Marathon Man

Thursday is my long day.
I wake up at 05:05 and I prepare a hasty breakfast, fill a flask of much needed caffeinated buffer (i.e. tea) and make my way to the tram for the first part of my long journey into the depths of Austria (or a little picturesque town outside of Vienna).

I take the tram for about 15 minutes before changing to the U6 at Alserstraße, I take the U6 to Handelskai and then, I climb aboard a train to Stockerau for the penultimate part of my trip.  After riding on the train out to Stockerau I arrive at the last stop on the line (well, for the S3) and exit the station.  I see my bus across the way.  I often find the bus driver slouched over the steering wheel snaring a few zzzz before he begins his school run.

I often find the bus driver asleep and slumped across the steering wheel.  I dance around the stop for a bit in the icy morning air waiting for the beastly bus to stir so that I might buy my ticket and complete the final stretch of my journey.
The driver has the radio on.
Most mornings the driver listens to some kind of upbeat but ancient Austrian music.
I am first to board the bus.
Soon, the bus is packed with little kiddies on their way to school.  Screaming and shouting every morning.  On the first day they stared at me oddly.  Nowadays, there is always a chorus or chant of 'Stephen!'  Some even yell my name before diving behind the seats at the back of the bus.

On this busy one little boy once told me that Thursdays were his favourite day because the class had English.  My ickle heart wept with joy (almost)!

In this part of Austria there are two primary schools or Volkschulen; VS Leitzersdorf for the first and second grade and VS Niederfellabrunn for the third and fourth grades.  You can clearly and easily identify siblings in the 2 schools.

So, I come in and sing my songs and dance as I always do.  These kids are wonderful, so polite and energetic- they lap up every word of English with relish.

There is always a warm welcome. Children that talk of tractors and the many, many dishes you can make from pumpkins.  There is always a plate of pumpkin seeds in the staff room.  I much on these as I sip my coffee.

When in VS Niederfellabrunn I wait for the bus and return to Stockerau with the kids.  Usually I am back in Vienna around 1345.  My next class in VS Pastinakweg starts at 1530.  I stop in Praterstern and buy a coffee and some lunch before making my way to Stadlau and taking the busy to class.

However, on the weeks where I am in VS Leitzersdorf a taxi man collects me and takes me to Stockerau bahnhof.  We converse about a variety of things.

I love that he makes a special effort to speak slow enunciated Hochdeutsch with me.  He often jokes about the Austrian's need to shorten and abbreviate everything.
'Kurzer.'
He smiles as he glances in my direction  and back at the road pinching the air between his thumb and index finger.
I nod.
'Ich verstehe.'
He is a gentleman.
I genuinely look forward to our chats.  He has told me already he had no interest in learning English which suits my German just fine.

I offer some tutelage in the evening after my last class.

There are days where I suffer from chronic yawning, I dose off on the bus momentarily but so far I've managed to make it back to my apartment in one piece before turning the key and diving straight for the kettle for a revitalising cup of tea.

A Song and A Dance

I work with children from Kindergarten and Volkschule.  A typical class might consist of;
#Flying around like an aeroplane
#Pulling and twisting my tongue
#Dancing
#Singing
#Distributing stickers




It can be great fun running at high velocity around the narrow confines of a room dodging the blurry bodies as they speed by in full flight determined to break the sound barrier.
Collisions are inevitable.
Sometimes intentional.
The wings of these people planes finding their way to other's mouths, noses, and slapping them with a spin of their rotor.
Tears and snot are inevitable too.
A little green balloon of mucus expanding and deflating right in front of my eyes between sobs.

'Are you okay?  Do you want to sit down?' I ask the little 4 year old that falls smack bang on his face.  He gasps and quickly regains his composure.
'No!  I want to run!'

It's great, really.
These kids could teach a soul a thing or two about life.  I've always wanted to create my own children's show - this is research and practice.

I have an opportunity to revisit my childhood on a daily basis, singing the songs I heard many years ago and dancing like a madman on convulsions.  The kids love it and the sillier the better!
So many little memories of my youth are stirred on a daily basis.

We sit crossed legged in a circle bopping along to cute little songs, miming and smiling.  All hands move in unison, fingers flashing and curling up in the palm of your hand.

Stickers are distributed at the end and if I am feeling particularly generous I give myself one.

Flat finder

Jon was kind enough to offer me his couch until I found a home of my own.
After a few days of settling in I began my search for a flat in Vienna.

Most people did not bother to reply.  Some were kind enough to tell me they had found their new flatmate, for the rest the deposit or Kaution was of extortionist proportions.

Finding a flat

After a great deal of typing I received a reply inviting me to view the flat.  They suggested two possible times.  I e-mailed my potential flatmates and suggested I come to view the flat on the first date; a Sunday but I received no reply.  After loitering around Jon’s flat for a time, he inquired if I was going to view said flat.  I replied in the negative.  He then suggested that they were likely expecting me.  So, off I went searching unfamiliar streets to find the flat.  With much ado and having resorted to a phone call to Jon (who acted as oracle) and directed me in the opposite/correct direction to the flat in question.

When I got to the flat I realised I wasn’t the only viewer.  The flat was crammed with students speaking English and German puffing themselves up and auditioning for what was a mediocre flat at best.  It was absurd.  The rubbish some people come out with, especially me, when backed into a corner and desperately seeking accommodation.  I had gone to view a flat not for a job interview or X-factor audition.  I hadn’t prepared a party piece, a dance or a song.

I left feeling a little disappointed but met Jon who led me to a friend’s birthday barbeque at ‘Jetzt!’.

I continued to e-mail people regarding flats, constantly checking jobwohnen and willhaben online hoping for an acceptable flat at an acceptable price.

I went to view another flat and got lost.

I tried to contact the people who had placed the ad online but couldn’t reach them.

I set up a viewing for yet another flat but upon reaching the door of said flat and calling the number of the person I found out that the flat was already taken –nice of them to let me know.

All in all, I viewed a grand total of two flats.  I had ventured to view others but in the interlude between agreeing on a time and arriving to view the flat, the room was taken and some sneaky snake had slithered in before me.

The second flat was in the 16^th district of Vienna.

It was a small but luxurious flat and the rent was very reasonable.

I met with the resident and he seemed pretty cool.  He was keen to learn English and wanted to share with a native English speaker.

I took the flat but I couldn't move in until 8 October.

Jon and Liana kindly accommodated me for another week.

Working

I had a week of being largely idle but looking for a flat.  I attended a few classes taught by my colleagues to get a feel for what approach I might take.  I started working on 1 October.  My first class was a Kindergarten class.

I am not sure which party was more nervous-the children or me.

I was determined not to let them smell my fear and bravely smiled through my chattering teeth.

I held my breath and took a leap, careful not to stare at the depths below.  I sang, danced and jumped through the lesson-a glorified clown and for the most part it seemed to work.  

'When can you get here?' : Back to Vienna

After two weeks of drifting between Dublin and Maynooth, meeting with comrades, peers and old friends, venturing back to 'The Living Room' with John and Estelle, trips to the cinema and a trip to Howth with Imelda; I decided it was about time I ventured home.
As it happened I was to graduate on Friday.
There was some farm work in the brief interlude.

