The Wedding

It's kind of hard to describe the happiest day of your life so far.I'm not even going to try. I hope this video here and these small section of photos give you a feel for what it was all about.

The Fitzgerald's meet Christ and the Big Pig

As we sat in the Jury’s hotel reception room 5 minutes away from Dublin airport munching on some chips, crisps and chicken sandwiches the night before the 9.20am flight the next day to London and onto Paraty, Rio  the scene was set and the protagonists with varying degrees of travel experience insitu in high spirits. I love that feeling just before you are about to go travelling. It was here again. After receiving a warm heartfelt best wishes phone call from my godmother who finished with a “look after your mother” I sat back and took a moment to ponder on the momentous journey that was about to unfold and the loved ones who were coming along for the ride. For me the journey would consist of: Dublin-London-Rio-Paraty-Ilha Grande-Rio-Buenos Aires-Cape Town-Port Elizabeth-Johannesburg-Port Louis- Paris-Dublin. A generous 5 weeks off work and 6 countries to traverse. For the others 1 week which would consist of  Waterford-Dublin-London-Rio-Paraty-Rio-London-Dublin and the final leg back down the road to Waterford. 

Munching into a well cooked chicken breast with some chips was my beautiful mother. Omnipresent in my life and forever with me where ever I go. This time she was coming with me. With two flights in her life, on both occasions to England ( to visit her sister and her sister’s family) this was the biggest trip of her life, bar none, and probably always would be. She was nervous but excited.  My father had never flown before. Eventhough he would argue that he flies in the cold waters of Tramore everyday  of the week as he dives, floats and breast strokes in the cold south eastery waters of Ireland. A great man about to go on (at least physically) a great journey: an turas fada. Calm, collected but also excited I enjoyed knowing that he was about to experience a wonderful trip that I hoped would give him many new colours to dip into when painting pictures of the soul.  Normally one to travel inside. He was about to go outside.  I knew, more than anyone else, he would probably be the main benefactor from the experience. Having got lost already using the lift in Jury’s to find his room I smiled to myself knowing that this was going to be unforgettable for my Dad and for all of us.  

My brother Joseph, his wife Eleanor and their beautiful all singing all dancing daughter Ellen were next. All experienced veteran’s of the air with countless miles racked up after numerous trips to the US and Europe. However, this trip would be completely different to any they had been on before. It would be late 30’s in temperature. They would have to manage a country where not a lot of English was in use and also the food would be a lot more different than probably anything they had experienced before.  Whether they would enjoy it or not I wasn’t full sure.

Then to make up the final elements of the travelling party was my childhood friend Bryan Walsh and his lovely wife Gillian. Both had been to Brazil with me before for the carnival and both where making a big sacrifice of leaving their two children for a week to come and be present at my wedding. Something I will always be grateful to them for. The Walsh’s a bit like Joseph come from the modern Irish travelling generation, as I did, that had been blessed to see the world.  This trip for both of them would be a walk in the park. With a couple of books and a glass of wine once we left London they’d drift off to sleep on the plane as if they had caught the train from Plunket station in Waterford to Heuston station in Dublin.

 At the table with the usual sounds of a busy hotel in the air I took a moment to think to  myself as myriad images came to the fore. I grabbed at them and help to one. It was gratitude. Gratitude for getting to this stage in my life with so many loved ones beside me. Gratitude for being lucky enough to be marrying such a wonderful women: Camila Montilha de Morales, soon to be Fitzgerald. Gratitude to be so privileged in life to be able to do the things I was about to do while Hait’s castrophe still roared and the plights of so many people’s silent and unheard cries rose to the heavens with no one to hear with no one to hear nor defenders in sight.  Here I was muching chips, crips and chicken with the most important people in my life getting ready to go to Rio. I felt extreme contentment and happiness.

Approximately 24 hours later we were outside our hotel the Rio Othan, on Copacobana, listening to the waves, sipping on some agua de coco and caipirinha’s and saying hello to my good friend Robbie Griffin who had made his way down alone the day before from Dublin. To my surprise, everything had gone smoothly and there was no issues. My mother’s asthma had not played up and neither was the heat causing her any problems. My dad had enjoyed the trip and was enjoying the foreign surroundings of the beach and all the little peculiarities that the new local had to offer. 

