rather hesitant, um, pansies, that snubbed their noses at the hostel (which wasn't great, but really, it's a hostel, what do you expect?), I went out on my own for a while. I decided I would go to Marley Park and explore the Dublin mountains.

So I took a bus to Marley Park (it took 45 minutes to come, just throwing that out there...). And then the bus driver kind of raised his eyebrows at me when I accidentally said "pounds" instead of "Euros" (well well well, excuse me for making a mistake...). So when I was sitting on top of this double decker bus headed for Marley Park, I scoffed inwardly at his driving technique, which included nearly running over several pedestrians and inching past other buses. I set down my wallet and keys and map on the seat beside me... we arrived at the Marley Park stop an hour late... I grabbed my keys and my map.... Got off the bus...

The bus took off, and I tried to figure out where to go. As I started to look at my map, I realized my wallet was gone. And I clearly remembered setting it beside me. I looked down the road and the bus was stopping at a nearby stop. There was only one thing to do. I took off running after it. Yes, I'm rather humiliated at it, it was rather like that part in Spiderman where poor Peter is chasing after the school bus. And it was hopeless, too. Maybe I just imagined the bus driver speeding up...

So I want you to imagine for a moment, that you are in the outskirts of Dublin, with no wallet (in which contains every single Euro, pound, and dollar that you have, your debit card, your driver's license, your student I.D., your bus ticket, even your Saint Bernadette prayer card...), and you have no cell phone, no phone numbers, and only a map that does not cover the area you are in (and besides, it says as a footnote: Distances not "exactly" to scale)... And the bus where your wallet currently resides has just Mach 3-ed on further into the "seedier" part of Dublin.

I must admit, I shamefully burst into tears. I was like, Oh my God, I'm so stupid, I am the stupidest person alive! What the hell is wrong with me! I was very certain I would never see my wallet again. And what is there to do in this situation, except sit glumly at a busstop? I sat for a while and noticed a poster at the stop with the bus station's telephone number. I started asking people to borrow their cellphones.

Here is my first conversation, an assault upon a bicyclist:

Me: Excuse me sir! May I please borrow your cell, I mean "mobile" phone? See, I left my wallet on a bus, and the bus just took off, and it has my money and everything in it, but I found this number at the busstop... Please?

The Sir: [very carefully, eyes narrowing slightly] Sorry. I.... don't... speak English.

And then he looked proud that he said this sentence in English. Coincidentally, his native language was Polish, but as my Polish is limited to "castle" and "dandelion," I thanked him in Polish - which probably bewildered him - and started walking up the looooong road, the direction from which I had originally come. I noticed some people standing across the road at a station, so I ran across four lanes of traffic and "sketchally" approached the group.

And goodness me, I met the nicest Slovakian man and ... two more Polish people. The guy let me use his phone, and I called the bus station, and talked to a very cheerful Irish man who asked why I had done something as crazy as lose a wallet. Thankfully, someone had turned in my wallet to the bus driver, and the bus was making its round again. So I could just get my wallet when the driver came back around.

So I had to face this driver again, but he turned out to be a nice fellow, and even let me ride the bus back for free since I didn't have cash. He probably saw my driver's license picture and thought anyone who takes pictures like that deserves some kind of break...

So how were the Dublin mountains? Who knows. But apparently 75% of the surrounding population is Polish.

Needless to say, I was relieved to get the hell out of Dublin. The Liffey River was pretty sweet though:

Que pasa?

So I'm in London these days.


How is it going? Fantastic. I have found my one true love in the form of a country.


Today marks exactly one week since I first came here. Seven days ago, I arrived jeg-lagged and excitable, landing in a hostel that was A) awesome, B) filled with lovely Australian boys (I wore one boy's wooden Dutch shoes, ooh la la), C) quite clean and D) once again, just awesome (free breakfast included, yeah!). After one pretty bizarre night in the hostel, I had to move into my school apartment in the Bloomsbury neighborhood, on Bedford Place.

The apartment is standard, but a lot of fun. We're situated in the academic neighborhood, and everything is conveniently in walking distance. I've been to lots of coffeeshops, bookstores, flower markets, and so on, encountering many interesting people along the way.

How are the English? Exactly like they are on American t.v. - only better. I've already recounted a certain airport story to a few people: When I first got into the Heathrow airport, I had lots of heavy luggage. I was in a rush since I had been held up at customs, so I piled all my bags onto a trolley and without looking, swung this cart around, laden with 100+ pounds of tacky earrings, nail polish, clothes, etc. Clearly at fault, I proceeded to accidentally bang into the shins of an unsuspecting middle-aged man, who, instead of cursing me like any born-and-bred American, looked horrified and said, "So sorry miss!" He then made sure I was okay before rushing off toward the Underground. I smiled because I knew I was in England then.

I had been warned about this peculiarity of the British (apologizing unnecessarily) in the required course reading, Notes from a Small Island, by Bill Bryson. I have had to find out a few other British things on my own, however.

Which leads me to this entry's topic, Strange Recurring Phrases of the British.

Yesterday, I was sitting at a table, just outside a coffeeshop I like. It's the perfect place to people watch (Do you think Billy Idol would book a room in the National Hotel? I swear I thought he was leaning out of a window... I will check up on that later...). I was reading and writing a bit, when I noticed this dude lurking around in a red baseball cap. He looked over at me, and then he actually came over and out of the blue asked,

"Are you all right?"

"Um, yeah. Are you?" Why the hell was this guy asking me if I was okay? Do I look upset? I know I'm pale, but wow. I was totally weirded out because, how bad can things be when I'm reading and drinking a cup of tea? Things were wonderful! This guy offered no explanation for his inquiry and then began to comment on how he thought my handwriting was pretty, like a French person's. Eventually, he left and I just sort of shrugged off this weird incident.

Then today, I ventured way down to Norbury to meet a family who might want me to watch their children (who are adorable, by the way). I was walking down to the road the family lived on, when another random guy asked me if I was all right. "Yes, I'm fine!" Do I really look that much like a tourist? I know I'm wearing flared jeans over here, but honestly, I had neither my tube map nor Nikki's copy of the London A-Z book of maps out. I knew where I was going! I had eaten that morning! Everything was fine, fine, fine!

The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed, and when strange things arise, I utilize Google. Which is how I found out "Are you all right?" is the British equivalent of the American, "How are you doing?" Weirdness solved. I was being unknowingly rude to these poor people who were only being polite. And now I don't have to be the uncivil American anymore.

And that's quite all right with me.

Dan, wearing his wooden shoes (he apparently wore them through airport security... Australians, hmm...)

The hostel room. There were five other people in the room: Three Australians, a girl from Turkey, and a girl from Brazil.