I took a further few days to myself taking the time to complete Mass Effect 3 and start Deus Ex: Human Revolution and write a story or two but I decided it was about time I got back to the job hunt.

I was not having much luck in Ireland or abroad.

It was Thursday and I got a call from my friend, Jon, as I completed an application for a teaching position in Germany.
'I have a job for you.'  He said.
I sent my CV and a cover letter to Jon's Boss.

The next day I got a call.
I chatted to the company's director.
He said he'd call me back.
Jon got in touch with me.
'Well, what do you think?'
I wanted it.
I wanted a job in Vienna.

'When can you get here?'

'Tuesday!'

I instantly began formulating plans to relocate.
I had to make a trip to the bank, the barbers and book my flight.
Suddenly I was packing bags when there were bags I had not yet unpacked from Austria.
It was surreal.
I barely had time to think.
I met with some friends on Saturday and informed them of my spontaneous decision.
I spent most of Sunday and Monday packing.

My flight was at 07:10 Tuesday morning.  I had to get a bus at 03:35 from my local town to the airport.  For a change the bus was close to running on time (a mere 5 minutes late).
Apparently my hand luggage was too bulky to take on board - I took a few items out and watched them slap a sticker on my bag.  I glanced back as I marched on and boarded the plane.
I don't remember much of the flight - I was quite tired I do remember drinking a black tea...
I took the S7 into Vienna and met Kirsten at Praterstern.  She helped me drag my luggage up to Ottakring where I met Liana and we waited for Jon.

That evening we went to the Highlander for a few drinks.
It was a late one.
Thankfully, we were not expected to be anywhere before 12pm.  At midday we rolled out of the flat and made our way to the outer limits of the city to be picked up by our new Boss for a brief induction and orientation session - the first of a few.

My Boss, he's a great guy.  We listened to some house music as we raced through the Austrian countryside the music wafting through the air as we head banged to 'Big Red ******* Bus'.  Good times.

At his house that resembled a missile silo in the quiet Austrian country side, we recruits assembled for a think tank session and introduction.

We ran through some of the games and activities typical in the programme.  All in all it was a day of fun and education - everything the programme should be.  We were dropped off at the train station and we made our way back to Vienna from Gänserndorf.

The next day we set out for the little village again for more educational games, props and approaches.
This time we met two of our colleagues, we had a few beers and played some of the games.  We had pizza and made our way back to Vienna.  Overall I reckon it was quite a productive day!

On Friday there was very little of anything going on but Kirsten had bought a chair and required the agility and strength of two young Irishmen to carry it through the streets of Vienna (see photos below).  To be fair it is a comfortable chair.

Post-CELTA

After 4 intensive weeks where I barely had time to wipe the sweat off my brow it was hard to know how to fill my time apart from de-constructing every element of speech and hugging my knees whilst reciting my 'th' tongue twisters.
I had a job interview in Tralee on Tuesday.
I made the journey back to Monaghan to collect my suit on Sunday afternoon.
I made my way to Maynooth the following day as a the first step in my long train journey to Tralee.
I could choose between a 6 hour journey on the bus or a marginally shorter journey via train.
From Celbridge it would take 4 hours (each way) with numerous changes.
It was also the last day of the Rose of Tralee festival.

I had a brief chat with two ladies from Prosperous who strangely had relatives at every milestone I had every reached.  I suspected they spoke of phantom families.  I nodded and smiled accordingly praising their good genes and parenting skills.

I got to Tralee and I had no idea which way was which.
I approached a burly beast of a man dressed as a steward and asked him but was hastily rebuked that he was a Corkman and not a native of Tralee.  I made my escape.

I attempted to walk a little of the way I hoped was in the right direction.

I was feeling a little hungry and I had a few hours to kill before my interview.
I popped into a diner and ordered a tea and burger.  I text my CELTA friend, John, who had told me he'd be in Tralee with his girlfriend, Estelle.  John told me he'd meet me.

I squeezed into my suit in the meantime.

John kindly offered to drive me to North campus of the Institute of Technology where the interview was scheduled to take place.

With much ado and confused wandering we found a building adjacent to where the interview was to take place.  John had left his car in the carpark which was becoming a distant dot on the horizon as we march up the hill to the designated venue.

Inside, there was one lady typing furiously on a computer (that I suspect was powered off).
She told me to wait and that I'd be called for interview in a moment.
I sat.

Within a few seconds an officious looking woman marched up to me with her hand outstretched.

I was brought into a room nearby where a middle-aged man sat.  We shook hands and I was offered water.

The interview went reasonably well.

But at the end I was told that the job I was being interviewed for may not actually exist.
What was happening I was not sure.
If a sufficient number of students enrolled there would be classes to teach.
I believed this to be something of a joke and I glanced stealthily sideways to see where the hidden camera was.

Why ask someone to travel to the bottom of a country for an interview for a job that likely won't exist.

I left a little confused and disheartened.

I met with John and Estelle and we went for a brief tour of Tralee.
John excitedly pointed out all the hotspots, including the podium where the winning Rose would pose after the ceremony, and a pretty little flower garden in the park.  We went for a drink and discussed the French language.

At 5 o'clock I boarded the train.
I whipped out my notebook and sulked to myself.

It was going to be a long 4 hours to Dublin topped off with a 40 minute journey to Maynooth.

The rest of this post traumatic CELTA week was largely uneventful.
But I suspect the stress and fatigue of the previous four weeks had taken their toll or it may simply have been my fool's errand to Tralee, but I wasn't feeling the best.

I met with a few friends, lunching and drinking coffee.  My time was littered with tv, internet browsing and job applications.

I hoped that the weekend and week after might bring some excitement into my life.
Or at the very least hope for change!

CELTA Week IV: okey dokey!

After piecing together what was left of my sanity I set off to begin my final week of CELTA.
I was pleased to have passed Assignment 3 first time and was keen to maintain the upward curve with my TP lessons.
We, the class, had discussed what we might do on Friday the last and final day of our course.
It was suggested that we go for a meal and a few drinks after.

In the fourth and final week of CELTA I taught my last two hours of TP.

So, the pressure was on.
I was keen to make an impression and leave on a high (as much for my own gratification and self-esteem!).
My 'th' problems persisted but I was improving (and I still am!).

I was feeling the fatigue this week but finally there was light at the end of the tunnel and we were pretty confident that it was not the light of an oncoming train to flatten us and any vestiges of hope.  We were almost ripe for the real world.

I had a short grammar lesson on Tuesday.  Admittedly I struggled a little but thankfully some of the students were able to navigate my labyrinthine explanations and enlightened the other students regarding the obscure grammatical of English (when to use -ed and -ing).

These were the days were we made our last excursions to Londis for the infamous chicken baguettes and lo-and behold (John) we did not succumb to rickets.  CELTA be praised!

I met with one of my old war buddies, Karl, from my MA class on Tuesday and we went to the Woolshed for some grub and a catch-up.  Twas a positive experience and although we were almost out the door once we found ourselves turning around and partaking in more conversation.  Karl convinced me (well, one of the many convincers) to attend my MA graduation.

