Help Syria!

02 Monday Apr 2012

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Allies, Children, Enemies, Freedom, Friends, Help, Injustice, Justice, Men, Syria, Torture, War, Women

Posted by deirdreallen | Filed under Gallery

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Mexicans; devout Catholics?

17 Saturday Mar 2012

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Cathedral, Catholicism, Mexico, Religion

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Teaching Fair, University of Limerick

17 Saturday Mar 2012

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Abu Dhabi, Ireland, Jobs, Opportunities, Prospects, Teaching, Teaching Fair, UK, University of Limerick

University of Limerick Teaching Fair

Malta; the Hollywood of the Mediterranean

17 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by deirdreallen in Blog Posts

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Architecture, Beach, Blue Grotto, Brad Pitt, Cheap, Cisk, Cuisine, Dinghli Cliffs, Holiday, Hollywood, Malta, Mediterranean, Oliver Reed, Paceville, Scuba-diving, Sliema, St. Julian's, The Pub, Valletta

Media attention surrounded Brad Pitt and his family whilst they temporarily resided in Malta for the filming of his upcoming movie ‘World War Z’.

Filming for the widely speculated blockbuster of next year ‘World War Z’ took place in Malta last summer. The Maltese set was designed to represent Jerusalem, and the location really did not need much alteration.

Malta has been used as a location for many successful films, a host of commercials, and also music videos down through the years. ‘Gladiator’, ‘Midnight Express’ and ‘Troy’ were shot almost completely on location in Malta. The country is a director’s paradise with its authentic buildings and streets and a good year-round climate.

Not only does its architecture attract the crowds, but also its waters. Thousands of divers flock to Malta each year as it is regarded as the number one scuba-diving spot in Europe.

Malta is seeped in history, having been subjected to Arab, Norman and British rule down through the years; it sports evidence of all three periods.

It is relatively cheap to holiday in Malta; drink, food and accommodation costs all fall well below their Irish counterparts. 700ml of Smirnoff vodka can be bought in the supermarkets for €9.99 and 500ml cans of beer for €0.50.

Cisk is Malta’s own brand beer and a 500ml can be bought in supermarkets for €1.00, a pint of it in the pub will cost you about €2.60. Guinness however costs the same as at home with only a portion of the taste.

Oliver Reed, the famous English actor, who starred in such films as Oliver! And Gladiator, actually died whilst having a pint in the now famous public house called ‘The Pub’ in Valletta. The pub is tiny and is filled with Oliver Reed memorabilia, and is very welcoming of visitors.

Valletta is the capital city and is due to be the European Capital of Culture in 2018. Construction works are currently taking place in preparation for it. The City Gate was last year knocked, much to the anger of the Maltese people, and will be replaced with a smaller and narrower version.

Sliema is Malta’s shopping district and it sports an amazing four-story shopping centre called ‘The Point’. Pull & Bear, New Look and other such shops that we find at home can be found there also. What Malta lacks is a Penney’s, but cheap purchases can be made in the markets found in many towns, but predominantly in Valletta.

Malta’s nightlife is as vibrant as you see in the movies. There is an entire strip of nightclubs, fast-food joints and strip-clubs in St. Julians. The area is known as Paceville. You will find a party here every night of the week.

Malta has a vast variety of beaches too. You can enjoy the sun, sea and sand both on the island of Malta itself, and on the neighbouring islands of Gozo and Comino. A ferry runs regularly to Gozo, as Gozoitans commute to Malta, and boats go back and forth to Comino for the large part of the day.

Take a wander out to Dinghli cliffs, if you feel like going for an awe inspiring hike. The views are amazing, and you feel great for doing something healthy with your time, and all the while you’re soaking up the sun. Beware of going too near the edge of the cliffs, they’re weak and may crumble.

Most importantly, sit down and enjoy the Italian inspired cuisine; from pizzas to pastizzis, you’ll be licking your lips all day.

Mexicans Uncapped..

17 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by deirdreallen in Blog Posts

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Burritos, Cinco de Mayo, Cleaners, Coca Cola, Cowboy boots, Enchiladas, La Independencia, Mexicans, Mexico, Narchos, Party, People, Poverty, Prostitutes, Sewage system, Social Welfare, Tacos, Tequila, Wealth

Beneath the sombrero and behind the glass of tequila, lies an entirely different race of people than the race we are familiar with, courtesy of TV and movies. The café skin, brown eyes and dark locks are vast and voluminous. Many Mexicans can be scary and dangerous people. Yes, the country has its share of narchos, drugs and prostitutes. But there is so much more to this impoverished/hated/forgotten country. There is a world of beautiful and friendly people.

The extremities of wealth and poverty are staggering. Luxurious cars driven by teenagers, chewing gum sold at the side of the road by six-year-olds, baptisms with unlimited supplies of alcohol and extortionate amounts of money spent on football tickets.

Banger cars, beaten up trucks, unroadworthy vehicles, shacks and shanty towns, people working three jobs just to survive.

