Another kind of Love.

"I've packed away the blue jersey and scarf now. They're at the bottom of the drawer hidden underneath the rest of the summer T-Shirts that barely saw the light of these past few months. We're getting quickly to that time of year when the nights are becoming darker earlier and you can feel the first bite of cold in the mornings.

The end of summer and the approach of autumn and winter is always tinged with sadness.
Nature dies off and hibernation sets in. For the fan it's a double-edged sword, a chance to reflect with sadness at the passing of another empty season and an opportunity to look with a lighter heart to the possibilities for next year. Do we live in false hopes or real expectations? A bit of both maybe, but only by dreaming can we be really free.

We're all still our younger selves as fans, putting our hopes and dreams in a team that gives us mainly heartache, pinning our faith on players who neither know us nor how much we care, standing on the Hill as the crowd sings, chants and cheers as the Dublin team in blue sweep the ball across Croke Park and put it over for another score, celebrating wildly with the thousands of others and getting swept up in the swell of fans, regrouping, and singing from the bottom of our lungs. On the Hill supporting the Dubs we are all little boys again, and for 70 minutes we live our dreams of youth once more.

That is why, as the season ends and I pack away my jersey and scarf, I wonder if maybe now is the time to leave the Hill -- and what it means and represents -- far behind me for ever. I'm 30 years of age and scrambling around for career dreams that have yet to be realised. Am I now holding on to something with the Dubs that I should have let go by now? I'm one of the last of the friends still clutching my Hill ticket on a sunday with glee, but maybe I should be growing up with those friends who have moved on.

By staying on the Hill, I wonder, am I delaying the onset of life's seriousness and problems? If I take my seat in the Hogan Stand and join the other fathers and husbands and accept the serious business of sitting and watching the Dubs in passive emotion, am I finally accepting that whatever life held out for me has long since passed me by too?

When the Championship next comes round I will be 31. I'll be settled into married life and have mortgages and bills increasing by the day. I've tried to pursue my dreams of writing and following what my heart tells me, and have come up short so far. Maybe that is why I stick to the Hill.

But closing the drawer on my Dubs jersey and scarf, I feels as if I need to stop clinging on and face up to what life throws my way from now on. As a man I face into an uncertain future, but as a fan I can face into hope and expectations for the coming year. Maybe I'm not quite ready yet to turn my back on the Hill and all that it stands for after all."

Everything has changed.

Ich will Meer.....

Das Meer ist alles.

Es ist eine immense Wüste,

wo ein Mann nie alleine ist,

in dem er fühlen kann,

wie das Leben aller in ihm bebt.

Das Meer ist ein Behälter für all die ungeheuren,

übernatürlichen Dinge, die darin existieren:

Es ist nich nur Bewegung und Liebe,

es ist die lebende Unendlichkeit.

- Jules Verne -

So schliesst das Meer das Herz auf.
Der Härteste noch unterliegt seinem Bann.
Wie auch immer,
man wird wieder zum Menschen.

- Jules Michelet -

Home is where the heart is

knight in shining armour

A knight in shining armour.

I must have first heard that expression when I was a little girl.

Knights in shining armour would often play an important part in fairytales.

I drew pictures of them.

Tall, well-shaped men with shoulder-length hair that would either be blowing in the wind or be hidden underneath an iron helmet.

My knights would wear silver armour or sometimes when I couldn't find a silver crayon in the messy drawer of my desk, the lucky man would even be honoured with golden gear.

I was usually so kind to draw them a pretty horse; a stallion white as snow with the blackest eyes and strong legs that could carry the knight to faraway lands.

And of course my knights would always be armed with a sword and hold a shield in one hand to protect the princess from all the evil in this world.

Many years later I once watched a movie where I noticed how a mother called her own son a "knight in shining armour". It has been stuck in my head ever since.

I sometimes look for my knight in shining armour.

From time to time I spot one, but would be devastated when realizing he was someone else's knight already.

But when I think about it; the knight doesn't necessarily have to be a male.

You can find one in any person, if you just change the way you look at people and try to appreciate simple gestures.

Like a smile in the morning.