The next day I was a little tired.  I got up hastily threw a breakfast together and dashed for the train only to find it had been delayed.  Normally, I believe this would have left me unperturbed but because I was feeling a little guilty I called up CELTA and apologised for iarnroid eireann's shortcomings...
This was acceptable.

Copious mugs of tea later I was feeling re-invigorated.
It was Wednesday and our month long test of endurance was almost at an end.  We had lost no more troops, day one was the only time we witnessed any casualties.
We heard many wonderful stories of students throwing down their CELTA 5, books by Parrot and Swan and simply walking out of the room and out of the building without so much as a glance behind.  This dramatic gesture was made all the more ridiculous by the fact that one gent even left his coat behind.
I reckon he got as far as the street before blushing.
No possessing any special ninja skills his only other option was to either endure humiliation or buy a new coat.
Sounds like he chose the latter.

Apart from the set back with trains Wednesday proved uneventful.

Thursday was my last day of TP.
I had the best intentions of playing various game and doing so many wonderful things leaving my students enlightened and energised.  It didn't go quite like that but I believe it went very well!
I taught a vocabulary lesson and it involved household items.
My old enemy 'th' made an appearance in the form of 'needle and thread'.
After wrestled with my tongue for a number of seconds and trying to savagly bite it into submission I realised that one of the students, Jaime, had mastered the art of 'th' so I immediately encouraged him to speak louder and proceeded to 'spread the knowledge' drilling the class.

One of the most bizarre occurrences in the class was when the students insisted I teach them the meaning of 'okey-dokey'.  A slip of the tongue on my part but they were fascinated by the expression.  Little did I envisage the ripples it would have...
After drawing, miming and dancing I conveyed the meaning of each piece of vocabulary and shortly thereafter the lesson was over.  Time was up.

I left elated.
The burden of CELTA lifted and as I swaggered to my seat at the back of the classroom one student even took the time to commend me on my lesson.
'That was a great lesson.'
I am not sure how sincere he was but I was willing to graciously accept all compliments.
The tutor agreed I was much more comfortable in that TP.

We had one more lesson to prepare but it was to be unobserved.

That evening my classmate, Peter, and I went next door to enjoy a few winding down drinks.  We discussed the month we had almost completed, the people we had met and the friends we had made.  We chatted for many hours before we agreed that we had best go our own way.  We had discussed war and women in adequate detail.

On Friday we had our last hours with the class.  There was a cocktail party and a board game among other activities.  At about 10 o'clock we went upstairs to present the students with a certificate and dip into the buffet food.  There was plenty of tea to enjoy and a few doughnuts.  We took some photos and it seems the Spanish students opted for 'okey-dokey' rather than the traditional 'cheese.'  It's nice to leave a lasting impression!

We made provisional arrangements and agreed to meet the class later in the evening when we would head out and hit Dublin city with a ferocious coiled fist that could only have come from 4 intense weeks of study.  Caged animals we were and now we were being re-released into the wild.
We pondered briefly what post-CELTA trauma might be like and where we would all end up within the next few weeks and months.

We went next door for some dinner and drinks.
Afterwards, we lost some of our group who had to such rudimentary things as change their clothing and power nap.

And then there were men.
The lads wandered around aimlessly (as they tend to do without women to guide them) and eventually we decided on the Pav.  So, in our little mob we walked up to Trinity and sat down on the grass to pontificate and philosophize.
There we stayed until 9 o'clock before we decided to move to our agreed rendezvous point by the Spire.
We met with some of our classmates and students and proceeded toward Messrs Maguire to continue the conversations we had been kindling.

We lost a few of our troops shortly after the first hurdle but many of us persevered.

It was suggested we reconvene at Hogans and so we set off.
Sadly, we were separated from the herd but Imelda, her sister Joanne and myself pushed on through the crowds of Templebar and with much ado we reached our destination.
We met our troops within the premises sometime later and were collectively relieved to find they had not deserted us.

We talked on; deliberating and liberating minds.  We watched the taxis roll in and pundits fall in.

Our month long tour of the English language was almost at an end.  We delayed for as long as we could but it was time to return to our 'normal' lives.

We vowed to keep in touch.

Time will tell where the winds will scatter us.
Austria, Peru, France, Spain, China. . .

CELTA Week III

CELTA WEEK III

30.VII.2012 - 03.VIII.2012

It was Saturday and I didn’t much feel like moping around Maynooth on my own.  My little sister was driving back to Monaghan so I thought I’d tag along.  After a few cryptic messages and confusing phone calls I agreed to meet her at (or around) Samuel Beckett bridge.

I was running a wee bit late so out of courtesy I sent her a text.  She told me she’d be there around 1pm.  I got there and I waited.  She was late.

A group of small boys rushed by me and climbed onto the walls of the bridge.  Most of them, bar one or two, were dressed in wet suits.  No sooner had they mounted the wall that they jumped off of it.  All of them.  One after the other.  I was relieved to see they could swim but alarmed to see them climb out and back onto the bridge wall.  I looked around to see if there was a parent or guardian nearby.  There were none.  I began to worry that people would assume I was the guardian, and a pretty lousy one at that.  Then, the real fear struck me-that the public would not view me as a concerned bystander but an active pervert.  I loitered for a while but slowly and inconspicuously put some distance between myself and the reckless children.

After a while of nervously glancing over my shoulder fearing I would become a victim of circumstance I got a phone call.  When I was doing my best not to be noticed my sister had drove past in her car.  Further confusion ensued.  Eventually we established her location in relation to mine.  I found the car climbed in and we were off to Monaghan.  Thankfully, the most dramatic part of the day was at an end.  I didn’t much feel like doing CELTA work so I relaxed making only a cursory glance at my TEFL notes to soothe my guilty conscience.

My older brother and I discussed the prospect of going to the cinema.  I had seen the new Batman movie but unfortunately he had not.  I was certainly not opposed to viewing it again and we settled on a Sunday evening show.

However, an alarming prospect came to mind.  It was a Bank holiday weekend and neither buses nor trains would travel regularly on Monday.  My plans to disembark early Monday morning disintegrated.  I tried to find a feasible solution but sadly I had no choice but to make my journey to Maynooth Sunday evening.  A little over 24 hours since I left.  I begrudgingly accepted defeat.

I had a mug of tea to ease my pain.

They warned us that CELTA week three was when most students cracked.

I made a personal vow that they would not break me.

I had two half hour lessons that week and an assignment.

My first Teaching Practice (TP) was on Tuesday.

It troubles me to admit that at some point during the week I began to lose the plot a little.  Subtle at first.  The madness and fatigue crept upon me.

I was still feeling bruised after Friday’s lesson and avalanche of criticism (even if the tutorial suggested iit was a once off and things were going rather well).  Bror is a rather charming man.  If I am honest, my ‘bad’ lesson probably taught me more than my good lessons.

Events with quiet recollection can offer retrospective triumph.

In haste everything always resembles tragedy, moments evolve later defining you.

Week 3 was a week when the light never went out especially Wednesday-I tried to get a head start on the mountainm of work I had to prepare for my lesson and assignment.  I heard every tick of the clock those nights.  I scribbled a lesson plan and began scanning secondary literature for my next assignment.

