It was a scorcher of a day in London on Sunday - well, a scorcher for the UK anyway. I was having a drink with a friend in Covent Garden and the sun was beating hot on our faces as we stood a patio. Considering how seldom this happens in the UK, it was pretty glorious. My friend then asked me if I have ever been to the Maple Leaf bar around the corner - it's a Canadian pub. I had heard of it, but had never been.
So off we went. As you walk in, it's exactly what you would expect of a Canadian pub. There is Canadian memorabilia everywhere - hockey sweaters, a fake stuffed bear, and the obligatory wood cabin motif. We got up to the bar, and I checked out the beer on offer. I knew that no self-respecting Canadian pub wouldn't have Moosehead, Labatt's or Molson's, but I was truly impressed to see Sleeman's Honey Brown - on tap. We got a table and noticed there was a hockey game on TV - Sweden vs. Russia, the bronze medal game of the World Championships. I was feeling pretty nostalgic by this time. Here I am on a beautiful day drinking Sleemans and watching a hockey game that was simulcast from TSN. It nearly brought tears to my eyes.
As the gold medal game was showing right aftwards, the pub was filling up rather quickly with Canadians wearing either red, hockey jerseys, or Roots gear. This last one caused a couple of sniggers to escape from my friend's mouth. He's Australian, and where he comes from, "to root" means to have sex, and not in that expression-of-lifelong-love-and-commitment sort of way.
It was a bit of a homecoming for me. The menu offers wings, nachos, quesadillas, as well as the ubiquitious burgers and fish n chips. The salsa is spicy in the Maple Leaf bar, unlike in many British establishments. The staff are all Canadian, and when someone asked the floor manager the score of the hockey game, he replied that "Sweden is getting totally hammered." I heard someone say that they were out of maple syrup, and someone else was eating a Crispy Crunch. I was wondering where you could buy the Crispy Crunch bars, when my friend told me that there is a Canada store next door with all "Canadian stuff" for sale, like KD and Twizzlers. I'm sure it's ridiculously expensive though.
Everyone in the place really looked Canadian. You can definitely tell the difference in looks between a Canadian and Brits or Irish. I've discussed this with a few friends here and it's widely agreed that most Canadians - at least the ones over here, naturally look healthy and sporty. Compared to the pasty pallour of many Brits and Irish, Canadians perpetually look like they just came back from a hike. My Aussie friend agreed that the crowd in the bar that afternoon did have an overall freshly-scrubbed, healthy appearance.
I really wanted to stay, it was going to be a great night, you could tell. But it was not to be. I had a flight to catch back to Dublin in a few hours. I was so disappointed.
Even though nearly everyone in the bar probably works in London, and aren't just passing tourists, Canadian rules definitely still apply there - despite being located in the heart of Covent Garden. I was up at the bar waiting to get served, and a man came up after me. When the bartender asked for his order first, he said that I should go ahead. No Brit does that. A Brit goes ahead and orders, and then turns around and apologises. A group of people asked us if we were staying for the game, and when I said no I had to catch a flight, they asked if they could have our seats when we were done - but no rush. One of the guys volunteered to send me a text with the score since I had to leave - and he did. I got a text after every period. As we were leaving, a couple noticed us getting up from our chairs and asked if they could have our seats. I said that someone else already had dibs, and they accepted that response and politely moved on.
Something tells me I'll be watching other sporting events from those screens in the near future - or maybe checking to see if they are having a Thanksgiving dinner. When I move over to London in September, I already have a hangout.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Monday, May 09, 2005
Wow
At 2.40pm EDT, I became an aunt for the first time.
I was just packing up my things to go home when the email came through my inbox. It's a girl. I have since talked to my sister-in-law, my brother and my dad. I haven't seen pictures yet, but I'm assured that she's cute. I can't wait to meet her.
I was just packing up my things to go home when the email came through my inbox. It's a girl. I have since talked to my sister-in-law, my brother and my dad. I haven't seen pictures yet, but I'm assured that she's cute. I can't wait to meet her.
Shifting Gears
My Grandma's only wish is to get some holy water from Knock, which is a town in the north-west of Ireland. In religious pilgrimage circles, it's apparently right up there with Lourdes and Fatima. To mark the site of where an apparition appeared, there is a cathedral, a new church, an outdoor auditorium, a large-scale outdoor stations of the cross, a huge granite rosary, and a row of cisterns dispensing holy water. Just around the corner, there is a spin-off industry of religious souvenirs – plastic holy water bottles in the shape of the Virgin Mary, rosaries, commemorative plaques from Pope John Paul II's visit in 1979, and various statues. As you can imagine, I put off this trip for a few months. Knock just wasn't appealing to me, and to go there in the winter, even less so. However, when I saw my parents in April, they reminded me of my promise to get some holy water, and as my Grandma is 96, I thought I really should do it sooner rather than later. As far as trips were concerned, the guilt trip was a resounding success.
