The Sounds of St. Stephen’s Green

The Sounds of St. Stephen’s Green

As the sun sets lower in the sky, and the shadows of the trees on the ground stretch to see the last of its light, so we celebrate the end of a long and tiring week, soaking up the last of the day.

There is jazz playing from a show further in the park, and people chatting and laughing fill the rest of the air. Grafton’s buskers’ tunes float towards. Different languages pass you by, mixed with the songs of birds and the gentle rustle of their feathers in the small lake nearby. Even the passing traffic’s invasiveness is swallowed by the tall green trees surrounding us.

The 400-year-old park, that holds so much of Dublin’s history, now holds yours too. For whatever reason you came to the 27-acre cut-out of the city – whether it’s to read or picnic or paint with your friends. Whether it’s to think about your problems or escape from them. St. Stephen’s Green offers you a bit of “fresh air” from the stale air of work and the hyperventilating of life. Here, you are given an opportunity to grasp the peace that’s calling to you. And ask yourself: maybe if we spent more time just ‘being’, we wouldn’t feel the need to ‘be’ something all the time.

Yesterday was supposed to mark our last day working in Swords but the promise of our work transfer has been delayed. So what we thought was an 8 day push of exhausting ourselves with 4 hours of travel a day, has been extended another 3 weeks.
I wouldn’t mind the travel as much if I didn’t suffer so much from motion illness.

I have been trying to use the time to think.

Think about what, I’m not too sure. I usually circle back to “What am I doing with my life?” And “what should I be doing with my life?” Unfortunately, that’s left me with a small case of the morbs – wondering why I wasted 4 years of my life to get a degree I now know I won’t use, and wishing I’d just stuck with something (anything) for long enough for it to show me fruition.

I realised on the tram the other day, that I’m 25 now. No longer in my early 20s – free to be indecisive and reckless. Not that I ever really loved being that- I was always fighting to make something of myself. And now is the time, really. At the very least, I can choose to dedicate myself to the things that leave me fulfilled. For enjoyment of toil is a gift from God.

Ken and I have decided that there is no better time to change everything in your life, than when everything in your life changes. Embrace the chaos – then find your footing in calmer waters. So we’re both on the hunt for new jobs. “Real jobs” as we South Africans call it – but the Irish keep reminding us that “any job is a real job” and that’s the beauty of a first-world, liveable-wage country.

It’s just time to focus myself on what I want to live for. Instead of floating aimlessly – I want to float on the currents that at least align with my passions.

So I’m writing again.
Straight from the heart of the city that inspired all this in the first place (even if I did lose sight of that for some time).

Thanks for reading, dear Traveler,
With love from Dublin,
Cheylin.

Where have all the Irish Gone?

Where have all the Irish Gone?

Our day ends at 4pm. The shops all close nowish, not that that’s our reason for climbing into bed; it’s our day of rest.

We spent the day with a South African couple from The Church, they took us to the local mall, fed us and showed us some good places to shop. They’ve been here for a year and have a bit more experience than us.

The other couple we connected with The Church is a young married couple — much like us — from Hungry, they’ve been here for about 2 years now. We’re keen to get to know them. The girl works for Google, so Ken and I were both, obviously, intrigued. They’ve promised to take us on a hike when the weather eases off a bit more.

The most interesting thing about The Church is really the vast diversity. Every third person is black, something we didn’t expect from a white-majority country (especially when that wasn’t even the norm in South Africa for us). They’re from all over the world, Nigeria, Botswana, England, and Brazil. It’s truly magical to be a foreigner in a place where you’re almost at home in your differentness.

We have a rough plan for the days that follow, get an appointment for my PPS number (like a tax or social security number), get Kendal’s passport stamped, buy some real things and maybe apply for jobs.
I’ve been telling people that I’m in media — and while I technically am, I’m still fairly undecided about my path here. I’ve started telling people that I’m looking for any work while I write my book. That feels right to say. Maybe I’ll start saying “I’m a writer”. (I do have a blog and all).