A helping hand in need.

An arm around your shoulder when you're sad.

A voice that gently guides you out of the darkness and back into the light of life.

And try being good to others.

Be the smile that can make someone's day.

Be the hand that softly wipes away tears of desperation.

Be the gentle voice that speaks of hope.

Be the friend on whom one can depend.

You'll be surprised that even you can be a knight in shining armour. Or at least a kind-hearted human being in jeans and a t-shirt. And even without the sword and shield you might be able to save someone.

People all get ready

It's a shame that Glen Hansard is not a household name by now.
But it's an even bigger shame that music has become "fashion". The mass is unbelievably dumb. So much shitty music out there forced down our throath, yet music as pure and beautiful as this is unseen. :-( What a sad world...

Greetings from Saint City! :-)

Ryan Bingham ~ The Weary Kind

GOOD OLD (IRISH) TIMES

It's been almost 5 months now.

I boarded the Aer Lingus flight from Dublin to Zurich on september 30th and left the Emerald Isle for good. I haven't gone back since.

I was barely 20 years old when I took on a job at 'Hertz' in Swords, Co. Dublin and had just turned 22 when I quit to go back to Switzerland.

I had already spent a half a year in Ireland from january until july 2006 when I was the Au Pair of a lovely Irish family from Ratoath, Co. Meath. So altogether I spent 2 years and 8 months in Ireland and therewith most of my time as an adult.

It's funny how we only start to truly appreciate things when we don't have them anymore.

I think back to my time in Ireland a lot. Every night before I fall asleep. Well okay, not the nights I return home late and completely drunk. The only thing I worry about then is how to find my bed and whether we have some Aspirin in the house wich I can take in the morning to make my head feel a bit lighter... ;o)

There are so many things I'm missing. Too many to remember all of them right now.

Simple things like talking in English. Or having drunken conversations with crazy Irishmen! :-D Or let's take the Cineworld on Parnell Street as an example. I've always enjoyed getting up early on days off to take the bus into town (-->Dublin) and watch a movie (or two) at 10 a.m. The other seats were mostly unoccupied so I could watch the film in peace. And I miss the bakery section at Marks & Spencer on Henry Street. I still have that particular yummy taste of their cookies and muffins in my mouth. Totally different from the slightly nasty odour I could smell every time I passed by St. James's Gate at the Guinness Brewery. But I didn't mind it at all.

I miss the Premier Division football games in Inchicore (St. Patrick's Athletic) and Tallaght (Shamrock Rovers). Surely Ireland has more ecxiting events to offer than a football match between two average Irish teams. Yet I've always enjoyed being part of their fan crowds.

Many times have I walked from O'Connell Street to Sandymount, where I strolled along the beach and looked at one of Dublin's landmarks: The famous Poolbeg Chimneys. I always made a stop at the construction site of the 'Aviva Stadium'. It will open in august this year; on the exact same spot where the old 'Lansdowne Road' used to be. The Aviva Stadium will mostly be used for games of the national football team (which unfortunately won't take part at the Worldcup in South Africa this summer -- thanks to the cheating French basterd Thierry "Thievery" Henry). With its capacity of approx. 55'000 people it will be much smaller than 'Croke Park' (approx. 85'000). Croke Park is the official stadium of the GAA; that's the Gaelic Athletic Association which includes the traditional Irish sports of Hurling, Camogie, Gaelic football and others. I sometimes watched the construction workers doing their job for up to an hour and didn't get bored. It's great to see how something giant is built by human beings. Aviva Stadium will look awesome when it's finished.

I miss the summer night concerts in Phoenix Park or on the grounds of Malahide Castle. Or the nights out at the Old Boro in Swords and the tasty pints there. The many times we danced the night away at Wright's afterwards until the lights went on and we got thrown out by the staff at 3 or 4 in the morning.

I miss the evenings when I went delivering Pizza with my first housemate Adeel, who used to work for DOMINO'S back then. We sat in his old and tiny red Nissan Micra, "cruised" through Swords and surroundings whilst listening to 'Rammstein' or other bands whose music was suitable for (slow) headbanging! :-D

And the time I spent with my latest housemate Carolin from Hamburg. Sunny days were spent on the beaches of County Dublin's coastline. We ate ice cream, chatted for hours and read books. Rainy days were spent in town with shopping, going for a delicious lunch and watching a movie at one of the many cinemas.

