Lap of Luxury

Brianne and I worked a catering gig last night for an Indian-English family home. The house was a swanky split-level number in the ritzy Knightsbridge area of town, with about three giant flat-screen TV's in various rooms, a kitchen straight out of Martha Stewart Living, and (not to seem crude but I feel it bears mentioning) a guest bathroom with both a toilet and a motion-sensing urinal, something I'd never imagined to see in a private home. The owner described it as his second home, as London brings him in from Dubai for business almost every month. Hoo-wah.

We were the only two servers at the home. I was bartender and Brianne was waitress/doorperson/Swiss Army knife. The total number of guests was about ten people including the host and hostess, a bunch of business friends meeting for drinks and canapes before heading out to dinner. Hardly a morsel of food was indulged in, the drinks were simple and few, and B and I found ourselves just standing around for most of the two hours of the soiree. In short, we did a little bit of set-up and clean-up for a party that could easily have been thrown without us, but the family could readily afford the help so they paid for us.

Highlight of the night: Host realizes that his house doesn't have the cocktail glasses he'd hoped for, so he pops out to the corner store to pick some up. The corner store: HARROD'S, the most expensive high-end department store in Christendom being used like a Dollarama!

A slightly surreal experience. It was a good job, though. Despite their obvious wealth the family was very friendly and personable, never demanding, and at the end of the night gave us both a generous tip.

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Months before our departure to England, Brianne had won an "early bird" draw through our SWAP program. The prize was a 3-day bus tour with Shamrocker Adventures (though we had to pay for ME to go with her). We chose the trip through Southern Ireland, and so it was that this past weekend we flew out to Dublin to start our Celtic sojourn.

We flew RyanAir out of Gatwick Airport on Thursday. Ryan is a dirt-cheap airline, and it shows. Clean and safe, but essentially a bus with wings and NO assigned seating. Decent for our 1-hour flight (plus the hour-and-a-half delay that they're apparently well-known for), but we wouldn't want to fly longer hauls with them. Also, Gatwick was massively disorganized from our point of view. We're used to all flight check-in desks arranged in one long line across the entrance of the terminal, a la Ottawa or Pearson. Here the desks were in hodge-podge "zones," with lines snaking around corners with no signs or demarkations. Bit of a hassle.

Brianne made me laugh so hard while we waited for the plane. I've never tasted a Red Bull, and in response she told me that "Red Bull tastes like . . . BEES."

Dublin is a nice little city, with low buildings and the river Liffy running through it. We believe our hostel might have been a convent school at one point, as there were reliefs of saints in the ceiling moulding and little nooks which looked like they once held devotional statues. The place was clean, and we had the pleasant surprise that they had a free BBQ that night. Regrettably our dorm had a snorer, but that's why one packs earplugs and nightmasks for hostels.

We met up with our bus group on Friday morning. We immediately met 2 Canadians - Kristen of Hunt Club, Toby of Dunrobin - and an American - Kelli of Tuscon. Kelli was travelling by herself, so Brianne and I pretty much adopted her. Our guide for the trip was a lovely girl named Jac (Jacqueline), with a lilting brogue and an impish grin. Throughout all the travels to follow she was a great pal and storyteller, always looking out for the group and giving us the "craic" (jolly good time.) On our way out of Dublin she pointed out the Millenium Spire (a 5-storey needle-like monument by the river to commemorate Dublin's thousandth birthday) and remarked that it is usually known by it's monikers "Rod to God," "Stilletto in the Ghetto," or the smirk-worthy "Stiffy by the Liffy."

Our first stop was a tour of one of the oldest whiskey distilleries in Europe, Locke's in Kilbeggan. It's a stone edifice nearly 300 years old with the mill-wheel out back still working. Below is one of the wooden vats used to heat the water for the distilling process. In the old days, they say, the temptation of hot water was very great, and so after quitting time the workers would often sneak into the vats for a bath.

We were given two samples of fine Irish whiskey, one that was their 40-proof finished product of Kilbeggan whiskey, and one that was pre-distilling process and clocked in at 78% alcohol. I only took the tiniest sip of the latter, and still it demonstrated whence came the inspiration for cartoon characters to blow steam out of their ears!

The next stop was Clanmacnoise, an ancient monastic settlement with some of the oldest and grandest examples of Celtic crosses around. This was where the rain caught up with us.On our way to the next destination, all the 23 passengers in the bus took turns at the guide's microphone telling a little about themselves, with encouragement to tell embarassing stories about either oneself or one's travelling partner. Hoo boy, the look on Brianne's face when she heard this . . .

