Family Times, Part Two: The Land of Cheese and Chocolate Sprinkles on yer bread

Dutch cows

Two weary travellers arrived at Chez Kees (Taco’s Dad) around 11.30pm on Tuesday night. The plane ride had been smooth in that all bags were present and accounted for, but not so smooth in that, with C & T forced to sit in separate seats, Taco managed to find himself in the middle of a group of school children obviously quite excited to be travelling to the Netherlands, all with perhaps a touch too much sugar in their systems.

Our first full day in the Netherlands, we hung out like cool kids in the town, Claire got excited about the sun and wore shorts (then got sniggered at by the actual Barendrecht cool kids for pretending it was summer already), and we began ticking off the list of Boring Stuff That Needs To Be Done for Taco. In the evening, we were picked up by the beautiful man himself Kevin, and watched his indoor football match. And what a match, ladies and gents! A dramatic but ultimately disappointing game for Kev’s team. After this we headed to Jur’s place and watched Feyenoord  play against Roda: equally disappointing, but less dramatic.

The next few days we slept in, caught up with friends, and began to organise The Bicycle Trip: The Netherlands to Paris on our fietsen, which Tac’s Mum had so kindly driven all the way to London to bring back to the Netherlands for us. We found a book called ‘Fietsen naar Parijs’ ('Cycling to Paris')- with that in our hands we figure can find the way blindly.

Before we knew it was Saturday. Family day. In the afternoon we went to Liesforrest where we had high tea with Tac’s Mum's side of the family, later that day we went to an uncle of dad’s side where we had a little boogie to the LP music. On Sunday we went to the Rotterdam marathon to support Taco’s friend Daan (and his dad) to the finish, but it was so busy that we missed them. Poo. So without meeting up, we went to IJburg to visit Auke and Caz. We all felt a bit like zombies for different reasons so we just chilled on the couch watching the only Dutch cycling classic, The Amstel Gold Race. Back in Barendrecht we went to The Dijk (Taco's second home) to catch up with some more family and by the end of the day we were so tired that we slept for a million years... well not really, we slept for a night, but you get the idea.

Our final day in Barendrecht was spent grabbing supplies for the bike journey, picking up Kev (Claire's bike) from Handy Dandy Robert who had given him a fixing up, then having a lovely extended afternoon tea with Oma, complete with many many Speculaas biscuits and multiple cups of tea. We had a delicious dinner with Daan and Tessa, ooh-ing and aah-ing at Tessa's beautiful baby belly and their sexy baby room (all Miffy/Nintje styled!), before heading back to Chez Kees for some last minute preparations surrounded by the Barendrecht boys and girls. 

Claire woke up bloody early on Tuesday morning with the excitement of the trip ahead. Sandwiches were made, our little fietskarretje was laden with bags, and we shook our fists at the sky in the hope that we would keep the rain away...

Family Times, Part One: The Land of Leprechauns and Lots of Tea

Irish Cows

We last saw our intrepid travellers weary from running and cheering and the end of the Connemara Marathon. (For those of you out there who care for numbers, Claire did the marathon in 4hours21minutes59seconds.)

The day after the big run we went for a little hobble in Clifden. Claire’s legs were doing fine, we even climbed up a hill to have a 360 degree view from the top. Back in the centre we went to the post office to send some things to Oz and Holland. (Taco still owes Claire 82 cents for that.) We picked up the bags from the B&B, quickly used the WIFI to book a hostel for the night and walked to the bus that took us to Dublin. Claire went to the back row and had a little snooze while Taco read the Irish post with the marathon results in it.

In Dublin we went to the hostel where we booked into a dorm. We decided after we dropped our stuff that it was a good idea to switch to a private room the next day.  If you are not in the backpacking travel mode, a dorm is maybe not the most comfortable or relaxed room to be in. We had dinner at a restaurant that Colleen recommended to us, Neon. It was Asian street cuisine- really nice food that we enjoyed while playing a game of Yahtzee.

