Back to le grind

Has it really been twenty-three days since my last entry?


Shame, shame, shame, shame, shame.


Shame.


Where did this sudden bout of laziness come from? After all, I had been doing so well, hadn’t I? Posting at least three times a week, checking in with my blog at least once a day to edit old posts, responding to comments, etc, etc. Ah, yes, but I tell you, the holidays sure have a way of making people lazy. That last day of work, when we step out of the office knowing that we have two glorious weeks of freedom in front of us has a way of making our brains go right into sleep mode, n’est-ce pas?

But nothing wrong with a little laziness every once in a while, right? After all what’s better than a little dose of far niente, a little bit of sweet purposelessness to get the old motor running on all cylinders again.

Yes, boy, vacation sure does wonders for the spirit.

Dear reader, let me tell you, two weeks spent between rainy Dublin and vibrant Madrid had lulled me into a sweet vacation stupor which  succeeded in fully recharging my batteries. It was a glorious time in which I found myself hardly capable of much more than sleeping, eating, and relaxing. All with a little liming and sightseeing thrown in for good measure of course.

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All you need to do is hop on a plane for an hour, and the dizzying diversity of Europe opens up before you. In the time that it takes to watch two episodes of Friends back to back on a squinty airline television, you find yourself surrounded by a totally different people, culture, and language. It is this sort of thrilling disorienting experience that remind me why I signed up for the assistantship program in the first place.

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Dublin was everything that I heard it would be. Rainy, cold, and full of wonderfully warm and welcoming people. There was a real spirit of triumph in the city; a definite sense that these people had been through hell and had survived. There was a feeling of pride and patriotism that could be felt in the folk songs that were belted out by the locals in the pubs after a couple pints of Guinness. There were symbols of national identity and patriotism in the public signs that were all written in both English and Irish Gaelic, despite the fact that very few, if any, Dubliners speak this beautiful language of the old world as their mother tongue.

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The airport is a confusing transitional stage. This is where one culture starts melting into another. Announcements belt through the PA system in languages which were born in different corners of the Earth. All you have to do is walk for five minutes and listen in on the conversations around you and you will find yourself washed over with accents and tongues from all over the world. Airports are neutral territory. This is where the citizens of the world gather and brush shoulders with one another.

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Madrid was everything that I had hoped it would be. Beautiful, chaotic, and absolutely pulsing with life. The overcast Dublin skies gave way to a sky of pure blue that hung over the Spanish capital and seemed to reflect the joy and energy of the people buzzing about below in the old cobblestone streets. I wandered aimlessly for days around the markets, and parades, and festivals. I found myself much more daring with my Spanish than I had been with my French when I first came to Paris. I bargained with vendors, and made conversation with bartenders, while all the while stuffing myself into a stupor with Spanish tapas, cervezas, and cafe con leche. It is in this city that I wished goodbye to 2009, and welcomed in the New Year Spanish Style, surrounded by thousands of Madrilenos frantically swallowing grapes in the heart of the city.

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But, alas, all holidays must come to an end, and I once again find myself confronting the complex labyrinth of cyberspace, battling writer’s block, and trying very hard to sweep the Christmas cobwebs from my brain.

Here’s to a wonderful 2010.

May we all do our best.