Mothers cleaning as many houses a day as possible, just to put food in their children’s mouths.

Ladies having their houses cleaned and gardens tended to in an effort to support the poorest in Mexico’s society. An attitude of ‘I’ll help you, if you help me’.

Around the world, the Irish are thought of as the partiers and drinkers. Well, the Mexicans sure can match us. Their weekend can begin as early as Wednesday, and continues all the way into the early hours of Monday morning. Alcohol, food, laughter, humorous and amusing stories are always in abundance.

Mexico has a rich and colourful history. Entertaining tales of fights for freedom and independence dot their annual calendar. From Cinco de Mayo to La Independencia, each holiday is celebrated with as much enthusiasm and energy as the country can muster.

Feeling thirsty in Mexico? You’re never too far away from an outlet which sells Coca Cola. The country is the world’s second biggest consumer of the product after the US. On every wall, and every billboard, you will be constantly harassed by Coca Cola’s advertising campaign.

Feeling hungry? You’re in the best place. Mexico’s menu is the most mouth-watering (and often eye-watering!), tasty and delicious menu I’ve ever come across. Granted, depending on where you eat, you may one day unknowingly consume dog or the like, but from the tacos to the enchiladas, I’m positive you’ll be back for more.

What is so inspiring about Mexico’s culture is their ‘get-up and do something with yourself’ attitude. There is no social welfare in Mexico, so when you’re jobless, you’re penniless. People will wash windows, sell chewing-gums at the side of the road, offer to clean your shoes, start a business out of a wheelbarrow, or sell cowboy boots on the roadside. They really will go to any length to make a living. And, they’re not shy about it either.

A gross fact about Mexico: well their sewage system isn’t the newest so it can’t handle large volumes of waste. Therefore, instead of flushing their used toilet paper down the toilet, it has to instead be put in a bin… Although, in newer buildings this is not the case, thankfully.

And on a final note, the Mexicans are warm, friendly, inviting, and ever so helpful. Now that’s what you want!

Learning the difference between a white flag and a white rag

17 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by deirdreallen in Blog Posts

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Mexico D.F., Mr. Taximan, Short story, Stress, Taxis, Travelling, Zocalo

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity standing in a line with our bags, it was our turn for a taxi. Ecstatic myself and my friend Sarah ran forward followed by our new friend Lenneke from Holland, who we had just picked up back inside the bus station. As dodgy as that sounds, it wasn’t. Lenneke was just another ‘guera’ like us. You see the setting is Mexico and that ambiguous phrase means ‘white girl’.

Sarah and I were on cooperative placement in Mexico. We had been teaching English in Irapuato, Guanajuato for five months now and every weekend we travelled. This weekend we would be venturing into the big Distrito Federal; Mexico City to you and me.

We had received a hundred warnings and words of advice from both our students and our colleagues. These included hold onto your bags tight, hide all valuables, remove jewellery, never walk alone, trust no one, if you think you’re being followed then tell someone, be very wary of taxis, alas, no one told us to check that your taxi is fully functioning.

Sarah and I had agreed to share a taxi with Lenneke as we were staying at the same hostel (we had let her mention this fact first having learnt many valuable lessons from Liam Neeson’s Taken).

Our taxi driver stepped out, after he had parked at the top of the taxi rank, in order to take our heavy bags from us. Ironically, this taxi driver was registered with the ‘Safe Cabs’ company. He looked like an unassuming man, an ordinary, hardworking Mexican. He had a face you could trust but, a taxi you would not. I stood horrified at the taxi rank as he walked away with my bags. I was used to seeing rust buckets on the streets of Mexico, but this was one small tin can. We were three with bags so unjustifiably big. The three of us glared at each other and then shrugged our shoulders. No es problema. We were so accustomed to this laid back way of living that we decided to give Mr. Taximan the benefit of the doubt.

We piled in the back, because it’s not the norm to sit in the front of taxis in Mexico (let’s just say, it gives taxi drivers the wrong impression!). The car rattled to a start and we were off. Our destination was Mexico City Zócalo; journey length combined with traffic wait we had quite a while to go. We settled in the back seat talking about Lenneke’s time in Monterrey studying medicine. To those not in the know, Monterrey is one of the most dangerous cities in Mexico with a gang known as ‘La Familia’ who like to think they run the town. This fact was supported by Lenneke’s own experience of witnessing a girl being shot dead coming out of a shop. Tragically, the girl was not the intended victim.

So, while we were having so much banter in the back, we slowly became aware that Mr. Taximan was making a lot of strange mutterings and appeared extremely stressed. The car was hot and the air conditioning was broken, the traffic was terrible, the car was making funny noises and Mr. Taximan was pulling at the collar of his shirt as though he was about to have a heart-attack. In essence, my first ten minutes of Mexico City was going splendidly.