I watched others like John and Imelda and listened to them talk of ‘all nighters’ when I could barely keep my eyes open.  I needed sleep.  The warmth of my duvet.

No amount of tea, coffee or red bull could prop my eyes open.

As usual I stayed back Wednesday evening flicking through the vastly meagre selection offered by the Academy.  As was often the case everyone left before me but one of my colleagues loitered for a while and we enjoyed a wonderful venture in the conversation of procrastination and oon occasion swapping sources for our assignment, before she left me to my own devices.  I pottered around and accumulated materials before packing it in and making my way to the train station (oh faithful rocky commute how you cradle me on the wings of sleep!).  Having ingested copious amounts of tea, a hasty dinner and stressed sufficiently over the assinment I decided to surrender for another night and give in to sleep.

The tutor gave me a few tips for my next lesson and because of her input it went splendidly.  I learned from the mistakes of past lessons anticipating problems.

It was a good lesson.  I got my satisfactory grade and I believe the students learned something as well (always a bonus).

I complain a little, as I often do, joking that if I passedd assignment number 3 on first submission it would leave me feeling perturbed so much so I would have to resubmit it regardless…

I got my assignment number 3 back to learn I passed on first submission.

I had stood on the precipice of madness and I had fallen (fortunately) backwards into sanity.

As was fast becoming a Friday tradition, John and I decided to go to the pictures.  We met Caroline in ‘The Living Room’ for a drink before making our way to Cineworld.  We had a choice of Ted or Grabbers.  We opted for the MacFarlene flick (I certainly wasn’t opposed being a Family Guy fan).

We enjoyed Ted and the general consensus was after that we should get some food.  We bumped into our classmate Shane and some of his buddies.  They were off to MacTurcails and so we followed suit.  There was no food but there were many fine beverages.

After some chat, John and I decided it was in our best interests to find grub of some description.  In the end we settled for diabolically bad Chinese.  I ate Thai Green Curry that I believed some drunken fool regurgitated.  Looking at it I was sure that some other poor unfortunate must have puked on the plate before it was placed before me and my knife and fork.  I ate what I could.

We rejoined Shane and the lads and swapped some more stories.  Shane offered some good advice regarding nights out while we lingered in the smoking area (ie outside the pub’s door).  I made an attempt for the night-link but my efforts were fruitless.  I returned to the pub but John had since gone.  We then moved on to Doyles for more drinks, chat and dance.  It was getting into the wee hours at this stage.  I was conscious of the fact that I had an exam to invigilate the next day and decided it would be good for me to get the next nightlink.  After briefly dancing with a young Russian lady I bid my fair thee wells to the lads and dashed for the nightlink.  I made it in good time.

Thankfully, the exam invigilation the next day was not overly strenuous (there were only two students in the venue) and I was able to siit and read some Graham Greene.  I had a lazy evening and for the most part took the rest of the weekend off-catching up on my TV.  I felt I was right to do so.  I had just survived week 3 of CELTA next week brought the final hurdle.

CELTA: Week II

CELTA ii

After a not so lazy weekend I headed for Dublin early Monday morning.  Once again I was riding shotgun.  It was our second but final week teaching the Upper-intermediate class.  We had two assignments due this week.  Oddly enough assignment 2 was due first.  This week I was scheduled for two hours of Teaching Practice (TP).

The first hour of TP went reasonably well-I had to revise comparatives and superlatives with the class before moving on to a catastrophic reading exercise. 

I had completely relied on the teacher’s handbook and was unprepared for the students picking out more examples from the text than those listed.  Never underestimate your bright sparks.

They did enjoy the little kinaesthetic activity at the start.  Despite initial confusion over my pronunciation of ‘the’ it was good to get a third lesson done.  I had 3 hours of TP under my belt at this stage.

During the first week of CELTA I stayed with my younger sister and walked the 40 min. walk to class every day.  Alternatively there was a 10 min. bus ride.  However, after only a week tensions were running high and tempers were on the cusp of boiling over.  I decided to relocate to a town nearby where my other sister (my older sister) resided-one can always rely on family.

Assignment 2 was a delight and by delight I mean imaginative torture.  Something conjured in the deepest, darkest pits of hell. 

‘Can you pass the salt please?’

Where is the stress in that sentence?

Is it a request?

What the unholy hell had I signed up for?

My assignment was promptly returned to me.  

I got to work on the phonetics and resubmitted it keen to get cracking on my next lesson.  I passed on resubmission.

So, on Tuesday I went to class and then I walked to my younger sister’s flat and gathered my belongings stuffing them into a wheelie bag.  She dropped me at Pearse station and I made my way to Maynooth.  

I was pretty tired at this stage.  I made some tea and after a brief chat with my older sister and her boyfriend I hit the hay.

I set my alarm for 06:50.

I soon learned that there were three trains that would get me into Dublin on time for my course.  There was the early but comfortable 07:30 and then there was the adequate 07:45 but lastly there was the 07:55 which was something of a touch’n’ go train that got me into the Academy at about 09:00 on the button (with an excessive amount of panting and sweating).

Normally I dashed for the 07:45.

It takes about ten minutes walking briskly from Connolly Station to Upper O’Connell street.

I enjoy travelling by train.  There is something in the gentle rhythmic motion of the carriage as it propels you forward to your destination, watching the world from a box as it blurs into a mess of pigments.  It’s great.  For the last three weeks of CELTA I got to enjoy that train commute twice a day.  On the mornings and evenings where I got a little desk to lean on (I was often still scribbling lesson plans and other bits in the morning) I was happy or well within the walls of satisfaction.  Commuters are a grumpy bunch; sitting sourly with their kindles.  I like to commute (when I have a seat).

On Wednesday at the Academy, we were asked to swap observation classes to get an idea of what the students were like in the classes we would be moving into.  From week three onwards our little group would be working with the pre-intermediate class.

 Things appeared to be done a little differently with the pre-int class.  We observed two of our peers-Imelda and Marcus work their magic.  It was an education.

Strangely enough our Assignment 1 was due Friday (the same day as my hour TP).  I had had a chat with a Spanish student and recorded a snippet of conversation on my phone.  I tried to do a little bit of both my assignment and lesson plan on Wednesday.

On Thursday there was more of the same.  I was feeling a little bit nervous about my Friday lesson given that my previous hour long TP had been less than satisfactory (to me).  I had a chat with one of the tutors and he reassured me that all would be well.  I went back to the house thinking long and hard about the class.  That evening I spent most of my time trying to finish off the assignment, reading through secondary texts and listening to the conversation extracts.  Afterwards, I did a quick revision of my lesson plan and decided to throw in the towel and go meet slumber sometime around 00:30.

Thankfully it was Friday but I was no where close to being happy with either my assignment or lesson plan.  I was up second.  So, I had some more time to grind my eyes off the erratic smears that was my lesson plan while my peer delivered his last lesson with the Upper intermediates.  We had a brief break as we always have and then I took my place above the classroom.

What I had planned was a reading exercise.  I had hoped to practise skills of gist reading and reading for specific detail but the lesson soon descended into a vocabulary exercise.  I had made what I learned was my first major mistake-not teaching essential lexis.  I struggled on through the lesson and soon the hour was up and we had not touched the grammar aspect of the lesson which incidentally was supposed to be the main focus of said lesson.