I think of all the lovely and extremely funny Irish people I got to know. Those wich had so many stories to tell. The guys with their cute accents... I could have listened to them talking forever! ;o)

Last but not least I have to admit that I even enjoyed the weekends when I had to got to work. The building was quiet and almost empty. No queues on the toilets for a change. The few of us who were there had so much fun! Sitting at our desks in track suits or other very, very casual clothes did we often decide to order food from a local Take Away. Preferably the biiiiiiig 'Wagon Wheel Pizza' from Mizzoni's; cut into 8 huge slices. The men from security down at the entrance/reception had such a laugh every time I passed them by to meet the delivery guy and get the food. Because when I held the Wagon Wheel in my hands I didn't fit through the door anymore, so that the security guys had to let me back in through a "special" entrance.... :-D

I went for dinner with a good friend lately and she asked me a couple of questions about my life in Ireland. She doesn't understand what if feels like to be in love with a place you've left behind. She said: "I'm just back from holidays in Thailand. I had such a great time and wish I could have stayed a little longer. Everything seemed so easy down there. I hate being back to everyday life. But hey, I'll get over it. And so will you!" What's wrong with her?!? She compared a 2-week beach holiday in a 5***** all-inclusive hotel with living abroad for over two years. I worked in Ireland. Made a living there. Learnt to speak English. Went to the pub 3 times a week. Swam in the Irish sea and walked along the beautiful beaches of Malahide and Portmarnock which I could reach by foot in a couple of minutes after stepping out of my apartment. I had Irish neighbours. Went grocery shopping. Adapted an Irish accent. I voted in general elections. Wore the Irish flag with pride. I was part of the society. And definitely not on a holiday!! I will never get over it. Ireland is too precious. And I hope the memories will last forever, and ever, and ever.....

I appreciate you asking but no thanks, I don't need a lift!

The city closest to the village I live in is St. Gallen. It takes you approx. 15 minutes by car to get into the centre, depending on the traffic. Same goes for the bus.

I'm one of those people that don't have a car. In fact, I don't even hold a driving license.

No problem at all, because as I mentioned before there's a bus into town every half an hour on working days.

I for my part prefer to walk. It takes my legs 1 1/2 hours to get into town or from town back home, depending on how quickly they move.

I love walking. And hiking. For me it signifies freedom. As I walk I can let my thoughts flow whilst listening to my favourite songs on the iPod. In this day and age walking is like an escape from the many dull hours we spend in a stuffy office starring into a computer.

I can feel the wind, take in a breath of fresh air. My gaze wanders over the familiar landscape and even though I've walked the same path hundreds of times, I notice something new every day.

All of this sounds very peaceful. But I can assure you that even a stroll can be a pain in the ass. Actually, I can't even walk 50m without getting interrupted by the driver of some stinky car. They slow down as they reach me, open the window, look up to me and ask: "Do you want a lift?"

I've stopped counting how many times I've heard that question. I can only remember to have accepted the offer once. My older sister was passing me by on her way home from work and she stopped, because she got the impression that I walked a bit funny. She was right. I was wearing brand-new Gabor sneakers and new shoes always lead to blisters in my case. Walking was a torture that night so I got into her car and only realized back home that I had a bloody heel and that my little toe was swollen and nearly had become the size of my thumb (well, almost).

Anyway, back to the drivers that don't seem to have better things to do than giving poor old Felicitas a lift. They are so wrecking my head! Mostly it's people I know. But sometimes it's strangers that have only moved to my village recently and whom I've never met before. So I do my best to sound friendly when I duck down to be at eye level with my 'friend in need' and say "Oh thanks, that's very kind of you. But I prefer to walk tonight. Maybe next time!". But what I actually want to say is: "Get moving, you lazy bum and leave me alone!" I mean, what has God given me feet for?!? People then hesitate for another moment: "Are you sure? It's a long way and it will get dark soon...". But before they've even finished their sentence I say "Bye now. It was nice to meet you!", turn away and keep walking. People then finally drive on and when passing me by they smile at me and wave or some of them love to honk the horn.