Brianne told the story of how I essentially called her father Stephen Tucker a woman in front of his father while out for dinner. I related how cute B's malaprops are, and then finished with the story of why I always toast to Guiness itself when drinking Guiness - and why I'm thinking of my dad when I do so. All these stories warrent their own blog entry at a later date. Stay tuned.

By the time we stopped at Burren, the sun came out, which made the endless expanse of limestone in this national park sing with timeless grandeur.

The standing-stone structure above is the site of a burial mound. There is evidence that hundreds of these stood all through Burren.

According to Jac, the locals of this area are superstitious and truly believe in fairies. So our next stop was a "fairy ring." The little ones are said to inhabit the centre of the ring, so you mustn't cross the circle, only follow the path around clockwise.The next part of the trip took us past Gallway Bay and Lisdoonvarna, a town famous for it's annual singles mixer - which lasts the entire month of September and is attended by singles from around the world!

The next stop was a highlight of the entire trip for me and Brianne: the Cliffs of Moher. Spectacular in their own right, they resonate even stronger with us because they are also . . . THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY! Yes, this is where they shot iconic cliff footage from our favourite movie The Princess Bride! We practically squealed when Jac told us this. Below are the cliffs in all their splendour, with a special cameo by Brianne's teddy bear Toby. He made a few appearances this trip. We sometimes called him our mascot, but ususally we jokingly referred to him as "our cheap child."

After our view of the cliffs, we settled into the nearby village of Doolin for the night. The hostel was family owned and operated and was probably our favourite of the trip. Friendly owner and a great family dog in the backyard. We stopped by an old cemetary on the way to dinner. Amazing shots of crosses and landscape.

Our dinner at the local pub was authentic Irish stew and real honest-to-goodness brewed-in-Ireland Guiness. I toasted my dad and sipped . . . I swear to you, the best brew ever. It just has more heart to it than any Guiness you buy overseas. We had a grand time at the pub with a real live Celtic band in background.

Lord help me, I don't exactly know how this happened. We were chatting with our new friends about what it's like at the Tucker cottage and how the men sometimes end up in drag. Well . . .

. . . B and I hade worn similar outfits of black T/jeans, so we popped into the back and switched outfits for the amusement of our fellow travellers. I can make only these two statements in my defence: "The true essence of acting is the willingness to make an ass of yourself in public," and "If you're a real man, you can do whatever the hell you want."

We woke the next morning to an elusive double-rainbow. Irish magic.

Our bus took a ferry over the River Shannon, the longest river in the British Isles. There are actually dolphins swimming about in it, and we saw a flash of dorsal fin at one point. We stopped for a lunch of seafood chowder and oysters in the town of Dingle. We prefer our oysters from PEI. Speaking of Canadian food, I actually saw a stand in a convenience store selling Tim Horton's donuts! Hadn't the time to pick one up, and they looked like the kind we found in a convenience store in London, i.e. close but no cigar in terms of authentic taste.

Our next stop was a craggy beach called Slayhead, where a bunch of us from the bus played a great game of keep-up volleyball. A few jumped into the surf, but we Canadians are too used to frigid waters and didn't see the novelty . . . that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

After the beach we came to the Western-most point of Ireland, a cliff jutting into the ocean, to which we climbed and listened to Jac tell legends of Fionn MacCool, the sleeping giant you see below. Cliche as it is, we felt on top of the world.We stayed in Kilarney overnight, a lively town. We had a dinner heavy on starch and protein at O'Connors pub in the upstairs room, a room which later became the make-shift theatre space a local actor/storyteller to perform a one-man show about a man closing his pub for the last time. The characters were fun and the jokes were bawdy, but the two things no one in the audience will ever forget are his constant friendly and sincere reminders that the show came with a money-back guarantee (which nobody felt the need to redeem) and the way he drank Guiness. This man speed-chugged half a pint glass in 5 seconds each time for a total of 3 pints during his hour-long show! After his performance, audience members (our bus and another Shamrocker tour that was in town that night) were invited up to the front of the room for "Shenanigans," or open-mic time. Brianne and I got up and did a few verses of The Wolfe Island Ferry, an Arrogant Worms song in which you make up the verses at breakneck speed. We each improvised a verse, then handed it to our performer host, who strung together a couplet or two before finishing by downing his pint glass to raucous cheers. I then went for the ultimate in tasteful cheesiness and sang a verse of Danny Boy. I just HAD to. How could I pass up the chance to sing that song in an old-fashioned pub in Ireland? We finished the night in bar called The Grand, with a Celtic Rock band in the main room and a cavernous old-school dance club in the back. Didn't stay too long in the club - it's always a bad sign when the tunes they play don't hold an emotional resonance, they just make you think "What grade was I in when this came out?"