Needless to say I was worried.  I hoped that I might dodge the bullet but I was conscious of this serious error on my part.

My worries were confirmed.  I was roughed up; the tutor beating some sense into.  Never again would I not follow the plan through.

‘Teach the student not the plan!’ I pleaded but it was no use.

‘When you write your lesson aims you sign a contract!’  The tutor interjected.

And that was that.

I had just had a sub-standard lesson.

I was feeling a little tender after the TP feedback but did my best to take it on the chin.  It did get to me.

That afternoon we had a meeting with our tutor’s to review our progress.  The tutor insisted I was a little hard on myself.  

‘I am going to give you an ‘S’ but I will also write a note on points I feel you have to improve upon.’

Yes, nice one.  Was it safe to assume that an S+note=N?  Hopefully not…

Myself and two of my colleagues, Shane and John, decided to venture to the cinema.  We debated the ideal location and what movie we ought to see.  In the end, John insisted upon ‘The amazing Spiderman’ and we complied.  Off we ventured to Cineworld where we were kindly extorted and robbed (with a smile) of our hard earned cash to see a movie that had already started and one that was offered only in 3D.  We begrudgingly purchased our 3D glasses and ventured into the dark screen room.

The film was disappointing.

Too much like Twilight and too soon after Tobey Maguire.

Afterwards, we moved next door to the Woolshed and enjoyed a relaxed chat and some beverages.  Shane left us for home but John and I continued on chatting discussing writing and other hobbies.

I returned to Maynooth boarding the last train.  It was a bank holiday weekend and I thought about heading home to my folks.  A change, they say, is as good as a rest.

CELTA or A Month Away from the World (i)

I began the CELTA TEFL course at the English Academy on 23 July.

Week One

I got up sometime before 0700.  I dressed and I had a hasty breakfast.  I was a little nervous as I always am when I am starting something new, exciting & different; meeting new people and learning a trade (TEFL).  My little sister drives up to Dublin after every weekend and offered to give me a lift.  We set off about 0720.  We sped on toward Dublin. 

I was pretty worried about getting there on time.  I would really rather not create a bad impression with my poor punctual skills but as luck would have it (luck and a brisk jog from Talbot street to Upper O'Connell street) I made it to the Academy. Better to keep my character flaws hidden; I give the impression of being adequately punctual. My deception remains intact.  Reception directed me to the Teacher Trainee room, 403.  A collection of  eager, unsure and nervous faces gather around the round(ish) table.

I ask the question that sets the mood for every future relationship-'Do you guys like stuff..?'

We are escorted to a room in the floor below.  We play a few hours of ice-breaking and get-to-know-you games.  We learned an interesting fact about each new trainee.

After a short break we had lesson preparation and after lunch we had a class on teaching. We lost a trainee to 'migraines'.  The remaining 11 were divided into two groups.

Day one was not nearly as bad as I thought.

I walked back to Baggot street feeling a little unnerved that I didn't have homework to do but eager to start my lesson planning for Wednesday.

On day two some trainees were immediately tossed into the deep end and assumed their teaching roles.  It was an informative day.  I paid close attention making notes keen to avoid any unsightly habits - I hoped I could learn from them.

As it happened starting on Day 3 was marginally useful. My own Teaching Practice was worrisome.  I don't understand why; I had worked as a TA in Vienna for  3 months and sometimes those classes were less than perfect.  I wonder, when you hit rock bottom surely you can only bounce!

I hoped to bounce through the CELTA TP practice.

I had asked one of the tutors to look at my lesson plan and he agreed that it looked 'fine' and I have to admit I was relieved but not totally reassured.

I started with a 30 minute listening lesson. It was a radio extract that discussed the exploits of a family of multi-talented gymnists that whiled away their time learning such pointless skills as juggling and other daft acrobatics. I felt as though it were a disaster bordering on local apocalypse but as it happened I did receive some positive feedback. I had another lesson to prepare for the following day I hoped to take on board all criticisms and apply them to my future lesson. My next lesson was a reading/receptive skills exercise discussing mobile phones. It went sufficiently well and I received yet another 's' confirming that I had yet again conformed to the lowest acceptable standard. I was delighted. I rewarded myself with a trip to the cinema. I gingerly approached the Savoy and crept toward the booth. I noticed a sign suggesting patrons pre-book tickets for the 'Dark Knight Rises' and I was instantly worried. I had already failed to see this movie once that week owing to a cranky sister. As luck would have it the notice didn't apply. I asked if there were tickets available. She smiled. 'How many would you like?' 'Just one, please.' I smile back weakly and sort of bow my head. Shamed at the prospect of going to the cinema alone. I quickly snare my change and ticket and retreat to the dark sanctuary of the screening room. The movie was fantastic. The kids in front of me flipping annoying. I went to sleep fully satisfied with the almost 3 hours of comic book action. An evening well spent. We ended the week of intensive study slipping into the pub next door, 'The Living Room' and enjoying a few early Friday beverages before I hitched a ride back to the Motherland of Monaghan.

Die Rückkehr

Die Rückkehr

22 May – 30 May

Day 1 22/05/12                     Early morning and a breath of Viennese air

I roll out of bed sometime around 04:30.  I give myself a quick lick and hurriedly dress scanning the room to check that I have my packed bag, then that my passport and my boarding pass are on my person.  I repeat this action several times even at the airport, not satisfied until I am actually seated on the plane.  Then, I relax. 

Even though I thought I had factored in time for a quick cuppa and wheatabix it seems my chariot awaits.  Linda, my kind ‘taxi’ for the day, is keen to spirit me to my destination.  I offer her some green tea and cherry chocolates.  We reach the airport in good time.  I walk in and, possibly owing to fatigue, get a little dazed and confused.  Within a short time I regain my sense of direction and head off for the boarding gate and security.  I get through with relative ease and, security was surprisingly polite.  I make a mental note of this.

I am on a plane from Dublin to Bratislava.  We leave at about 06:40.

We land in Bratislava about 10:30 local time. 

I push through passport control.  (Note to self: the shorter queue is short not because of haste and efficiency but because delay has caused everyone else to abscond to the adjoining queue).  I drag my suitcase to the appointed bus stop.  Within minutes a big red bus squeals to a halt.  It has come from Vienna.  A lady steps off.  I smile as the busman helps her by yanking the only piece of luggage from the side compartment.  He speaks to me in broken German.  I hear ‘Pause!’  I hear little else.  He informs me that the bus will not leave until 11:30.  It starts to rain.  A little group of people slither towards me and crowd around the sealed bus door.  Some look tired.  Others look terribly hungover.  Sure enough, at 11:30 the busman returns.  Having had his coffee break and cookie there is a notable spring in his step.  We board and we buy our tickets.  I am headed to Erdberg in Vienna.  I dose, read and write a little.

We reach Erdberg a little after 13:00.  As I step off the bus I see my old comrades, Dietlinde, Jeannine and Kirsten.  I immediately worry about conversation and what to say if it dries up.  One simple question will prevent this.  Vague enough to open up a variety of possibilities. . .