After a night where Taco was woken up by some roommates who left not very quietly in the middle of the night to catch their flight, we checked out and decided to look for another place during the day. We had a long day in front of us. First spot we wanted to go to was Phoenix Park, and it took us a good hour to walk there- our ears froze off our heads because of the cutting wind. The park was nice but even nicer was the walk away from it (this sounds a bit negative but I don’t mean it) knowing the next stop was going to be the Guinness factory! There was a really good setup, you could walk through the factory and be your own guide. We spent a good chunk of time in here. The pub after the visit was cosy and good to give the legs a bit of rest. In the tourist office we used the internet to look for another hostel, but ran out of time as the office was closing and we hadn’t found a hostel yet. On the streets we walked into a few hostels but the prices were pretty high and we decided it was maybe a better idea to stay at the same place: we would survive another night in a dorm. As a result we checked in again and ended up in an empty 4 bed dorm. One of the beds was a (semi) double bed so that was cosy. During our walk earlier in the day we saw some posters advertising a play, Alice in Funderland,  that was going on in the Abbey Theatre, not far from our hostel. We bought tickets online and had to go straight there to be in time for the start of it. It was a funny play but not all of it was understandable for Taco as some of the actors talked and sang with a really strong Irish accent.

The next morning we went for another little explore before we took the bus. Our impression of Dublin was that it was a lovely city, and someday we would like to come back. Then it was off the the north- McEvoy country. The last time Claire was here was 8 years ago, as just a wee bairn of 17. In Castlewellan, Oliver was waiting for us at the bus station. He is the husband of Ann who is the daughter of Hugh, who is the brother of Claire's grandfather. Capiche? They made us feel at home straight away. Dinner was ready and after that we had a cup of tea before they took us for a stroll on the promenade in Newcastle. Once back we talked the night away with the football on television on the background.

The area around here is as you would think when you think about Ireland.  Hills (with snow on top), beautiful lakes, castles, and massive open areas of grass complete with the sheep and their lambs. We enjoyed the sunny day outside and the highlight of the first full day was the visit to Hugh, the brother of Claire's grandpa. The 97 year young man was full of stories that he told us in his kitchen.

We spent some more cosy times at Oliver and Ann’s, drinking cup of tea upon cup of tea, walking for miles, and having a bake-off in the kitchen- in his retirement, Oliver has turned his previous joiner hands to baking, with great success! The smell of apple and rhubarb pies wafted through the little kitchen, and greedy taste testers concluded that the man’s pastry was spot on! It might have been due to the inclusion of freshly laid eggs, provided by Oliver’s harem of hens, who live a pretty sweet life, and in return give excellent eggage. In return we whipped up a carrot cake, which also went down pretty well.

The next day we moved camp, to Dominic and Kathleen’s (more second cousins). Their cosy home was to be ours for the next few nights, in the truest sense of the word. We were swept into the house and into the heart of the family, enjoying Easter with lovely Dominic and Kathleen, as well as Andrew, their son, back for the holidays from his job in England (so he would be Claire’s second cousin… once removed? Or is it cousin once removed to the power of 3 multiplied by…. GAH!). Big family feasts, “chilling out” on the couch (which Kathleen instructed us to do several times an hour), visits by other family members, including Maureen and Therese, learning the rules of Gaelic football- these were all some highlights. Another was the walk we did with Dominic up the Slieve Donard (sounds a bit rude, really, doesn’t it?!), which is the biggest mountain in the area. The walk itself isn’t too long, but my-oh-my it does get high. Steep, I mean. Claire Quick-Steps hurried along behind the long-limbed lads Dominic and Taco for a good chunk of the way, trying desperately to keep up. As the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, we reached The Saddle, and Dominic was off and away, the two of us left sweating, yet freezing, muttering a little “f#$@ me this is tricky” every few metres, until we reached the summit, enrobed in cloud with not a sight to be seen- this was insignificant, however: we had got to the bloody top! Yee-ha! Crazy people from the region run up and down this hill once a year in a race. Dominic informed us the current record was something in the vicinity of 55 minutes to the top, 17 minutes for the way down. I think our stats were only slightly off this.

It was with heavy hearts (and tummies, thanks to all the feasting) that on Easter Monday we drove to Belfast with Kathleen, Dominic and Andrew, saying goodbye first to Andrew at the airport, then to the lovely D & K, but not before a posh drink at the poshy posh posh Merchant Hotel in town. The following day, we explored Belfast as much as the rain would allow us, escaping anything to do with the Titanic if we could help it, which is the focus of everything and everyone in this 100th year anniversary. We tested some cosy pubs, checked out some churches, and towards the end of the day, threw our backpacks on once again and headed for the airport, ready for some Dutch gezelligheid.

