Friday, November 20, 2009

Heart As Big As Liverpool

I always thought of myself as clever for saving my money by not being a smoker, or going tanning, or getting my hair professionally done. But I now have a far more expensive habit: football.

Cost of driving to Minneapolis to watch games in Brits Pub: $50 per trip.
Cost of Liverpool Jersey: $50.
Cost of You'll Never Walk Alone Tattoo: $60.
Cost of getting to Liverpool: $120.
Cost of ticket to Liverpool-Man City Match: $274.
Never Walking Alone: priceless????


Sunday, November 8, 2009

Wir Haben Alles Verloren

"I was born in a country which no longer exists."


When the wall fell, an entire cultural identity fell with it.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Out of Practice, Episode Two

Wow, this is problem is getting serious. I hemmed and hawed all day over the purchase of an official Liverpool Jersey. Elverys didn't sell one with Steven Gerrard's name across the back, which was what I really wanted. But it was for quite a decent price compared with what I've seen at Planet Soccer in the States. They've only ever got away jerseys anyway. At the end of the day I decided it was a worthwhile purchase (what if Gerrard's groin never recovers? Better to support the whole team than one player) and carried my brand new shirt down O'Connell St with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I stopped at the General Post Office to buy some postcard stamps to the US and opted to write a few postcards there to get them sent off as quickly as possible. Postage stamps, you see, are cheaper in Ireland than in Germany. After popping them in the post box I continued homeward. It wasn't until I passed by the third Carrol's Gifts (And Cheap Tourist Crap) that an Irish Rugby jersey in the window reminded me of my new Liverpool shirt. To my horror, I realized the bag was not in my hand. I was, ironically, walking very much alone. This produced, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit, a much more severe reaction than the missing wallet had. I panicked, and praying I'd left it at the GPO ran the length of O'Connell back to the place where I'd written my postcards. The only thought on my mind: "Well thank God I can't lose the tattoo! At least that's not going anywhere!"


I arrived at the GPO out of breath. There it sat, Elverys Sports bag alone on the counter top, Liverpool jersey safe inside. Lucky girl, indeed. This better not become a pattern!

Friday, November 6, 2009

Out of Practice

Apparently traveling on one's own is a skill that requires some practice, and I'm a bit rusty after a year. Just one hour after touching down in Dublin I went to put down a deposit on a locker key in my hostel only to realize I did not have my wallet on me. I had quite a lot of cash in a back-up wallet, but no bank cards or ID, or the 100 Euro that was in the wallet. The only place I'd had my wallet out was to pay for the 16C bus from Dublin Airport. I was exhausted, wet, and had my hands full with luggage when I paid the fare, and truth be told I didn't recall ever putting the wallet back into my purse. But a seasoned traveler doesn't panic. A seasoned traveler is resourceful. I spoke with the ladies at the hostel front desk and they connected me to Bus Eireann who connected me to Dublin Bus who transferred me to Summerhill Garage on Mount Joy Square. "What color is the wallet?" said the man on the other end of the phone in a thick Dublin accent. "Red." "What on earth were you tinkin'?" he laughed.

I followed his typically Irish directions. Walk to the top of O'Connell, right down Parnell, left up Gardiner St until you see a pub called Hill 16. Follow the laneway up past the pub into the garage. It sounded sketchy. But sure enough, there was an office full of uniformed and friendly transit folk. "I've come to collect my wallet," I said.

"Oh its you, is it!" said the man from the phone. He turned to his colleagues. "Little Red Riding Hood's come to collect her little red wallet!" He opened the wallet and looked at the ID to verify I was the owner. "Wisconsin, eh?" he said, attempting an American accent. It sounded far more Boston than Midwest but my smile was massive. "Thanks a million," I said.

"You're a lucky lucky girl."