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Sorry, I’m not Irish

I wore green today. Accidentally. Yep, I was a girl with a Irish name, wearing a bright green cardigan on St Patrick’s Day. No wonder the Dutchies felt compelled to wish me a ‘top of the morning’. The thing is, I don’t feel Irish at all. I never have; growing up, I might have worn [...]

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In search of the perfect beer

I didn’t drink beer until my first week at university. I was one of those dreaded lolly-drink girls, who then graduated to gin and tonics and cocktails. Beer just wasn’t my style, I had decided early. However, it is mighty hard to go to university and not drink beer. On a pub crawl during O-Week, [...]

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A country in a photo – Ireland

Back in the day, when there was a bit of a shortage of potatoes in a land called Eire, my great, great (and probably a few more greats) grandparents joined hundreds of thousands of their countrymen and women in leaving their home forever. My name is Caitlyn O’Dowd, as much as an Irish name as [...]

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Mind the gap

So, back in London. It’s still raining, the same man is still telling me to mind the gap, and after three months of more or less finding my way around non-English speaking cities, I am again lost. I think I am somewhere around Covent Garden, but I can’t be sure. All I know is I [...]

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A pie at the footy

As I made my way to the ‘footy’ the other day in Galway, I tried refreshing myself with the rules of the Irish game. I remembered that they didn’t have point posts, had a kind of a soccer net, didn’t really tackle… and that’s about it. That’s all I needed, really. I felt straight at [...]

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A good craic

I loved Ireland from the start. I mentioned in my last post of the two conversations I had with people when waiting for my replacement bus somewhere between Mallow and Killarney. It seriously hasn’t stopped. I have said hello to more people in three days than I had for three months on the continent. I [...]

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The obese beast

Five and a half kilos. It wasn’t even close. I hadn’t been through an airport since Heathrow, and I had definitely gotten used to trains. Only on the Eurostar to Paris, and for some reason from Valencia to Madrid were my bags x-rayed. They only started checking my passport once I ventured behind the Iron [...]

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