Our final day of the tour was highlighted with a stop at Blarney Castle. A ramshackle ruin of great character and scenery, and home of the infamous Blarney Stone. The stone is actually part of the rampart of the top-most section of the castle, and in order to kiss it - as is the ubiquitous custom - you have to lie on the floor and lean backwards and outwards while being aided by an elderly man bracing your posture. I'll admit I didn't necessarily feel the "gift of the gab" descend upon me, but it was fun nevertheless. The grounds were magical-looking, and contained an ancient tree-and-rock formation called the Witch's Kitchen, seen below, as well as the Wishing Steps, a staircase in a tunnel which must be traversed up and down backwards with your eyes closed to grant your wish.

We stopped next at the Mitchellson caves, a series of underground caverns with interesting rock formations with names like The Gingerbread House and The Eagle's Wing, as well as a coral fossil in the wall dated at 350 million years old. Brianne and I were invited to sing a few bars in the deepest cave to show off the acoustics, as the cave has held masses and concerts. Sadly, no photos were permitted.

Our final stop on the tour before heading back into Dublin was a brief photo op at the Rock of Cashel, a castle ruin which was the sight of a fairly bloody massacre of the peasants. Ah, history.

When we arrived back in Dublin, we said our goodbyes to most of our travelmates, but met up again with a few of them for one last pint. Brianne and I made a nice list of things for our guide Jac to do when she visits Canada later this year, including trying Icewine and Alexander Keith's and taking an Ottawa ghost walk. And we had a good laugh with our now good friend Kelli. After one last night in a Dublin hostel, we hopped our flight back to Blighty and our own bed in London.

It was a great trip, and a welcome break. Ireland is a beautiful country with very friendly people, and I'd recommend it to anyone. The bus tour was a great way to see a load of highlights of the country in a very short time. Get on over and check it out.

Friends, Food, Film, and the Daily Grind

We've spent the last few days either working or hanging out with friends, both admirable uses of time. On Thursday we met up with two of our AYS pals, Ben from London and Bryce from Nashville. We went for lunch on Brick Lane, a market street with a strong Bangladeshi population. We had papidams, curry and rice, a very fine meal. Afterwards Brianne and I had a catering job on a tall ship, which I of course was looking forward to after my previous ship job. Sadly, it wasn't as relaxed and fun as the other job - lack of organization and a problem with the little bridge at the marina to let us out, plus it was definitely a more choppy ride. Serving trays of champagne flutes can be taxing enough, but when you must carry a tray up steep steps from the galley to the top deck and the tray is slick plastic instead of rubberized and so light that the wind is constantly catching it . . . well, I hope you can feel my trepidation. Luckily, no spills. In the end, it was enjoyable enough, as the chef was quite friendly and Brianne got to witness Tower Bridge opening for us.

The next day I teamed up with Ben and Bryce again and we watched The Dark Knight. Utterly spectacular. Believe the hype - not only is it the best comic book film ever made, but Heath Ledger should definitely be considered for a posthumous Oscar. After the film we met up with B at Ye Olde Chesire Cheese. We had such a nice meal with Aunt Mary and Uncle Bill, we wanted to share it with our buddies, especially since Bryce will be going home to the States pretty soon. For dessert I had Spotted Dick . . . stop laughing. No, really, stop it. Fine. I'll wait.





Done yet? It's a little cake with . . . I said cut it out!





All done? Very well then. It's a muffin-like cakey thing with currants in it surrounded by warm custard, very tasty and very British. We went for an evening walk after dinner, touring around the Soho area. Very ecclectic shops and bars, interesting "only-come-out-at-night" type of people. On one corner we saw public urinals . . . you read that right. Not a port-o-potty, but a four-sided open air urinal stand. Weird.

Saturday and Sunday were spent working. On Saturday I did a private backyard luncheon for a wealthy family, while B . . . well, I'll let her tell of that later. Sunday we both went to a polo match to work the bar and canapes. Long hot day, bad traffic on the way back. My bar was an ice sculpture which dwindled away throughout the event. Dozens of people asked how long we thought it would last, trying and failing to be clever. At least ten people asked why we weren't lying on top of it. Gave me the idea that they should have an Ice Wall at events like this, against which people could periodically lean. I should check into a market for this.

