a year of burning mountains

From my diaries: the year 2002 ...

* New Year's Eve – hotel reception work, a kiss in the staff room and a pan-European folk dance (the latter is what happens when a Czech and a Finn dance wildly to traditional Irish tunes).

* Europe's massive currency revolution – spent days juggling Irish pounds and euros.

* A very close encounter with a badger one dark night.

* Many cold nights with no heating. Resorted to illegal squatting.

* Cycled in pitch-black darkness to the village twice a week to play badminton with a very eclectic assortment of people.

* Crashlanded with the bike, went to a play in a Dublin theatre, enjoyed and sometimes endured traditional Irish music seisiúns.

* Saw burning mountains and set fire to myself while DJ'ing at a party.

* Jammed with a punk queen and a Grammy winner while sharing a spliff.

* Spent my birthday in a rainy fishing village and a Dublin suburb, drinking champagne with a Newfoundlander.

* Participated in a rare census of Ireland.

* Took trips to nearly every corner of the Emerald Isle. Saw Belfast murals and barbed wire, the Atlantic evening light over Donegal, a spa in the violent city of Limerick, the dramatic Ring of Kerry, the windblown flatness of the sunny Southeast, the quiet villages in the heart of the country and the ancient Hill of Tara.

* Hero worship and homesickness.

* Moved to a hotel attic where everything was yellow.

* Inhaled strawberry smoke through a hookah in a dreary Irish kitchen.

* Witnessed spectacular car crashes, deportations of illegal aliens, big fat gypsy weddings, and tanks rolling past my front door.

* Had a bathtub full of blood after participating in my first (and last) drinking game.

* Foolishly intervened in a fist fight.

* A September holiday in Finland – a visit to paradise and lazy days with the Helsinki gang (cheap sweet cider from a corner shop tasted much better than the famous Irish stuff).

* Suffered a cat attack and a tetanus shot – and a taxi driver who laughed until he cried at my misfortune.

* Tried to assist in a police investigation regarding drugs while surreptitiously chasing a rat in the hotel lobby.

* Participated in the no less than heroic feat of running a hotel with no electricity or heating for several days in an October storm. A positive side effect of the crisis was hanging out in a bar filled to bursting with candle light and excited people.

* A December holiday in Finland – skiing down a hill, my last nights in my childhood home and another few nights in a Mennonite library (situated upstairs from the hospital's ward for contagious diseases).

Memorable email to friend back home:

”I wanted to get away from Finland so I chose a country of drunks and fighters, emotionally and spiritually inhibited ”normal” people who have no depth – and if they have it they're afraid to show it. Finland number two. But with worse weather. Yes, I love this country, actually.”

a thought on the church

"What millennials really want from the church is not a change in style but a change in substance.
We want an end to the culture wars. We want a truce between science and faith. We want to be known for what we stand for, not what we are against.
We want to ask questions that don’t have predetermined answers.
We want churches that emphasize an allegiance to the kingdom of God over an allegiance to a single political party or a single nation.
We want our LGBT friends to feel truly welcome in our faith communities.
We want to be challenged to live lives of holiness, not only when it comes to sex, but also when it comes to living simply, caring for the poor and oppressed, pursuing reconciliation, engaging in creation care and becoming peacemakers.
You can’t hand us a latte and then go about business as usual and expect us to stick around. We’re not leaving the church because we don’t find the cool factor there; we’re leaving the church because we don’t find Jesus there."

(Rachel Held Evans: "Why millennials are leaving the church" )

good things and German

On the other hand, I have a balcony with a seaview, lots of candles, God, a Russian doll that looks like Gorbachev (on the outside), a mother that buys me chocolate, hugging friends, freedom and wine, and a new package of vanilla-flavoured coffee.

And I signed up for an evening class in German today. I wanted to study French but no suitable classes were available. This is unexpected - and exhilarating. This may alter the course of my life!

fretting tonight

I don't want to help people. I'm too tired.

I don't want to be a role model. Or maybe I do, but apparently you can't if you prefer a life with freedom and wine to having children.

I don't want to hear people tell me how important family is. It hurts when your own family is too far away, geographically or emotionally, and there isn't much you can do about it.

I don't want to be told I should stop being bitter, reserved or self-pitying. It's about as helpful as telling a cancer patient to stop being sick.

Above all, I don't want to fret about all of the above so much.

a bond between two

"I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other."