So now I'm wondering; why do people I barely know suddenly care about me? Do they really want to do me a favour? Or are they just lonely and want someone to talk to? In a man's case I sometimes get the impression he wants to bluff with his car and show off his driving skills. You're not Michael Schumacher, for christ's sake!!

I have yet to find an explanation for this odd behaviour. But I've decided to get myself a jacket or jumper with bright letters that say: "DRIVE THE FU*CK ON!"

Football

I always loved being in football stadiums. No matter what team played. It's about the great atmosphere. You don't get that anywhere else. In a football stadium I feel strong and comfortable. A beer in one hand, greeting familiar faces with the other. Clapping and shouting as if my parents had never taught me any good behaviour at all. In football stadiums I feel at home. To me they are like my old sofa where I can put my feet up and relax.

And then there is the FCSG (FC St. Gallen). Only a few years ago I would have rather burnt in hell than missing a match of my most beloved football team. When I used to work in Ireland I even flew from Dublin to Switzerland just to see the FCSG lads play. Back here I'm living barely 15km away from the stadium. And yet I decided not to spend yesterday afternoon in there. I was afraid I'd miss out on a delicious dinner. I had never hoped for that day to come so soon.....but it was suddenly here: I prefered food to a football match!

I mean, how sad is that?

I wish I could name the feeling that had overcome me yesterday. It was some kind of a total laziness... Or sluggishness. A friend of mine suggested to take me to a mental institution until I would be given the all-clear. ;o) But there was no need for that.

When I woke up this morning, it was here again. The urge, the inner desire to pilgrim to the stadium. And I realized I can't wait for saturday when the FC St. Gallen is playing against the FC Zurich. FUSSBALL ÜBER ALLES! :-))

Feli withouth football would never work! And thank God for that :-)

Hello spring! :-)

Bye-bye winter!

Irish Car Bomb

My favourite beer cocktail! It's very delicious. :-)

An Irish Car Bomb is actually very easy to do: You need Guinness Stout, Baileys Cream and Irish Whiskey.
First you make a pint glass half full (or less - depending on how much alcohol you can drink at one swallow) with Guinness. Let the stout settle for a little while. Then you take a shot glass and fill it half with Irish whiskey (preferably Jameson). Now you need to float the Baileys on top.
You normally drink an Irish Car Bomb in a group wich basically means that everyone has to let their bombs "explode" at the same time. So you lift up the shot glass and drop it into the glass with the Guinness. As soon as you've done that you have to drink the mixture IMMEDIATELY (in one gulp!), because it will curdle otherwise and taste very nasty.

Slàinte!

Urban Dictionary

http://www.urbandictionary.com/

Have you ever visited the 'Urban Dictionary'?
It's fun to look up the urban meaning of your name! :-))

So let's see what a "mad cracker" really is:
- british slang for someone who is insane
- insane person, psychotic
- mad racist white man
Hehe, good to know! ;o)

And here are a few hilarious descriptions about my home country Switzerland:
- A country in central Europe with beautiful mountains known as the Alps. Every citizen has an assault rifle, would be a very tough country to invade. Don't mess with the masters of chocolate!
- Not so helpful in the war; but nice chocolate. "So what part did Switzerland play in the WW2" - "Shut up and eat your Toblerone!"
- The act of being neutral or non-committed on a subject, usual a controversial one. "Hey, whaddya think about those Red Sox finally winning the World Series? - "Listen, I don't wanna get into it, man. I'm SWITZERLAND on this one."
- Piggy bank of the world.
- A country of yodelling mountain goat herders and hot blondes named Heidi. (:-D)
- Switzerland is a country in Europe; but Switzerland ISN'T Sweden! And Swiss is not the same as Swedish! Get it? American: "Where are you from?" - Swiss tourist: "I'm from Switzerland." - American: "Oh nice, I like the Swedish girls!"