So, I am hungry.  We’re off for lunch.

We walk and talk to the ü-bahn eventually making our way to Schottentör and the Votivscafé.  After a great delay we have a disappointing lunch here and discuss what else we could/should/would do for the duration of my visit.  I drop my luggage at Wassegasse and we enjoy some more conversation and tea.  Jeannine kindly offers to make dinner.  So, after we leave Dietlinde to her online class, we (Phil has joined us since) venture off to the nearest Billa and buy our supplies.

Having eaten our fill, and sufficiently embarrassed all parties in attendance we chat some more and then we part ways.  I travel with Phil some of the way and we finally go off in separate directions.  It’s late and I’m pretty tired at this stage.

Day 2 23/05/12                     ‘The Best Sandwich’

I wake up.  I think about being back in Vienna.  Dietlinde kindly offers to make me breakfast.  I graciously accept.  We go for a walk after and I buy some berries in Billa.  We mix and share berries.  We hang out and lounge for a time before she leaves for school at midday.  Jeannine suggested we meet to lunch and ‘have the best sandwich’.  Kirsten texts me to arrange a rendezvous.  Jeannine takes me the reputed bistro and I buy a chicken and avocado sandwich.  I see the ravenous hunger in her eye and I know we had better proceed to the park with great haste. 

At the park we meet Kirsten and Phil.  We sit and soak up the sun for a few seconds before it abruptly vanishes and an unholy downpour occurs.  We wisely take shelter under the nearest tree.  We hear thunder.  We see lightening.  We retreat to the nearest café and marquee.  After a few minutes of huddling for shelter and dear life we agree that a caffeinated beverage is the order of the day and decide to proceed to Café Hawelka.

I order a melange.

It is at this time that I noticed the berries I had bought earlier have dispersed within my bag and some have even been crushed.  I mop this ugly mess up with numerous tissues and devour the remaining intact berries not content to let them defecate my rucksack again.  Fool me once…

Jon had text earlier inviting us all up to his apartment.  Liana was leaving that very evening to return home briefly.  After a short while of people watching we manage to wave down a Kellner and pay our bills.  We set off for the U3 to Ottakring.

Liana’s rabbits are at the apartment.

Jon makes us a delightful and tasty dish of spag bol.  David B. pops up having mastered a duel with the dreaded flu.  He and Phil buy some wine, radlers and beer and we enjoy these (and later coffee) with our meal.  Alan joins us.  Dietlinde joins us.  We chat, listen to music and speculate causes and solutions for most of the world’s problems (no one takes written notes).

We call quits after and head off our respective ways.

Day 3 24/05/12                     Climbing trees and catching zzzzz

Breakfast and after there is a walk in the intense sun.

I am glad I bought some sunscreen the day before.  This blinding heat worries me.  We, Dietlinde, Jeannine and myself meet for lunch (shortly after breakfast).  We have curry at a delightful little restaurant.

We wander for a bit.

We make our way to Prater and we all hover close to several different rides.  No one ventures on any of the rides.  We loiter outside Schweizerhaus discussing our options and in the end opt for a walk in the park.  Alan joins us. 

We take some photos, climb some trees (some of us), take photos of people climbing trees and in the end we disperse.

We head off to Shebeen and enjoy some dinner and a few drinks in the Biergarten.  Kirsten had planned to join us at Shebeen after feeding the rabbits but wires are crossed. 

Afterwards we take the bus to Pilgrimgasse and have tea at Alan’s.  We watch some youtube videos while sipping on the delights of Punjama.

Day 4 25/05/2012                                        Crazy Lady

It’s Friday.                                         

I have been warned that a cleaning lady is on the loose and might be popping in sometime around 8am.  I rise at 7:30 and hope to be washed and dressed before she arrives.  I managed to get showered but just before I get fully clothed and make my escape.  I hear the door open.  It is only 7:50.

I confront the mildly psychotic cleaning woman as she rolls her trolley of utensils in.  She and her daughter march in look me up and down.  Then, she yells ‘Putzen!  Wir putzen!’  I nod and smile as best I can and reply ‘Ich verstehe.’

I fill a bottle of water toss it into my rucksack and make a hasty escape as I hear the two women cackle in the kitchen.

The day before, Phil had agreed to meet me Friday morning.  We would hang out for an hour or two until everyone else rose or finished school.

I loiter at Karlsplatz for a bit.

After some confusion Phil tells me he’s gone to Starbucks.

I try to rendezvous with him there but he’s already moved on.

I order a Latte.  Phil backtracks and finally after a minor malaise we are on track.  Phil and I walk around admiring the sites of Vienna.  After a time Jeannine is finished and joins us.

We go for some brunch.

Then, we go for some lunch.  Simon join us.

We venture to the Happy Wok, where Jeannine tells us it is all you can eat.

I have just had brunch so I order a green tea much to the confusion of staff.

We talk about going for a picnic.

We drop into Billa and pick up some supplies.

Kirsten texts me and we agree to go for coffee.

I hop on the tram and travel out to the Pilgrimgasse direction.

We meet and I order a melange and schinken kaese sandwich.

Kirsten shows me her new flat and we have some more tea.

By this time, it’s time to head up to Jon’s for a manly dinner.

Kirsten has to feed the rabbits. 

A lads night in Jon’s inspired by Epic meal time.

The gents set about creating the masterpiece that is jam toast ravioli or some other similar abomination.  Some of the bread is layered with jam, peanut butter and nutella.

After devouring some of this heart attack food and petting the rabbits (not a euphemism) we set off to the pub. 

Firstly, there is some minor confusion – to Charlie P’s?  To the Highlander?

We head to the Highlander for one and meet Jon’s future camp employer.  A charming fellow from Oz.

We then head to Debakel.

There we are joined by Dietlinde, Jeannine and Erol who have just come from their skating night.

The night ends with a falafel.  Nom.

Day 5 26/05/2012                                        Eurovision for your own Pleasure

It’s Saturday!  And day of the Eurovision, every European’s guilty pleasure.

We start the day off with breakfast and a little wander around.

Tori gets in touch and we agree to meet up later.

I print off a few CVs and inquire in Charlie P’s if they are hiring.

We go to a little café not far from the Votivskirche and while there we make plans to go to a heurigan.

We make our journey up to the Heurigan and enjoy some food in drink in the sun.  We chat and take a few photos and the atmosphere is nicely chilled.

Afterwards, Jeannine has kindly invited us all to her apartment to enjoy and bask in the cheesy glory that is the Eurovision song contest.

We call it a night after.

Day 6 27/06/2012                Brunch!

We have brunch at Weltcafé.  The long talked about, much awaited brunch at Weltcafe actually happened.  I bet some found it hard to believe.

Just a little over €13.  A delicious latte and some yogurt, and some cereal and some sweet things.  It was a good brunch.

We hang out at Weltcafé discussing plans and the world’s problems.  After several helpings we consider leaving and moving somewhere else.  Jon, Chloe, David and Liana are at Shebeen.  We head to Schozzigasse and enjoy a few Radlers.  Jon and I mosey back to his then, chill out and chat before he’s off to meet his girlfriend.