Like an expedition to the Himalayas Mam and Eleanor had planned well.  At least a years planning went into their bags. And I’m sure my mother had gone on many trip to Clonmel and Kilkenny with my wonderful Aunt Una (who I’m sure had her part to play in making all plans were double checked).  My brother had walkie talkies ready for all to use. My father bought his first pair of prescription shades and half a pharmacy and half a swimming pool was with us. Thankfully, the flights went well, and we all got to the beautiful Atlantico Avenue, Copacobana, and our lovely hotel the Rio Othan, with enough time to spare to have some tasty steak and onions washed down by a coconut water. We all sat there taking in the beautiful beach and happy that we had arrived. There was a lot to do the following day and Rio as all who have been there know has much to offer.

Christ the Redeember or as the locals call it O Cristo Redentor  is the  iconic statue of Christ that towers over the city.  It  stands 39.6 metres (130 ft) tall and 30 metres (98 ft) wide. It weighs 635 tons , and is located at the peak of the 700 metres (2,300 ft) Corcovado mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park overlooking the city. It is one of the tallest of its kind in the world and the Fitzgerald family was very impressed when we paid it a visit. 

 Besides the beauty of the vista from the top, which is one of the best I have ever sceen we also got a chance to visit the tiny tiny church at the heel of the statue. Most visitors don't even know it is there.  I pointed it out to my father who promintly gathered the trops in probably the smallest church any of us had been in to say a decade of the rosary in Irish.  I’m pretty certain it was probably the only decade of the rosary ever said there in Irish. It was a forever moment to remember. Afterwards we gently descended down the newly created escalators and then made our way to do some shopping and try find my Dad a pair of sandels.

That night we all went to a churrascaria or Brazilian steakhouse. Churrasco is the cooking style, which translates roughly from the Portuguese for 'barbecue'. Camila and I had planned carefully and we were all booked into the best one in Rio: Porcao, or the big pig!  The word barbeque for Irish people conjurs up an image of back gardens, spits, charcoal, burgers, sausages and chicken wings.  For the more adventurous it might mean marinated chicken breasts, scallops, monk fish, squid and some quickly flipped mackerel. For the Brazilian’s it’s very very different. Picture a huge salad and sushi table 4/5 meters in circumference with lots of exotic cheeses, pastas and vegetables with a generous offering of Japanese style foods and cheese breads. This is the starters offered with local Gurana drink, coconut juice, soft drinks and wines.  Next you get a picture of a cow divided into over 13 cuts. You also get 2/3 waiters, per person! On your table, like a beer matt, you have a green piece of cardboard on the front and red on the back. When you flip it to green, you are giving a signal to the waiters to come at you as quick as possible with as many meets as possible for you to eat. When the signal in red, it mean’s leave us alone, to try digest what we had eaten. And so on and on it goes. Plate after plate. Dish after dish. Drink after drink.  But the cow is only half the story! Then comes the chicken, all sorts of fishes and they don’t call it the Big Pig for nothing. Lot’s of bacon on offer and lot’s of fillers like melted mozarella cheese, empanadas, onion rings, fried banana fritters and chips all a mere nod and a wink to a waiter away.  Churrascaria’s are built for international rugby teams that haven’t ate for days. They are built for gormandisers of meat who delight on salty, perfectly cooked, slivers of tender rump or picanaha steak that’s juices are just as nice as the meet itself. They are unforgettable food and drink marathons.  If  ever I was on death row and a I was asked what would be my last meal.  A churrascaria standard all inclusive menu in the Big Pig, Rio, would be my unanimous choice.   

It was a food education the Fitzgerald family won't forget and for and all in 50 euros for 2 hours and and as much food as you could eat great value. I can’t wait to go back… From Porcao it was a taxi back to the Othan Palace, early to bed,  to get ready to catch the bus the next day  for the beautiful sleepy town of Paraty!

It's so cold even the Brass Monkey's are having a meeting about it

Scenes from my apartment balcony in snowy Dublin.

 

Las Rambles - Barcelona

While going back through some of my old posts I found a draft I had half written on Las Rambles when I lived in Barcelona. Here is is with a few snaps.