Marathon day from Claire's point of view

I felt a bit nervous on Sunday morning. I'd felt nervous the day before but for a different reason- realising I didn't have any running gear with me and that running the marathon might not be a possibility gave me a funny feeling in my stomach. But Sunday morning, new shoes firmly tied on my feet with timing chip attached, I had the pre-race jitters. I hadn't really had that feeling since primary school days of old, driving in the bus to inter-school athletic carnivals, scoffing Allen's snake upon Allen's snake. Sunday morning I side-stepped the sweeties for a good hearty muesli and coffee (hoping my insides wouldn't regret the caffeine later). I caught the bus out to the starting point with Marcus, a lovely Irishman staying in our B&B with Colleen. Marcus calmed me a bit with his assurances of “It'll be grand” and similarly-casual approach to training and pre-race prep.

It really was the most gorgeous day, all blue skies and sun. the starting point was a modest little stretch of road with a beautiful big lake to our left, and some little rocky hills on our right (perfect for the guys to clamber up and relieve themselves on, leaving the Portaloos for the ladies). Thankfully there were no horrible group warm-ups or pep talks at the start line, although a fair share of silly garbage bag-like warming devices and intimidating stretching routines were on show. Runners were primed to go into battle against Low Energy, some of them sporting an almost magazine-like line-up of gels and power bars around their bodies. Still, some people looked pretty casual, human- none more so than a gentleman walking around in his thick spectacles, Levi's and a t-shirt atop his running shoes; I expected these to be stripped off, revealing a Superman-like athletic suit underneath but no, there he was a mile in (and at the finish line!) in the very same gear. I chatted with an enthusiastic man from Oxford running his ninth marathon who kept up the light-heartedness I needed in order to not feel compelled to do 46 nervous wees before the start whistle. About five minutes before the marathon began, the world champion of the ultra marathon came absolutely gunning past us- the dude was aiming to beat his own world record in running the 39.3 mile ultra in less than four hours.

Once we were off, I just kept a steady, comfortable pace up, and soaked in the sun and rolling hills, knowing that at some point I might not be able to enjoy the scenery quite so much. I got talking to Siobhan, who was running her second marathon, having decided last year at age 45 to take up running. This marathon was part of her training for an Ironman (Ironwoman?) challenge later in the year. We spent quite a bit of the race together, and she gave me lots of encouraging words and stories along the way. She was also rocking some amazing hot pink compression stocking on her toned calves. I met a man from Toowoomba, also running his second marathon, his first being the Gold Coast one last year just before turning 50.

Around the 12th mile I gave one of those sexy energy gels a crack. It was tastier and less goopier than previous ones I'd tried (cola flavoured!), and I did feel like it gave me a boost, although this was accompanied by a bit of a funny feeling in the tum-tum. There was a lovely long hill that swept down towards the lake outside Leenane. Past lots of lobster and crab pots we came into the town and over the 13th mile mat, which recorded our half-way time. Siobhan gave a big cry of "We're on the way home, now!" and I felt buoyed. Soon after this point came a gentle but present upwards climb for about a mile, and along here I met Tim from near Galway. He too was a first-timer, and we spent the best part of the next 12 or so miles together, chatting away and occasionally running with knees up or feet-to-bum to prevent too much stiffening up. In our training the furthest either of us had run was 18 miles, and as we passed this marker, Tim said "Well, it's all unknown territory from here!" and we dorkily gave each other a high five (but with our knuckles- what DO you call that? High fist doesn't sound right...). It was so nice meeting someone who felt like a similar person to me, and be able to get through what might have been the tough bits without really feeling the distance. Ah, the power of distraction and good conversation!

Somewhere near the start of what they call 'The Hell of the West' we met another first-time marathoner, a Mum of four, and the three of us conquered that hill with really not too much drama. A lot of people had to walk it, but to be honest, I think I was expecting somewhat more of an extreme incline. Not to pretend at all that by this point (around 22.5 miles) my legs hadn't gone into robot mode in which my joints were those of an 80-something year old, but there wasn't ever a point where I thought my body would turn it's back on me and give up. I thought a lot about Mum and Dad, the runners who spawned me, and Mum's advice to try not to look too pained when running- I think it's true that keeping up a sense of positivity can help things not feel too hard- more muscles to frown than to smile and all that.

Around the top of the hill, the hotel came into view that signalled the finish line. I think I picked up the pace in the last mile, and a few hundred yards from the finish line, there was beautiful Tac. I'd been thinking about how excited I'd be to see him at the finish line, and it was a figurative energy gel, the image of him with his big ol' camera in hand, yelling and towering above the little Irish folk. Tim said to me "Right Claire, when we get to this white sign, we're just going to drop the hammer, alright?" I'd come to learn a few bits of jargon over the past four hours in the company of runners, so I knew he meant "Go really fast to the finish line". And we did! It was like finishing a run back home with Mum and somehow finding that last bit of energy to use the legs of my father to overtake the little Energiser battery woman on the last sprint up Clapton Road.