Jeannine has a movie night planned.  She has been promoting Ondine and it’s multi-layered story that crushes the boundaries between fact and fantasy.

Movie night is to be held at Dietlinde’s.

We watched this while enjoying some fantastic Lyons tea.

After some more chats, the crowds disperse.  It is a bank holiday weekend so we discuss the prospect of visiting Bratislava.  We decide on somewhere else.

We decide on St. Polten and call Simon to request him as a tour guide.  He kindly acquiesces.

Day 7 28/05/2012                            Wet Picnic

It is a bank holiday today. 

We roll out and get moving.

We are to rendezvous at Westbahnhof.

Dietlinde and I meet Jeannine at the top of the escalator.  Phil arrives shortly after.  We loiter and people watch for a short while before moving towards the ticket counter.  Simon, who had spent the weekend in Vienna, has left earlier and made his way to St. Polten to roll out the red carpet.  David calls and tells us he’ll be late.  It’s after 12 and the girls are anxious to get moving.

After much ado we buy our tickets and board the train.  We’re moving and the plan is for David to follow.  He calls and we discuss possibilities.  In the end, because he has Nachhilfe early that evening, David decides against a trip to St. Polten.  We arrive at the station and meet our guide, Simon.

We are then taken on a brief taster tour of the delights of St. Polten. 

A vote is taken and the unanimous decision is to have our picnic at the lake first.  We set off in the direction of the lake.  We walk taking in the delights of this little town, coloured by the tales relived by Simon. 

After a long(ish) trek and much puddle dodging we arrive at our destination.  No sooner have we reached the water and dipped our feet in than the rain comes.  A thunderstorm breaks.  But Phil with the iron Eier is determined to go for a quick dip and does just that.  We take shelter under a nearby bush and consider our options.  We gingerly push towards the lake a few times but are driving back by the roll of thunder.

We take shelter at a little picnic area and dig into the rations and supplies brought by the girls.  After the storm has blown over we move on to the next part of our expedition – the tour.

Simon guides us around the delights of St. Polten.  It’s beautiful architecture, hot spots, coffeehouses and night spots.  He likened it to the hustle and bustle of Vienna.

We nod receptively soaking up tales of woe and wonder.

We have lapped the town and come back to station.

We are off to Melke.

Melke is a joyous little town with wonderful little streets and a skyline dominated by a beautiful castle that could have housed Vlad the Impaler.

We mosey and nosy before selecting a café for some rejuvenating beverage and sustenance.  I order a schinken käse and a Große Brauner.

While we admire our surroundings the heavens open and a torrential downpour threatens to sweep this little town away.

After further chats we decide to make our way back to St. Polten and Vienna.

We run briskly through the rain dodging raindrops the size of small stones, navigating our way to the top of the cobbled hill and diving for the train station.  Our train is delayed so we sit wrapped in soggy towels and think of hot showers.

The train journey back is largely uneventful.  We say goodbye to Simon.  He and I shake hands and exchange good wishes, hopes and the possibility of a coffee/beer in London.  It really all depended on what the gods had in mind.

I have a hot shower and feel somewhat closer to humanity.  After a tasty meal prepared by Dietlinde and briefly checking my electronic correspondence I make my way to Charlie P’s to meet David and his girlfriend, Laura.  Laura’s friend, Emma is with them.  Charlie’s is quiet presumably owing to the bank holiday.  We enjoy a few beverages and have a long and elaborate chat.  What was to be a few quiet ones turns into a late night (as such ventures should be –the best nights are those where we say, ‘we’ll go for one.’).  At roughly 0130 we leave the premises, we stand and chat outside for a bit before we part way.

Day 8 29/05/2012                            Hurling and hunting

I wake up.  It’s my last full day in Vienna.

We decide to brunch at Kleines café.  I break from tradition and order a latte but for food I rely on an old favourite and ask for the Bauernomelette. 

Here, we reminisce about the many lunches and brunches and coffees we have had here.  The charming Kellnerin puffing like a steam engine (she was not there that day) and the food.  The glühwein and the punsch.

We pass by a shop selling Trachten and several of the party go in and admire the many wonderful designs.

Jeannine and Dietlinde are on a mission to find employment for me.  We ambush a few bars and cafés and shower them with CVs (to no avail).

Jon has text and told us of plans to relax and soak up some rays by Prater.  He and David B. are anxious to whip out their hurleys and burst into some gaelic action.

We hit a few crosses, run solo and smack a few skulls.  All in all it is an energetic and rewarding experience.  Some of the group even venture to dip in the nearby water.  We buy and eat a few calippos and relax.

Afterwards, we decide it is time for some grub.  Most of us make our way to Flanagans.  Jeannine coaxes me to make inquiries regarding work I do so but fail to drop a few names.

By this time, it is late evening.  A few of the gang are off to watch a movie, some to gym.  Kirsten and myself feel the time is about ripe for more tea and caffeine.  We go to the 5^th, chat, drink and browse the net.

It is getting late now and I am conscious that I have an early start the very next day.  We say our goodbyes and I take a tram back in the direction of Schottentör.

Day 9 29/05/2012                            Tea in a Jar Wrapped in a Sock

I get up and have a quick breakfast with Dietlinde.  She is off to picnic with one of her teachers.  Dietlinde has made me some tea, poured it into a jam jar and wrapped it in a sock.  A little something for my journey to the airport.  We part ways and I drag my luggage to the U-bahn, thinking all the way how I wish it had legs. 

The flight leaves on time and I am soon back on Irish soil.

Poll Position

31 May 2012
In the twilight hours I watched the seconds edge forward caught between wanting to sleep and worrying about rising.  I rolled out of bed, pondered briefly what shirt to wear and a little longer on what might be my best choice in footwear.  I had some tea and toast with cheese and was out the door (with Pat) at 0530.

So, there we were in Beirut-driving through the empty streets of Ballymun, admiring the craters and scorched buildings as we rolled into the National school acting as a polling station.  After a short lapse in time spent sitting outside the gates a middle-aged man ventured forward.  He removed the many locks and chains and pulled open the gates.  Another car pulled in at this time beside us.  I got out.  A lady did the same and we two, stood and chatted to the gate-man.  It soon emerged that none of us knew what was happening or what we were to do. No one knew what was going on.  We moved closer to the building and we breached the door; pushing into the polling station.  

We were now in the hub of democracy.

Suddenly, a cluster of people burst into the hall, I thought for a moment the Ballymunions were there to take the station by force.  Fortunately, this was not the case.  There was a flurry of activity as the group of people marched with purpose to the back of the concert hall and each picked up and carried a large black metal box (that usually held the cast votes) to the front of the hall.  They began whipping out scissors, knives and other sharp objects to cut open the boxes and empty their contents.

I must have stuck out like a sore thumb.

Watching with quiet awe these veteran guards of democracy as they quietly went about their roles,
I wandered to the back of the hall. Keen to be seen to do something and not wanting to let the side down, I picked up the box for my station and carried it to my desk.

I was then asked if I was a presiding officer and I dumbly replied yes.  I handed over my letter which the officer quickly dismissed without so much as a glance and told me to empty my box and set up my station.