Las Rambles is by far Barcelona's most famous street. It's a bit like Grafton street come Moore street on speed. Imagine a road twice as long and twice as wide as Dublin's premier shopping street with the local fervor and edge of Moore street. Think of the countless processions of people along Istanbul's Istiklal Caddesi and all the colour and life of Copenhagen's Strøget. Colour abides, noise envelops and movement is as constant as the waves that hit Tramore bay in my home town on a cold blustery day in December.

There are two ways to access this street. One is from the impressively rejuvenated port area to the south of the city and the other is to the north off Praca Catalunya. I study in a school close to Passeig De Gracia, just off Catalyuna and often find myseld walkng down the street that way before I get the turn off for Barrio Gothica, El Borne, and home in Vila Olmpica beside the fantastic Arc De Triomf and Parc Ciuadella Vila.

The moment you stand outside Cafe Zurich, the eponymous Swiss drinking hole that faces Ramblas you can feel you are about to enter a living breathing pulsating capital thorough fair. At the top of the street is a metro stop and lots of youth loitering around the entrance waiting for friends or loved ones, or selling cheap cans of Estrella beer for 2 euros a can if they can get it or more than often 1 euro if you laugh at their original overture. Once you get past the first few meters the fun begins. On any given days as you walk down the 3km you get to see local tourism paraphernalia sellers a bit like Connolly's back home. You then get a large number of "Hola" magazine and book sellers and more than a fair share of small restaurants and beer sellers.

Fun to walk down but BEWARE it is infamous for pick pockets and DANGEROUS at night.

Night-Time Bosperous

There is nothing quite like having a nice meal, in a really hip restaurant, on the 13th floor of a hotel looking down on the busy Bosperous as you watch boats of all shapes and sizes, their lights, like reflecting pin pricks in the river, dancing in competition with the pall of stars over a jet black Turkish sky. Especially, if the restaurant is as cool as, Vogue.

What I like about the Bosperous at night is the sheer business of the river. There seems like a constant parade of ships up down and across. Then you have the beautiful minarets on the horizon announcing Islams presence all around and then you have the thousands of local fishermen on bridges and on the river's side chatting to each other and swishing their hooks overhead. 

Last night I met a very nice gentleman called John who works for Microsoft for the Middle East and African region (MEA). He told me a little about his fascinating life and what it's like to live in Istanbul for 3 years. John, has 5 children, 2 from a previous relationship from his ex-wife, two that his current Turkish wife had from a previous relationship and one that they had together, a 3 year old girl.

John told us all about the kamikaze culture of the car drivers here; the calmness and tranquility that the Bosperous gives to so many locals at night, the fear that the country is going to experience another earthquake soon, the fact that there is little or no Irish community in Istanbul for him to hang out with, the huge appetite that Turkey has at a grass roots level to join Europe, while the current political leadership seems to be slowly steering itself to the Arab world.

When asked about Ireland. He dreams of living in West Cork, Baltimore but feels that the economic recovery in the country will probably take a decade if not longer to reaslise itself. John, was a colourful character full of interesting facts and stories. He kindly brought Camila and I to the water's front after our meal where we walked at midnight along the coast as we visited smoking tea shops, bought popcorn and candy floss, and tried our best to converse with the locals. We watched the fishermen laughing and chatting incessantly as the water bounce and flicker as the moon sent it's beams crashing off the top of a giant mosque beside. Young adolescents dotted on the grass in the local park, playing guitars, dancing and kissing. It was easy to see why John loves Istanbuls so much and why he is proud to now call it his "home".

Staring at the eyes of Tutankhamen

I’ve just come from Cairo were I was staying two days to do some work with the local recruitment team. The traffic was as bad as ever (the worst I’ve ever seen, bar India). The pyramids majestic and imperial as I glanced at them through a slow moving taxi. The crimson alabaster horizon descending on the water of the Nile as it twinkled and shimmered beside Cairo tower. White soldiers in their black berry hats as ubiquitous as I remembered.