Hever Ho and Away We Go

The jousting tournament started with a great deal of pomp and pride, but sort of meandered it's way into silliness. The knights were skilled, to be sure, and their riding and jousting were good, but the script they were using to create characters and comedy was weaker than that of a professional wrestling spectacle. We cheered and chortled for a fair bit, but when they got bogged down in slapstick instead of swashbuckling, we decided to move along and came to this striking Italian fountain next to their open-air theatre.

We wandered to the far edge of the grounds and this pretty little waterfall.

Several people brought their dogs to the grounds, and they were generally better behaved than the children.

At the end of the day we tried getting back in touch with our inner children on the playground. The result: we realized that our inner children have stronger knees than we do.

As a sidenote, Brianne and I have discovered a love of Travel Scrabble! We picked up the magnetic board game and played it to pass the time on the train. A lovely diversion, I suggest you try it.

A Day at Hever Castle

As a surprise outing, Andrew took us out to the English countryside for a visit of the childhood home of Anne Bullen (Boleyn); the second wife of Henry VIII. It is a small, quant castle surrounded by beautiful gardens, italian and roman scultures scattered through the lawns. There are three mazes and an amazing rose garden - not to mention the lake, the waterfalls and the jousting tournament that was going on in the afternoon.

First of all we were dropped off at a tiny station in the middle of nowhere, and had to follow the only road leading away from the station to find a lone sign that pointed to a path covered in brush. It was a lovely walk once we found the path, finally coming out to a main road that led into the tiny little village of Hever. All signs and traffic took us up to the castle.

no photography was allowed inside the castle, mainly due to the age of many of the displays as well as the fact that lighting just plain sucked. Some parts were so dark I couldn't even read the writting on the wall. (Take whatever pun you want from that.)

Around two in the afternoon a jousting match took place, mainly involving humour and the occasional sword fight. I'll let Andrew speak about that.

Being me, I picked up two postcards as well as a copy of three of the letters written between Anne & Henry.

Now, bring me that horizon

I had a really fun catering gig the other day on a tall-masted sailing ship called the SB May, which set sail from London Bridge City Pier to cruise the Thames. The vessel was entirely wooden and very rustic and authentic-looking. I know that it was quite old, but I can't remember how old. The serving crew consisted of me and another girl from AYS, plus the cook and the bartender. We served a three-course meal in the cabin below deck for 22 members of Saab, the car manufacturer. Some of their number were also members of the Swedish Air Force. The ride was quite smooth, except when one of the heavily motorized tour boats whizzed past, then their wake tossed us a bit. The scenery was great, mostly swanky riverside real estate, but the highlight was watching Tower Bridge being raised just for us to sail under! The trip lasted about 3 hours and was very refreshing, no sea-sickness at all. The guests were nice and my co-workers were very friendly. It's exactly the type of catering job I most enjoy - small and relaxed, with an atmospere that makes me feel like I'm serving guests out of my own kitchen, just as I felt at the Royal Ascot. I only wish I had brought my camera to catch the Bridge moment and the ship decor, but I've found it's really awkward trying to fit in photo ops while you're supposed to be working.

Incidentally, in case you didn't know, the bridge that you usually see in scenic shots of London with the ornate stonework and sweeping spans is, in fact, Tower Bridge, not London Bridge. London Bridge, while historic as a landmark, is utterly unremarkable to look it. Just as the nursery rhyme suggests, it's had to be rebuilt so much over time to sustain the traffic using it. Now it just looks like any other simple concreate and steel span, without opening capabilities.

The Mother of All Department Stores

Brianne and I entered the hallowed halls of Harrod's yesterday. This place makes The Bay look like Dollarama. I swear it is the first time in my life I'd ever seen £139 (approx $300) cashmere sweaters sold out of bins. BINS, I tell you! Like they were irregular socks or something! The prices were insane, but of course it was the highest-quality, top-brand blah blah blah. I predict at some point the ludicrously rich won't even bother wearing their designer outfits, they'll just walk around naked holding the PRICE TAG in front of them, as an ironic update to the story of the Emperor's New Clothes.

The store was quite impressive and oppulent, with high-fashion clothing, sparkly jewellery, and even a section of gourmet food and drink. One thing that struck me is that, contrary to what one might assume with such high-end merchandise, the staff were very open and friendly rather than snooty and dismissive of the riff-raff. I guess Harrod's is a tourist attraction in itself and the staff are quite accustomed to those of us who are "just looking."