My first thought was that I could take a bus from Dublin, but I envisioned it being a long ride, with probably at least one stopover. Then I thought, how long would I have to wait in Knock before getting the next bus out of there, once I obtained the sought-after holy water? Renting a car seemed to be a more practical and pleasant option.
However, it's quite difficult to rent an automatic car in Europe. Some places don't have one at all, and if you do get one, it's much more expensive. The friendly sales clerk at Enterprise told me all about their special bank holiday weekend offer: 90 Euro for four days. Of course, that's with a manual transmission. So how much was it if I upgraded to an automatic? They don't have automatics. He didn't even think he could order one in from somewhere else for me. I politely declined, but then he offered a driving lesson in the parking lot as well. Either the Celtic Tiger truly is dead and they're desperate for business, or I've found the only helpful salesperson in Dublin, and I hated the thought of not rewarding that by going elsewhere. I made a quick call to Europcar, and an automatic started at 145 Euro. So, I thought about it. There are plenty of truly brutal drivers on the road, far worse than I am, and many of them manage to drive standards just fine. I consider myself a good driver, and it completely bothers me that I can't drive standard. I'm not useless, so I figured that it's a matter of just doing it and if I'm by myself with the car, I'll have no choice. I can't bail when I get to a tricky area, or if I get frustrated. So, I took my business to Enterprise.
I told a friend at work about my plans. His only words to me were, “you're crazy.” One night we went out for a drink and he pulled over in the parking lot and told me to start driving. We just went around the parking lot because he was too nervous to let me out on the road. Still, it was most helpful for me to get used to shifting gears with my left hand, and he taught me how to get started again once stopped on a hill, which is one of the worst things about driving standard in my opinion. He showed me how to use the hand brake to keep me in place until I've stepped on the gas so I don't roll back. I was never taught that back home, so I think it's probably cheating a bit, but it came in handy a few times that weekend. Oh and before my mom starts wondering if I was holding out when I said I didn't have a boyfriend, he's gay.
It turned out that I had to work in the south-west the day before I was to leave on my trip, so I picked up the car early and drove down instead of taking the train, and coming back to Dublin only to drive out west again that night. When I got to the rental, they offered extra insurance so I wouldn't have to pay a deductible if I got in an accident or if I scratched the car in any way. Sign me up! Of course, my 90 Euro deal wasn't so much of a deal anymore, but I had already decided that I was going to purchase the extra insurance and not stress out about getting a scratch on the car on the ridiculous Irish roads. The friendly Enterprise clerk also had some great news for me. Because I've rented from them before in Canada, they're giving me an upgrade. Instead of the Nissan Micra I requested, I got an Almera. I really wanted the Micra. I wanted the smallest car possible because Irish roads are only the width of 1.5 cars in some places. Furthermore, if they only knew that this weekend was the Great All-Ireland Standard Driving Experiment, they wouldn't want to give me the upgrade. I do have to say though that the Almera was great. By the end of the weekend, I was quite attached to my coffee-coloured hatchback.
In order for me to get to the highway, I had to drive back into the city – in morning rush hour traffic. I really didn't think I was ready for yet – there is just too much stopping and starting, which means shifting. In my mind, the whole trick to driving a standard is just not stopping. I looked at the map. There was only one other option – to drive over the Wicklow mountains. The roads would be small and windy, but there would be hardly any other drivers on the road. My decision was made. I would tackle the small, windy roads head on and go over the Wicklow Gap. I should mention that as you go over the Wicklow Gap, the roads are very narrow, very steep, very windy, and there isn't a lot of margin for error. At one point, there is a steep drop off to one side, with no guardrail and no shoulder. Of course, right at that moment, I had to pull right over (steep drop side) to let a tour bus pass, and when I started up again, had to do the handbrake thing to keep from sliding back – because I had no room to slide back (unless I really wanted to slide – all the way down the hill). Are there any civil engineers in Ireland and what kind of ass-backward road building is this anyway? But obviously I made it. It would have been difficult in an automatic, and I did it in a standard.
As the weekend went on, I grew more confident. I got through rush hour traffic, and I also made it across a crowded bridge over the River Shannon in Killaloe and Ballina. The bridge was built in the 1300s (I think), so it's the exact width of two modern cars (not trucks) plus the width of an average person on each side. There was a lot of traffic going both ways, people walking alongside the cars, and of course, a tractor coming in the opposite direction. I didn't even stall once!