On this occasion I had the good fortune to have a lovely dinner with 4 of my Muslim colleagues from Egypt. The trip will be memorable for the open and candid conversations on far ranging topics and one very interesting conversation in particular where I learned some interesting facts about Islamic faith:

1. Muslims refrain from eating meat where the animal has not been slaughtered with all the blood removed from its body. They believe the cleansing of the blood from the carcass removes unhealthy toxins that should be avoided for a longer life.
2. When getting up at 4am for the first prayer of the day, which normally last 3 minutes, they get extra “credits” if they wash their face in cold water before they return to sleep.
3. A Muslim man can have many wives. My taxi driver had 4.
4. A Muslim man can marry a Christian woman. However, a Muslim woman can only marry a Christian if he agrees to convert to Islam. She is forbidden from converting to Christianity.
5. Muslims in Egypt think that the Libyan accent is very swave and sexy.
6. Muslims vehemently believe that God is God; Mohammed is his prophet, they should travel to Mecca once in their life time and also they should be generous to the poor.
7. The wearing of traditional head garments is optional but often influenced by parents and grandparents.
8. There is little or no Sunni Muslims in Egypt.

These people were the perfect hosts and introduced me to a treasure throve of foods from Lebanon, Turkey and Egypt, the most of which I have forgotten the name of. They bought me sugar cane drinks and beer and told me all about the local music behemoths and latest up and comers. A great night out and I look forward to more like that in the future.

On this occasion I got the chance again to go face-to-face with the inimitable Tutankhamen mask. This time like the last time there wasn’t as many tourists around and I had a very good informative local guide to myself that I paid a very well worth 10 euros for one hour. After looking at Tutankhamen’s beguiling chairs, urns, weapons, jewellery and pottery (and despite a guard shouting “stop that photo” to a tourist beside me who had tried to take a photo of the mask with his iPhone) the time I spent looking at the riches of the young King’s tomb, in his sarcophagus chamber, was quite and tranquil with only a few others around. As I studied the mask and stared unflinchingly into its eyes a calmness and happiness entered me. I felt as if I could have stayed there happily for hours, days or even eons. Calmness pervaded the air, as if the air itself was leaving off some noble scent that allowed me magically time travel. I have been very lucky to travel as far and as wide as I have. For the minute or two I stood silent looking at the mask I transported myself to other locations I have been and that have imprinted themselves in my mind as clear as a deep inscription in an Ohm stone that has stood the tests of time. I looked deep inside and what came out were memories of the Pantheon when the air from the main chamber hit my eye as I peered through the main door at night. The first approach to Machu Pichau early in the morning as the condor flied overhead; the women and their fragile silk sewing machines of Luang Prabang; the dancing with local Chinese on a cold Friday night in Beijing in a small remote square beside the Shangri-La hotel. Many of these moments came back to me while looking at the mask. Like the treasure all around I couldn’t help but feel that like Tutankhamen and I had something in common that words could not express - and, written not in hieroglyphics, Greek, Latin, English or Arabic but with the ink of the rambling vagabond spirit.

Dubai

When Adidas marketing executives came up with their “Impossible is Nothing” campaign they must have got their inspiration from this sun blasted rich state of glamour and glitz on the Arabian peninsula. The local incumbent ruling tribe spear headed by its leader Sheik Mohammad’s imagination has gone into over drive. Where his brother and father have finished he has boldly taken up the baton and on behalf of the United Arab Emirates nationals propelled his new country onto the map of the world with incredible speed and ostentation.

The world’s only 7 star hotel, Burj Al Arab

The world’s largest shopping mall, Dubai Mall

The world’s tallest building, Burj Dubai

There are lists of lists of world’s firsts in Dubai and the Sheik has no plan in stopping any time soon with the world’s largest playground: Dubailand and the “world” project well under way.

However, on the flipside, Dubai has grown fast and furiously and from what I can see it is experience its fair share of growing pains with Abu Dabi and its hegemony of power beginning to question the speed and manner in which its sister city has grown so quickly. The recession has come in many ways at a good time for the city and the over inflated economy has begun to come back to some sense of reality and normality of late.

Arab culture is rich and fascinating and I have enjoyed my time here immensely. It has been interesting to study the local Emirati people from the lens of tourist and to wonder about how life for these people who  constitute only 20% of Dubai’s 1.4 million people must be. There wealth is obvious and their desire to be modern and innovative is carefully woven with their strong beliefs in their faith and their desire to delicately preserve their nomadic desert heritage and religious Islamic fervour and devoutness.