We’re dreaming, Ken and I. Still, the possibilities feel endless.

With love, From Dublin.
Cheylin

Day 1.

Day 1.

Day 1.

Today was our first day in Ireland. Minus the short few hours we had here yesterday, which was used up figuring out how to access the bus system — a euro from a stranger really helped us out — walking in the icy wind to our accommodation, a short dinner (tomato soup from The Host) and a good effort to catch up on some sleep.

We started our day as the sun rose — 8:30. It wasn’t too cold in the room we stayed in, and after Kendal took a short shower we walked out into the bitterness. It’s really the wind that gets you. Once you’re out of that it isn’t too miserable. 5° or so today.

We entered a little grocery store, asked them for a Leap card (a transport card that you can load money onto, that acts as a discount card too — win). The card is €5, with a minimum load of €5. The store was interesting. We tried to get a gauge of the cost of things but exchanging it into Rands really doesn’t help, it just makes everything seem too expensive to buy. The strawberries there were from Spain, the Grapes from France. Conclusion: it’s not only the people that are international.

Once we figured out the bus system (and by figured out I mean were helpfully-told about the bus system) we made our way to Dublin. The ride is long an uncomfortable, but the excitement held us through.

“It’s magical” I thought as we arrived. My crowded thoughts of the country being miserable vanished with the lively bustling of the city. Every turn was exciting, but my jet-lagged body struggled behind my enthused mind.

We wandered around for a bit — Kendal on an unspoken mission to find an adaptor for my laptop. We turned down a strange little street in search for some sort of mall and found it. A street mall — you know, the ones on either side of a road. That’s where I found my love for Dublin.

The excitement of it all felt like a breath of warm air. The people were moving and talking and being busy. Each little shop we went into felt like possibility. And then we found the entrance to the actual mall. At this point my body beat my mind and I begged Kendal to get us some coffee. After a short bathroom break (which had teddybear claw machines and an ID photo booth in it for some reason) we tried to find coffee. At nearly €5 a cup, Starbucks was a no-go. The organic coffee shop next to it was only slightly better. We settled for a €3 euro coffee at a weird little restaurant. We were served by a young Asian lady, next to an Indian woman and as we sat down I said to Kendal “I think I want to work here”.

The idea behind the coffee-shop job is layered, with the thickest being that I think it will be a good way to understand social culture — a vital key to making friends in a foreign country. And with no shortage of tech stores in the strip, Ken and I agreed to bring our CVs with us when we went again.

We got our Irish sim cards. €20 euros for 28 days of unlimited 5G data, unlimited calls between the same network, 60 free minutes of other calls and the actual simcard. We’ve shopped around a little for these and this seems to be a good deal. (Also we have it on a pay as you go basis so if things so really wrong we’re not signed into anything).

We went into a shop called Dunnes (pronounced ‘Dunes’ or ‘Dunnies’ or ‘Duns’, we’re not so sure). It’s massive. With a market on top, giant female clothing store in the middle, and grocery store underneath. I simply got a top to sleep in and we grabbed some milk, bread, strawberry preserve and peanut butter (to last us till our real shop on Monday). It came to €12,11.

After that we were pretty much done with exploring for the day. Whether jet-lag or over-stimulation, we were both really tired. Ken had the idea to share our excitement with our parents and we gave them each a call from the busy street and shared our we’re-in-Europe-excitement with them. Then we began the great hour and 20 minute trek back home.

Our evening was wonderful. We met The Host’s friends — a french, a German, and a Ukranian) We’re in Ireland and we’re yet to meet an Irish person. But it was wonderful. We got to share our bit of the-unknown-world to all these women who are exactly the same as are — foreigners. Conclusion: there is nothing better than a room full of different accents. Dinner was once again provided by The Host and a honestly wonderful array of warming eats. Tomorrow we’re on our own for food again.

Our night ends as South Africa’s new day begins at 10:02pm.
Goodnight dear blog-readers.

With love from Dublin,
Cheylin.