So of course, as I grew more confident, I went on more difficult roads. I was driving through Southern Clare trying to get to the coast road. I took a turn where I thought the sign was pointing to the coast road, but as it turned into a dirt road, I decided that I didn't really want to go down there. I tried to make a U-turn, and misjudged how much room I had, and hit the grass embankment on the other side. As it had been raining, the edges of the road were mucky, and when I put the car into reverse I slid forward further into the embankment and the wheels started to spin. At this point, I was very glad I purchased the extra insurance. I just got out of the car to investigate when a car full of girls pulled up. They had room to get around me, so I waved them by, but they stopped to see if I needed help. I said I was stuck, to which the driver said, “c'mon girls, let's push.” No sooner were they out of the car, when a father and son pulled up from the opposite direction and a farmer came walking across the field. They managed to push my car out easily enough, and I was on my way. I hadn't seen a soul for miles before this moment, which makes me wonder, were they watching me from their windows?
I had further evidence of this a day later, when I was near the Cliffs of Moher, also in Clare. I was told that the view from Hag's Head is even better and to get up there, you drive up a path just past a guest house, park at the top of the hill and walk out to the end. I found the path easily enough, and then when I got to the top, there were three “roads” leading out towards the edge. I took the one I thought most likely. I thought I had been driving for a bit too long, and that surely the directions could have been more detailed, when the “road” I was on suddenly turned into a rutted, dirt road. I started to think that this was not a good thing and maybe I should turn around, but there was no place to turn at all. I went a bit further and found myself facing a fence. I couldn't go further, and I couldn't turn around. So, I put the car in reverse and started to back up. I will say one thing about the Almera - it's awkward to get a good view out the back window when reversing for a stretch. I hit a rut, and while trying to straighten the car again, I hit an embankment. Again, I gave myself a pat on the back for springing for the extra insurance. No sooner did this happen when a car came up behind me. I got out to signal that this really wasn't the right road to be on. A farmer got out of the car and said, “looks like youre having some trouble” and helped to pushed me out. Do they have telescopes at their windows, or did his cousins in South Clare call ahead and warn him of my impending arrival? Either way, I was grateful that the folks in rural Clare know when a stranger is in town and that she doesn't know how to drive.
By the end of my weekend, I was shifting and parking with the best of them. As I drove into Dublin to return the car, I was a bit sad, but also felt a real sense of accomplishment. I miss having a car and I miss driving. If I were to stay here (big IF), and if I were to get a car, I could probably get a standard. I'm pretty comfortable with it now, and whatever discomfort I still have, I know would go away soon enough with daily practice. However, I still bow at the feet of the man who invented the automatic transmission. Really, it's so much easier.
Oh, and my two mishaps in Clare didn't leave any scratches.
My first thought was that I could take a bus from Dublin, but I envisioned it being a long ride, with probably at least one stopover. Then I thought, how long would I have to wait in Knock before getting the next bus out of there, once I obtained the sought-after holy water? Renting a car seemed to be a more practical and pleasant option.
However, it's quite difficult to rent an automatic car in Europe. Some places don't have one at all, and if you do get one, it's much more expensive. The friendly sales clerk at Enterprise told me all about their special bank holiday weekend offer: 90 Euro for four days. Of course, that's with a manual transmission. So how much was it if I upgraded to an automatic? They don't have automatics. He didn't even think he could order one in from somewhere else for me. I politely declined, but then he offered a driving lesson in the parking lot as well. Either the Celtic Tiger truly is dead and they're desperate for business, or I've found the only helpful salesperson in Dublin, and I hated the thought of not rewarding that by going elsewhere. I made a quick call to Europcar, and an automatic started at 145 Euro. So, I thought about it. There are plenty of truly brutal drivers on the road, far worse than I am, and many of them manage to drive standards just fine. I consider myself a good driver, and it completely bothers me that I can't drive standard. I'm not useless, so I figured that it's a matter of just doing it and if I'm by myself with the car, I'll have no choice. I can't bail when I get to a tricky area, or if I get frustrated. So, I took my business to Enterprise.
I told a friend at work about my plans. His only words to me were, “you're crazy.” One night we went out for a drink and he pulled over in the parking lot and told me to start driving. We just went around the parking lot because he was too nervous to let me out on the road. Still, it was most helpful for me to get used to shifting gears with my left hand, and he taught me how to get started again once stopped on a hill, which is one of the worst things about driving standard in my opinion. He showed me how to use the hand brake to keep me in place until I've stepped on the gas so I don't roll back. I was never taught that back home, so I think it's probably cheating a bit, but it came in handy a few times that weekend. Oh and before my mom starts wondering if I was holding out when I said I didn't have a boyfriend, he's gay.