A bit like Shanghai there is a palpable taste of opportunity in the air and the hot sun that beats down with oppression at mid day at well over 35 degrees seems to remind that with hard work and inspiration man can conquer the desert and that fortunes are to be made for the bold and the brave.  As with all emerging markets that hold such cities of opportunity its culture is evolving quickly and tradition and modernity are getting to know each other in many clashes and embraces.  Rich business men each day are seizing countless opportunities, spreading the word of capitalism and getting rich. While the drum beats of inequality and culture divides is silently but steadily heard with every brick  that is laid by an underpaid, overworked, construction worker from Pakistan, India or Bangledesh that toils in well over 45 degrees of heat at mid day.

Acknowledging what is happening across all the social strata in the city ads to the alluring complexity of the city that demands understanding and questioning and also repect. Since coming here I find myself constantly quizzing taxi men and waiters that I have had the chance to meet about their interpretation of Dubai life. The replies have been wide and varied. With most being appreciative of the opportunities they have received compared to working in their home countries and others counting the days until they leave.  A lot have mentioned the fact they can earn good money and the fact that the country as being “secure” as being some of the main motivations for being here. Others complain about strict traffic penalties, high rental costs and “apartheid” like tendencies from the local Arabs on the negative side.

I am here on a trip with Microsoft to the region which includes a whistle stop tour of Cairo and Istanbul. Of late I have been asked to take some sourcing project management responsibilities for Middle East and Africa (MEA) and I am down here to learn from the local recruitment and HR teams and get to know them and the market they operate in.. The region comprises of all the African continent, the Gulf as well as eastern Mediterranean.  Our main hubs of activity are in Dubai, Israel, Cairo, Nairobi and Johannesburg and spreading out from these locations are teams that look after a lot more of the smaller markets that constitute all the other countries in the region. It will take years to understand the region to the level of detail I would like and to build the relationships I need. This trip is a good start.

Luckily, I have had the opportunity to fly in and spend the weekend here before doing my meetings on Monday and Tuesday.  Taking the excellent on-off city “Big Bus” tour guide has been my introduction to the city and it represents very good value for 20 euros for 24 hours with a lot of free admission and a boat ride across the creek at Deira all thrown in for good measure. I’ve also had a chance to visit the “Lost Chambers” and the “Aqua Adventure” park in the newly opened Atlantis hotel which sits imperious at the top of the first Palm island situated in close proximity to the world famous Burj Al Arab. I’ve also visited some amazing hotels for lunch and dinner. I have never in all my travels seen so many incredible, lavish hotels.  5 stars are the norm here.  My taxi driver informed me that on the trunk of the Palm alone that they are planning thirty three 5 star hotels all in the space of a couple of kilometres! For those who  enjoy luxury and pampering this city, by far, offers the best range of hotels the world has to offer in such high concentration. So far the stand out ones I have had a chance to visit have been: Jumeriah Beach and Dubai Marine.

I’m looking forward to coming back again. Who knows what “world’s firsts” will be added to the Sheik’s list by the time I get here. With Abu Dhabi successfully launching the first F1 race and having announced the coming of the Louvre and Guggenheim museums their brotherly rivalry seems to have only started!

Cuenca, Spain

Just back from a very enjoyable stag party just outside Madrid in a very cool little town called Cuena! A friend of mine Conaill was gamely dressed up by a matador and did his country proud by going through two days of full on drinking and dancing. Great "craic" and looking forward to going back for his and his beautiful Spanish fiancee, Arancha's wedding, in August in Toledo!

What I particularly liked about this little town was the hanging buildings over the top edge of the city and the really long wobbly bridge over its very cool little valley!