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

the wolf barely contained

"have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?

maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
a threat.

maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.

maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.

maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.

i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.

i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.

i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths."

(R.K.: "The Wolf Barely Contained")

be your cup of coffee

"She took a deep breath, tossed back her hair, and said:

'It’s strange. No amount of coffee will take away the tired. I think I’ll always feel tired. Maybe we will forever feel like that. Like the sun won’t get quite high enough to warm me the way I want, like the leaves will forever make too much noise under my boots, like the touch of someone else’s skin won’t make me feel less alone. I think we need to start waking up on our own. Books won’t shake the sleep from my eyes. Friends can’t tell me the meaning behind the stars and the dust. I guess I have to find it for myself, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. But I like the way you stand next to me. A forever reminder that you are trying to wake up too. I’ll be your cup of coffee. I’ll be your hand to hold. Even if the stars don’t make sense, at least that does.'

In that moment, I decided I like when she breathes in deep." 

(Brother Stories, Tumblr)

a year of love/hate and whiskey under the stars

From my diaries: the year 2003 ...

* A year in the Irish valley -  love and hate. Life-flowing walks, tempesteous intrigues, exotic people. Working hard, flirting wildly, making a hotel bar my home. This was the year everyone wondered where Saddam was.

* Auld Lang Syne and Bailey's liqueur on New Year, on duty in a hotel reception. My employer gave me free alcohol at midnight but no food on New Year's Day. Cried of hunger.

* Risked jail by driving illegally to Newgrange, a mystery more ancient than Stonehenge and the Pyramids. Was stuffed into an underground tomb with 20 teenagers.

* Sci-fi-obsessed and stayed up every night to watch TV.

* Valentine's Day under siege: alone in my room with wine and chocolate to avoid an admirer who desperately wanted to give me flowers.

* Represented the village badminton team in a local game. This being Ireland, there were drinks afterwards.

* Discussed immigration with Irish embassies in Bratislava and Moscow.

* Gained entry into a cathedral through the sacristy wall.

* Almost killed myself working for a hateful boss who was never happy. Felt bullied and persecuted, felt very much loved by others. Lots of crying in the back office, public fits of rage, stolen desserts with my only allies and 3 a.m. drinking at the mysterious Table Twenty-Seven.

* Discussions about South American brothels and whether it is possible to worship a curtain.

* Was offered a thousand euros to marry a Chilean. He loved me for my European passport.

* Hated a Frenchwoman.

* Celebrated a big birthday in Dublin's Temple Bar with friends, vodka and no sleep for three nights.

* Holiday in the heart of Ireland: the town of Birr, stuck in a time-warp and impossible to leave.

* A night in a 13^th century castle with cocktails and canopy beds.

* Trip to Cork and the Kingdom of Kerry with Finnish strangers and friends. Almost crashed our car into a chainsaw and witnessed what we interpreted to be a secret IRA burial. Only with my own people can I laugh so hysterically. Drove across the mountains while a Gaelic lass sang us rebel songs, danced all night in Dingle.

* Romance with a sweet Irish lad who had no curiosity.

* A summer of laughs with two Aussies and a Frenchie. Picnics in castle gardens, games of pool, watching TV in bed, exploring a cave.

* Witnessed an Irish form of pub entertainment: pretend horse-racing but without pretend horses.

* A night in a thousand-year-old cemetery with candles, whisky and all the stars of the sky.

* Conquered a mountain.

* Gave an interview for the radio while leaning against a gravestone.

* Saw an Irish dance show at the theatre and studied albino hedgehogs at the museum of natural history.

* November weekend hidden away among rain-swept hills, sipping drinks by the fire with my best friend.

* Chased the police for a residence permit but they avoided me diligently.

* Adventures in the Dublin nightlife, Wexford and Waterford.

* A Christmas holiday in Finland with the flu, a new Thai niece, pancakes in a Helsinki hipster kitchen and a party in an old farmhouse on a starry, ice-cold night.

* Decided to leave Ireland, the land of my dreams.

Weirdest question asked of me this year (by man in medieval garb, long hair and desperate eyes): ”Do you have some oyster shells I can borrow?”

quiet in heart, and in eye, clear

"Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.”

(Wendell Berry)

a year in Her Majesty's service

From my diaries: the year 2004 ...