It turned out that I had to work in the south-west the day before I was to leave on my trip, so I picked up the car early and drove down instead of taking the train, and coming back to Dublin only to drive out west again that night. When I got to the rental, they offered extra insurance so I wouldn't have to pay a deductible if I got in an accident or if I scratched the car in any way. Sign me up! Of course, my 90 Euro deal wasn't so much of a deal anymore, but I had already decided that I was going to purchase the extra insurance and not stress out about getting a scratch on the car on the ridiculous Irish roads. The friendly Enterprise clerk also had some great news for me. Because I've rented from them before in Canada, they're giving me an upgrade. Instead of the Nissan Micra I requested, I got an Almera. I really wanted the Micra. I wanted the smallest car possible because Irish roads are only the width of 1.5 cars in some places. Furthermore, if they only knew that this weekend was the Great All-Ireland Standard Driving Experiment, they wouldn't want to give me the upgrade. I do have to say though that the Almera was great. By the end of the weekend, I was quite attached to my coffee-coloured hatchback.
In order for me to get to the highway, I had to drive back into the city – in morning rush hour traffic. I really didn't think I was ready for yet – there is just too much stopping and starting, which means shifting. In my mind, the whole trick to driving a standard is just not stopping. I looked at the map. There was only one other option – to drive over the Wicklow mountains. The roads would be small and windy, but there would be hardly any other drivers on the road. My decision was made. I would tackle the small, windy roads head on and go over the Wicklow Gap. I should mention that as you go over the Wicklow Gap, the roads are very narrow, very steep, very windy, and there isn't a lot of margin for error. At one point, there is a steep drop off to one side, with no guardrail and no shoulder. Of course, right at that moment, I had to pull right over (steep drop side) to let a tour bus pass, and when I started up again, had to do the handbrake thing to keep from sliding back – because I had no room to slide back (unless I really wanted to slide – all the way down the hill). Are there any civil engineers in Ireland and what kind of ass-backward road building is this anyway? But obviously I made it. It would have been difficult in an automatic, and I did it in a standard.
As the weekend went on, I grew more confident. I got through rush hour traffic, and I also made it across a crowded bridge over the River Shannon in Killaloe and Ballina. The bridge was built in the 1300s (I think), so it's the exact width of two modern cars (not trucks) plus the width of an average person on each side. There was a lot of traffic going both ways, people walking alongside the cars, and of course, a tractor coming in the opposite direction. I didn't even stall once!
So of course, as I grew more confident, I went on more difficult roads. I was driving through Southern Clare trying to get to the coast road. I took a turn where I thought the sign was pointing to the coast road, but as it turned into a dirt road, I decided that I didn't really want to go down there. I tried to make a U-turn, and misjudged how much room I had, and hit the grass embankment on the other side. As it had been raining, the edges of the road were mucky, and when I put the car into reverse I slid forward further into the embankment and the wheels started to spin. At this point, I was very glad I purchased the extra insurance. I just got out of the car to investigate when a car full of girls pulled up. They had room to get around me, so I waved them by, but they stopped to see if I needed help. I said I was stuck, to which the driver said, “c'mon girls, let's push.” No sooner were they out of the car, when a father and son pulled up from the opposite direction and a farmer came walking across the field. They managed to push my car out easily enough, and I was on my way. I hadn't seen a soul for miles before this moment, which makes me wonder, were they watching me from their windows?
I had further evidence of this a day later, when I was near the Cliffs of Moher, also in Clare. I was told that the view from Hag's Head is even better and to get up there, you drive up a path just past a guest house, park at the top of the hill and walk out to the end. I found the path easily enough, and then when I got to the top, there were three “roads” leading out towards the edge. I took the one I thought most likely. I thought I had been driving for a bit too long, and that surely the directions could have been more detailed, when the “road” I was on suddenly turned into a rutted, dirt road. I started to think that this was not a good thing and maybe I should turn around, but there was no place to turn at all. I went a bit further and found myself facing a fence. I couldn't go further, and I couldn't turn around. So, I put the car in reverse and started to back up. I will say one thing about the Almera - it's awkward to get a good view out the back window when reversing for a stretch. I hit a rut, and while trying to straighten the car again, I hit an embankment. Again, I gave myself a pat on the back for springing for the extra insurance. No sooner did this happen when a car came up behind me. I got out to signal that this really wasn't the right road to be on. A farmer got out of the car and said, “looks like youre having some trouble” and helped to pushed me out. Do they have telescopes at their windows, or did his cousins in South Clare call ahead and warn him of my impending arrival? Either way, I was grateful that the folks in rural Clare know when a stranger is in town and that she doesn't know how to drive.
By the end of my weekend, I was shifting and parking with the best of them. As I drove into Dublin to return the car, I was a bit sad, but also felt a real sense of accomplishment. I miss having a car and I miss driving. If I were to stay here (big IF), and if I were to get a car, I could probably get a standard. I'm pretty comfortable with it now, and whatever discomfort I still have, I know would go away soon enough with daily practice. However, I still bow at the feet of the man who invented the automatic transmission. Really, it's so much easier.
Oh, and my two mishaps in Clare didn't leave any scratches.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