Claire at the finish

I was pretty buggered. But kept walking. Walking and smiling. Walking and smiling and finding Tac for a big hug and a banana and some yellow roses! I felt really really happy. I had been worried that a sense of happiness and achievement would only come at that point, that finish line, but I truly was pretty elated the whole way along that run. It was four hours (and 22 minutes) of some of the most spectacular scenery I've ever been amongst, and it made me reflect on some of the other beautiful runs I've been lucky enough to do during my time overseas. The beautiful vineyards and forested hills in the south of France, icy pine trees and glistening roads in Zurich, dusty roads on an island oasis just out of noisy Phnom Penh, sunny weekend London runs along the Thames or through wild Wimbledon Common. Running around the world has been a way of learning a place, meeting people, and having a small sense of routine and groundedness in myself when things are ever-changing. It hurts a bit sometimes but I don't think I'll stop any time soon.

Marathon day from Tac's point of view

Got up at 08.00 on Sunday for a delicious breakfast before Claire was picked up by the bus that took her to the start of the marathon. I had a few hours before I got picked up by the 'crowdbus', in which I had a little stroll and sat in the sunshine reading my magazine while Claire was running the miles away.

In the beautiful surroundings of massive mountains and crystal clear lakes I found myself a good spot to enjoy the event. After watching all the runners struggling on their last few metres before the finish, Claire came past me looking like she just started, almost. (I wanted to say that Claire passed as a 'dartelend hertje' but dont think there is a english equivalent for this.)

When we got back in Clifden we went for dinner and some drinks with Marcus and Colleen who were staying at the same B&B. We ended up doing a little pubcrawl. Had dinner and icecold Heinekens on the first stop, switched to Guinness on the second and finished with some more Guinness in the last. The second pub we were, had a band (Sumbrellas) playing in front of the pub on a parking lot between the cars. They played cool songs on their guitars and violins.

After the beers we went back to the B&B where we watched our new favorite series Homeland on the laptop before falling asleep.

Leaving London

Hello!

Welcome to what will hopefully be a regular update of our adventures over the next few months. We've been in London for a while, and now we're slowly making our way (back) to Adelaide, our home for the next little?/long? while. Episode 1 is written from a big comfy couch in Clifden, Ireland...

We had a lovely last day in London, in which all preparations leading up to the departure from our home-for-the-past-little-while felt chilled out and easy, and we had time to sit around talking crap with friends and housemates, and eat late-night Chinese on the street under a blossom tree with Sarah A and candles.

This morning we had an early wake-up from a handy online alarm clock- this was needed as we had both rid ourselves of our phones (and most other material possesions) in the past two days; even our bikes were gone, picked up by the incredibly generous Marjan and Patrick last weekend and currently being babysat in Belgium.

London gave us an appropriately-grey final morning, but we both felt "the sunshine in our bodies" (Taco just said that in a super sultry voice sitting next to Claire, currently acting as scribe, on the couch). We had a smooth train ride to Gatwick airport, and an easy flight to sunny Dublin... but then it went a little bit poo.

Taco's brave little suitcase burst forth boldly through the conveyor curtains; Claire's was a bit slow... Quite a bit slow, in fact... Actually where the HELL is the bloody bag?! In London, it might appear, at this stage, although we're yet to confirm that. The Ryanair lady kindly took our contact details ("We don't have any"), instructing us to call at some point later on for news of the AWOL bag. We had a little moment of tears and swear words and questioning what to do. Quickly we decided that we would stick to the plan of catching the only bus that would get us to our destination in the west of Ireland. There remained the tiny issue of lacking any marathon running gear, which was sort of the point of going to the west, but we thought we'd figure it out on the way.

Once in Clifden, we sited a shop that looked promising on the shoe front. It turned out our man there only had hiking footwear.
Claire: "Is there anywhere else that might sell running shoes and would still be open?"
Our man: "Der's a sport place oop de road dere, Gannon's."
Claire and Taco: "Oh! We're staying at a B&B called Gannon's, is that nearby...?"
Our man: "Oh yeah, s'the same place. Gerry owns de sports store and de B&B."
We had a good old chuckle, headed up the road and €130 later Claire is set to go for the marathon tomorrow. Will Ryanair pick up the bill, we wonder?

Off to bed, pores straining with carbohydratey goodness thanks to Taco's amazing pre-race pasta cook-up extravaganza. More news on the other side of 26.2 miles. Hopefully.

Love Taco and Claire xox