It seemed as though there was much to learn.
And they urged me to apply the jungle logic-monkey see monkey should do.
Thankfully, the true presiding officer arrived a little after 0630 and my mere seconds of authority were expunged-I was exposed as an imposter-a simple poll clerk masquerading as a presiding officer.  But my deception was not taken to heart.  Instead, I was handed a stack of posters and told to stick them up.

At 0700, the doors were open and we were in business.

One of the first things I noticed about the veterans was the cushion in their hand.  The second thing I noticed was the picnic basket clutched in the other.  Thankfully, I lived off the charity and kindness of others and was offered much tea and food.  Apparently, this is an oversight of many first-time clerks (no doubt it endears them somewhat to their presiding officer).  The breaking of bread at the polling station is an iconic action and one that leaves lasting bonds, bonds that might last for the entirety of the day.  A whole fifteen hours.

The presiding officer of my polling station was a veteran of 9 tours.
She was a groovy granny originally from Cork and ended up in Dublin.
She loved to talk of her family, her kids and grandkids and that one.  You know the one, the problem child in every family.  There were stories...

It was a long day.
I saw some interesting characters.
All were keen to exercise their right to vote.  About 30% of the local population braved the elements to say a simple 'yes' or 'no' to the Irish Government (and the rest of Europe).

They said 'yes'.

Vienna - days with friends

17-12-11 I rolled out of bed at 0700. I had this crazy notion that I would register with the State because I was keeping my flat for the months of January and February (vacant in my absence). I made the long trip up to Dresdner straße arriving at 0815. I slithered through the snail bureaucracy, signed the papers, lost my passport and paid the fee. I could not remember where I had placed or misplaced my passport. I shook out my bag and thoroughly searched my person (to no avail). I must admit I panicked only slightly. I was called into another room and asked to show a receipt. I signed some more papers and received, lo and behold, my passport stamped. Everything was in order. Now I only needed to rush to school for 1000. It was a giant feat and I failed. I pushed through the school doors at 1005 simultaneously reading a text message from my betreuunglehrerin, 'du mußt nicht kommen.' Wonderful, already I could feel my ears burning; no doubt poisonous words were being spat defaming my good name. I left the school very much excited about the looming confrontation I was to have the day after. It was early and most of the TAs would still be at school. I took a gamble that D might be translating and not teaching (as her teachers often had her do). She was at home so we had tea and buscuits. I got a call shortly after and plans were made for lunch. We were to meet at Stephansdom. I got lost en route opting for the less than beaten path. This move upset some as it added considerable delay to my journey... We went to Kleines café and I immediately fell in love with that little piece of heaven. This dingy little café squeezed into a tiny platz. The cramped surroundings screamed exclusive. The chef and waitress wander around with an air of indifference and a look of non-chalance tapping their cigarette ash into your cup or saucer. And breathing over your food as they slide it onto the table. It is not as bad as it sounds - we went back for more. This time we got service with a smile - granted we had come back two mondays in a row we were practically regulars. I learned the next day that I would not have to pay rent for the months of January and February and I was free to leave my apartment in the 11th. I began packing.

Last Days in Vienna (Part IV)

The Christmas markets and seasonal drinks of Austria hold a tender place in my heart.  When I think of Austria now I often imagine a wintry scene with snow, and people's hot breath drifting from their mouths like the steamy sigh of an extinguished dragon.  If you can imagine such a thing...

Funny how you come to remember places.

I think of the many cafés and the copious cups of coffee washing down words, oiling conversation and bonding friendships. I remember too the cake and strüdl. Funny how much of my recollection is filtered through food and drink.

The last weeks and days flew by. It was an emotional time. It is hard to tear oneself from new friends. In situations where groups of people are tossed into new surroundings, and they have to swim or sink, searching for accommodation and striving for the perfect lesson plan inevitably brings people together. Nothing like borderline trauma to temper the links and bonds between a network of people.

But ultimately I did not mind leaving the city. It is true it does take time to adjust to a new lifestyle and to readjust to an old one but while I wondered would my new friends stay friends and what jobs or experiences life had for me beyond the next meander-the things I would miss the most might not stay in Vienna. They were not fixed inanimate objects and to live is to change-they could move maybe even come visit and Vienna would be there. As Billy Joel reminds us 'Vienna waits for you'.

I packed my things and folded my memories tucking them all away for safekeeping. Vienna is a gem of a city but I had a greater treasure waiting for me at home.

Last Days in Vienna (Part 3)

I was underwhelmed at first and perhaps burdened with my thesis but I fumbled blindly around the city for 4 days before moving on to Graz.  I was eager to make my mark and set about meeting, greeting and trying to make new friends.  I think I succeeded with relative success.

Back in Vienna I was ready to get stuck in and start my new life.  As an aspiring writer I loved the artsy scene, the theatre and the opera. And the city of the Third Man. 

I loved the history of this city; centre of the Holy Roman Empire, home of Freud, a hotspot for Cold War espionage and the list goes on.

There was plenty here to muse on, histories, legends and myths fermenting in my mind.  I was particularly intrigued by the story of the 'Wild Geese' in Austria.  I often commnted on how the four horsemen guarding Maria Theresa were all Irish.  Emigrants or refugees, asylum seekers or mercenaries you decide.  These men built a life in Austria making a substantial military contribution to its stability and prosperity.  The last recipient of the prestigious Military Order of Maria Theresa, Banfield, was a descendent of these Wild Geese.  He was commended for his gallant efforts as a navy pilot during the First World War.
I wondered about myself and how, if at all, I might fit into this tradition as a young Irishman abroad.  There was sorrow but dignity there.  Yet, for all their efforts these men remain largely unknown.  For Austrians, I suppoelse it was not a big deal to have 'foreignors' fight in their army after all their Empire stretched across many borders, uniting several ethnic groups.  It certainly was not uncommon for Irishmen to seek fame, fortune or simply a better life abroad.

Over time I learned how to behave in the social scene in Vienna.  I had a four day week at school so my weekends started on Thursday.  There was often a dinner, shin-dig or box social to be had, usually at Dietlinde's flat - the most fabulous apartment I have ever seen.
We dappled with a movie night for a while and brunch became a regular occurrence.  As did coffee dates, chats and general rendezvous.

I have often fondly nourished memories of lounging in these cafés sipping coffee or some variation of tea, with my friends.  Most of my memories of Vienna seem to be of dining and drinking but thankfully on all occassions surrounded by good company.  A man cannot live on food alone after all and conversation feeds the soul.

I relished chat of stuff and junk.

We floated between cafés: Prückl, Rosa, Weltcafe, Wirr, Kleines Café, Cafe Central, sampling the melange, the cake and other dishes. Some were classic Viennese Kaffeehaus (Cafe Central) with while others were modern (Cafe Rosa).

Other popular social spots were Irish bars Charlie P's and Flanagans, Travelshack, Shebeen, Nachbar, Kolar and Debakel. Of course in the run up to Xmas Museumsquartier and the Altes AKH served many a hot drink. I can still taste it now breathing in the aroma and spice whilst clutching my mug tightly. The warmth it offered as we ingested its nourishment- there really is nothing quite like punsch.