Eventually, Mr. Taximan’s mutterings and sighs got so much that we decided to ask him was he feeling okay. He replied that he was. Literally, this was the limit of our Spanish. Between the three of us, we could barely construct a sentence. Unfortunately, because we had broken the silence Mr. Taximan took this to mean that we wanted to talk. We explained that we couldn’t speak Spanish. Alas, to no avail. As the car trundled on so, too did our taxi driver. What in the world he was talking about, we will never know.

Suddenly, in the middle of the motorway, on an upwards slope, Mr. Taximan stopped talking at the same moment the car ground to a halt. Cars whizzing past in either direction surrounded us. Soon, beeping and angered shouts filled our ears. Well, if our taxi driver wasn’t going to have a heart-attack before he was sure to have one now. He kept starting but, the car kept stalling. In a last ditch effort, he let go of the handbrake and the car slowly rolled back down the incline into the oncoming traffic as Mr. Taximan did his best to direct it with the steering wheel. Never did I pray to God so hard. We were doomed.

Somehow, by the grace of God, cars managed to avoid us as we rolled back. All three of us in the back had our eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of a crash. Then as if by magic, Mr. Taximan suddenly got the engine going again. ‘Gracias a Dios!’ he proclaimed. The incident had been too much for the rest of us, speechless we exhaled loudly.

Onwards and upwards or, so we thought. As we reached the motorway we pulled into the slow lane to be safe. Cars were flying past us. Mexican drivers are crazy and I was nervous enough as it was. Blind fear struck us all as we saw what was coming up. A dip in the road lay before us so as to accommodate for the bridge above it.

We headed on hoping and praying, but as we had all expected when we tried to drive up the incline, no matter how much momentum we had gained from going down the incline, it was futile. The car conked and we came to a halt just shortly from where cars were emerging from beneath the bridge. Could it possibly have stopped in a more dangerous place! We were terrified staring out the back window. The worst part now was that we could see the fear in Mr. Taximan’s eyes too. Our position on the road made it unclear to other cars going 100 km/h that we were, in fact, stopped.

Mr. Taximan pulled two dirty white rags out of nowhere and proceeded to wave them furiously out the passenger window. The realisation of the immediate danger we were in set in then. If a white rag was all we were depending on to save us we were screwed. Mr. Taximan threw one of the rags back to us and hopped out of the car. Freaking, Lenneke practically went arm and body out the window to wave the white rag. Whilst, Mr. Taximan on the inside of the car waved his arms and the rag furiously in the air.

Sarah and I looked nervously at each other until Sarah hopped out of the car suddenly and began to do what appeared to be a dance behind the car. Mr. Taximan roared at her to get back in, well at least that’s what we think he said. He then made a call on his phone to somebody.

Delighted we were sure some version of Mexican AA was on its way. Worry, fear and sweat enveloped us and arms began to tire. On numerous occasions we had been very lucky to avoid a collision: some cars only spotted us moments before they would have ploughed into the back of us. Each time this happened, I unhelpfully shrieked.

Five minutes later and a car pulled up behind us. A man got out. Mr. Taximan and he appeared to be amigos. Realisation set in, Mr. Taximan hadn’t called AA, he had instead called a fellow taxi driver. Relief came when both men sat back into their respective vehicles and the car behind began to nudge us up the incline. Slowly but surely, it worked.

Eventually, we reached a safe enough place where we could pull in off the road. Relieved, we felt like crying. Alas, when the friend held open the door of the taxi for us; we realised this was the end of our terrifying one hour journey with Mr. Taximan. He returned our money to us and we just about understood that he was telling us his friend would drive us back to the taxi rank.

We offered our thanks and to immortalise the occasion we asked him for a photo. Surprisingly, we still had smiles left to give the camera but unfortunately Mr. Taximan cut off half his face.

We were then safely transported back to the bus station and waited in line for another taxi. We were hours behind schedule but we didn’t care because we were alive. Our taxi pulled up next, and to our delight it was new. Our taxi driver emerged to take our bags clad in leather, boots, tattoos and piercings with cropped hair. I literally could not tell if it was a man or a woman. If you’ve ever seen ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ then that is exactly what this person looked like. We sat into the taxi…silence. I spoke up to say the address of the hostel. This was met with no response. Too tired to care we all sat back and closed our eyes.

Eventually, we knew we were in the city because the traffic was at a standstill. It was literally crazy. There were so many cars everywhere and no one was making progress. Still, the taxi driver said nothing. After an hour of sitting in traffic, by which time it was now dark, we realised we were on the main street and that we couldn’t be far from the hostel.

Finally, after being in the taxi for two hours the taxi driver spoke up to check the address and we realised it was a woman. She drove around for a little while looking for the hostel, but to no avail. So, in the end she chucked us out of the taxi and said good luck to us. Raging we struggled on with our bags and after thirty minutes of going up lanes and down streets we found the hostel and literally fell in the door to its friendly embrace. I practically kissed the floor like the Pope. What a day and what a story. It was all too much for me so I headed for the bar.

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