Swiss Weddings and Canyoning in Interlaken

Over the course of the last two weeks I have been fortunate to go on two different trips to Switerland (that's 3 times this year already) The first was a wedding in Brig, where my Swiss friends Domi and Gabi tied the knot. Camila and I became very friendly with them after we rented our apartment in Trader's Wharf to them when both of us went to live in Barcelona. Ever since we have been good friends and when they invited us to their wedding we were delighted to go. On this occassion, we decided to fly to Milan so that we could take in the famous Dumo catheral that lived up to it's world renowned beauty and we gaulked and stared in the famous shopping centre of the rich and famous at Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. An extraordinary homage to the most famous clothes brands in the world. The arcade itself and spectacular glass ceiling were the best part of it all for me. As far the flash bags and dandy brogs! - not really the vagabond way! From Milan the train ride to Visp and then close by Brig is excellent. Rolling valleys abound and the stunning Lake Maggiore kept calling out to me to stop the train and go explore it but alas we didn't have the time and like a child in a candy shop been told they could only take one sweet it was frustrating seeing so much and not been able to go out and get to it.

Then to the main wedding. Brig is a tiny town in the south of Switzerland and one of the smaller cantons. The wedding itself was in a very small church and the ceremony was very intimate with only a handful of foreigners. Unlike Irish weddings Domi gave a speech in Swiss German and English at the start of wedding thanking everyone for coming. Also, he and his wife arrived together and sat at the top of the alter facing outwards. The priest was a young energetic man with amazing communication skills. His eyes were ablaze and he engaged with his crowd constantly asking them to answer some of his questions and regularly cracking jokes. Eventhough he spoke 99% of the time in German his sincerity was amazing and eventhough the spoken word was lost on the visitors I felt it was the most beautiful wedding I have ever been at, bar none, because of how family orientated the atmosphere was and the sincerity and passionate delivery of the priest to a very engaged and interactive audience. I hope I can capture some of the magic of Domi and Gabi's wedding at my own this February.

The rain fell soon afer the ceremony but we quickly made our way to shelter and some beautiful white wine that Gabi's father had cultivated and prepared himself from his own vineyard. We then went back to a cosy hotel where a single electronic keyboard man played a marathon 4 hour session, we did the follow your partner around the room snake dance at least 7 times, Gabi's mother played the accordian and deliverd a one man comedy act on a stage in front of the crowd for 20 minutes and Domi's father also performed a rap song with Dami's mates. All mixed in with more of Gabi's father delicious wine and a non stop flow of excellent food. A wonderful experience.

The next day we got the opportunity to see the world famous Matterhorm Mountain from the beautiful touristic village of Zermatt and later that night we visited Gabi's parent for my firt ever tasting off Raclette cheese all prepared homemade and with tender loving expert care. It was truely delicious and with a helping of lovely boiled potatoes Camila had five seatings and I only bet her by one to six.

The this weekend I decided to travel by myself while Camila was in Brazil to visit my good friend "Maddog" McKeever who is an interest trader for USB in Zurich.  It was back to Switerland again!  We went down to the amzing town of Interlaken to spend a couple of nights in the famous Balmer youth hostel while we explored all that the best adventure sports city of Europe had to offer. This was my first time to Interlaken it won't be my last. The nearest thing I have seen to it is Queenstown in New Zealand. Interlaken means "between lakes" and that is exactly what it is - two beautiful massive glacial lakes.  It is surrounded by majestic peaks with a beautifl little city on level ground. It's obvious when you get to the city from all the activity taking place in the park in the centre of the city that it's all about the outdoor sports in this part of the world. Handgliders dotted the skies regularly and paragliders were everywhere. Countless scores of people wizzed around on their bikes and tourists hung out in huge numbers from all the local hip cafes and bars that are tucked away nicely on the wdge of the main square and pretty back streets.

Jim and I decided for a 40km cycle on day one with a visit to my first ever Cowboy and Monster trucks festival, you heard me right, line dancing, Harley Davison, cowboy festival, that just happened to be in Interlaken when we were there and had the best handle bar moustache wearing air guitar players I have ever seen going crazy to Garret Brook songs. "Nice job" Maddog!

Second day was all about canyoying and repelling (check out some photos here to see what it's all about). Basically, going down a glacial vally with a wet suit and helmet and over the course of a two to three hours in a group of ten jumping and diving in to various type of pools and currents. Great fun that reminded me of sledging when in Queenstown.

Interlaken was an excellent find and one never really on my rader before until this week. I look forward to getting back and next time getting to visit Schillthorn which I'd love to see on a beautiful sky blue pristine day.