* The year arrived for me in the Irish mountains, on a 12-hour shift in a busy little hotel. The night included a gigantic pavlova that took 45 minutes to eat, giggling on command into somebody's phone, hard work, frustration and happiness, and exchanging a handshake and a kiss (the Irish new year greeting) with an entire village. In the small hours, I withdrew to my drafty attic room to drink some illegal alcohol in peace.

* These were the last few weeks of a long Irish adventure – intrigues and sing-alongs, a Spanish best friend with blue hair, candle-lit dinners, pub nights with strange friends and strangers, roaring fires, and betting on horses with a rich man's money.

* Spent a night drinking champagne with celebrities in the VIP room of Dublin's hottest club.

* Impressed the Irish, but not the Romanian immigrants, with my ice-skating skills.

* Said farewell to Ireland with a week of parties, a dawn walk and a mountain tour. There was cake, slivovitsa and striptease, as well as a snowdrop brought down from a mountain just for me.

* Moved to England, without a clue, one February day. Within 24 hours I found a receptionist job in a quiet Cotswolds village, where I had a hidden room in a labyrinthic old inn. Fought boredom and loneliness, read novels in cosy tea rooms and 13^th century pubs, became the resident computer genius and performed whistling duets with a parrot.

* Had more than one incident at the hotel involving celebrities and dirty laundry (literally).

* Found a church where I cried every Sunday.

* Celebrated my birthday with a picnic in the Duke of Marlborough's own park, together with a pheasant and a black swan. Saw the not very feel-good movie The Passion of the Christ and ended the day at an alcohol-fueled party that my new friends threw in my honour. Very hung-over, I was tenderly awakened by the fire alarm the next morning.

* Moved to the city of Cambridge and explored everything from suburban cricket grounds to college courts. Stayed in a hell-hole of a house where the only comforts were blood-red sheets and a poster of a calla lily, then moved to share a tiny house and an apple tree with a male stranger.

* Found a job in a luxury hotel reception – with stress, arrogant celebrities and a psychotic boss, but also hilarious workmates and champagne celebrations.

* Tried to learn professional bed-making skills and slept in the hotel's junior suites.

* Had a nervous breakdown but recovered after three days in the healing embrace of London.

* Soaked up sun and life during endless summer days by the river, drinking iced frappuccinos and punting with beautiful people.

* Lived my Cambridge life with one friend only, my Czech mate. I helped her find a job, she taught me chess, we discussed lost love in many a pub and danced in the winter's only snowfall.

* Found a self-defence course, volleyball with a real coach, a lively church and a magical night at the circus. Explored every corner of the city, encountering man-eating horses as well as strangers wanting to discuss the meaning of life.

* Flirted on Guy Fawkes' Night with a boy in a mohawk, who later sent me a dozen roses.

* Experienced evensong in King's College Chapel and a date spent swigging African sugarcane liquor out of a Coke bottle.

* Celebrated Christmas in London, an out-of-the-world experience: Christmas dinner in a dirty Libanese falafel joint, pub life in Putney and sincere prayer in a chilly Hyde Park. And the absolute impossibility of finding a cup of coffee on Christmas Day.

* Partied with strangers who all loved me (but then most of them were on drugs).

* Had a New Year's Eve that I've completely forgotten.

Extracurricular trips taken:

* Bournemouth: lovely seabass dinner, beach-walking in the rain

* Bath: sitting by the steaming water where the ancient Roman used to bathe, architecture and a river trip

* Wales: great company, romantic castle ruins

* Ireland: old friends and a mountain tour

* Cornwall: beach holiday with exploring and lots of texting

* Various quirky towns in the Fens: medieval cathedrals, great pub lunches and train rides across the flattest country I've ever seen

* An afternoon in Grantchester's famous orchard: reading The Times and thinking big thoughts among oaks and apple trees, squirrels and a beautiful October light

* Several day trips to London: shows, vodka mudshakes and a magical atmosphere

Weirdest question asked of me this year: ”Where can I hang these two dead pheasants?”

fish and ancient orders

Today I was invited to join an ancient order and feasted on grilled fish by a wild sea.

And I sank into the dark of the cinema, into a story that has entertained me for almost as long as I can remember.

decaf

"There is a time and place for decaf coffee. Never and in the trash."

(unknown)

kissed in kitchens

Random facts about me:

I am a woman who gets kissed in kitchens, is too wise and makes younger people cry with laughter.