Dublin, It’s a Jungle


Dublin is a jungle, or it is something akin in its animalism. A hive. No not a hive, that implies benevolence towards fellow citizenry, and cooperation, and selflessness, order, prosperity, among other things. No, I think I was right, this city is certainly some class of a food chain populated by a variety of wild, flesh devouring species. The only thing is if you put a deer or lion on College Green at about 8.25 on a Tuesday morning, a WTF face would be produced and the poor misfortunate beast would probably lie down and curl up in a fit of uncontrollable tears. But you’ll allow me in this instance to describe lovely Dublin’s streets as a jungle, despite the whole cliché thing.

Now the buildings are all lovely, and with the exception of the LUAS works decorating the odd street, the roads are quite civilised looking also. They have black shiny tar-macadam which remains in place after the rain, and lines to distinguish the limits of the side of the road one must be traveling on. There are fancy traffic lights too, which for the most part are in working order.

The whole food chain thing comes from the traffic. If you look at it we have the big herbivores which traipse around minding their own business doing their best to finish the day so that they can go home and have their tea. They don’t usually pick a fight or cause much bother except when someone decides to do so with them, and I suppose with their size they are always going to be an easy target, but they can hold their own. No one enjoys really being too close to them but much like any ecosystem if you didn’t have them we’d be plagued with hitch hikers. I mean other vermin.

Buses are what I’m talking about, of course, and they lie somewhere important in the food chain of the commute. Like elephants, but without the grace and wonder of the mighty tusked beasts native to Africa and India, buses lurch around corners and busy themselves through traffic without too many concerns in the world it would seem. They harbour parasites, namely pedestrians, a necessary evil but one we are familiar with. Begrudge the bus for such ignominy if you wish, but it’s not as if the pedestrians really want to be there. Everyone knows that there is no such thing as a happy face on a bus. Except for weirdos, and stoners – the UCD routes are a good spot for these.

Next you have cars. This can be divided into three types, the out of towner, the regularly in towner, and taxis. Taxi’s are the Allosaurus of the Dublin urban scene. A large and formidable predator capable of taking on most competitors as prey. It’s no T Rex but you’d think twice about messing with him.

The regular in towner type are in many respects a nicer version of the Allosaurus. Imagine an Allosaurus that doesn’t need to fend for itself in the wild, one who has a salary, supplies its sustenance from the local Tesco, takes the weekend off, and in the evening instead of hunting for weaklings to prey upon it sits in and watches detective drama reruns on Alibi. Well able to scrap if it wants to, but all in all a nice enough top-tier predator.

The out of towner is still an Allosaurus but this kind of Allosaurus is a bit like that deer or lion which we met on College Green earlier. A fearsome beast in its own environment of narrow Kilkenny by-roads, but betwixt the labyrinthine one way conundrum of Dublin’s south inner city this Allosaurus has had his private parts removed and a large memory reducing sedative placed in its morning cupán tae. As such, to everybody else in this little jungle of ours, there are few more annoying alpha predators.

There are probably other beasts which flurry about from time to time. There is the rare articulated lorry which is like a bus but more aggressive and stubborn but is chained by shackles of regulation and distaste and distrust by the constabulary. Or indeed the mighty serpentine LUAS, cut in half by some class of an urban planner much reduced in the gift or foresight. At allt times these beastly automobiles are restrained by the barriers and regulations of the tar-macadam and the watchful eye of the ever hovering birds of prey, the Garda Síochana.

What I want to talk about next is a unique case relevant to our days, and one which has seen a surge in recent years, be it because of nicer weather, or tax breaks, or because Irish people are just cheap and don’t want to pay for the bus or their car. This particular beast of the street is one which proudly rises above other patrons of the jungle’s streets. Not only is this particular species one which holds the esteem of a low-carbon footprint, it is also frustratingly one which allows its facilitator to boast that they are indeed exercising whilst in their commute. Regardless of the weather, this hi-vis attired biped will forever stand aloof of its fellow city bound workers as one which has not spent at least half of the journey time stopped in neutral, or worse so have had to sit (or stand) in the shared vitriolic breath of one hundred others whilst carefully massaging in mesmerism the homely glow of their smartphone’s screen. Such a species sees no rules such as those encumbered on those other registered wheels of the city, and no need for safety, as all will stop before them as they change lanes and whisp between gridlocked bumpers. Not only this, but all who do not share their unique outlook on commuting should kneel before such nimble gazelles of the city.

This brings me finally to the bottom feeders. The scrubbers. The forgotten. The grubs which populate the undergrowth and for which the remainder of the city is left for them to scurry through in the hope a more elite beast will not swallow them up. Yes, I’m talking about the noble pedestrian. He or she who is eternally caught in the rain. Yes, it’s true we have all done it, but let’s be honest; no pedestrian ever wished for this. Are we not all just walking because our employer will not pay for us to park, and are we not walking because there are already too many more fortunate than us who have decided to say ‘enough is enough, I can take no more of the shared breath of the bus, I shall sit in the warmth of my own car and listen to music I like out loud and fart as loud if not more in comforting privacy’. But the pedestrians are the rebels, as it is they who say no to the conformity of yellow lines and red lights, pay no heed to one way signs and raise two fingers to the frustrating grimace of an Allosaurus who they have walked out in front of in a panic to buy coffee and walk the remaining ten minutes to the office in an attempt to pretend to cyclists that they also choose to exercise, and that indeed footing it is a lifestyle choice.

Yes, this is the city we dwell within. We lunch on each others throats each morning and evening in a fury of competition. We nibble on the scraps of gaps in the traffic and hope that the light won’t change to quickly or that the person in the car will realise that you should have your car in gear when you see the lights change so that you are ready to move when the car in front has and you’re not delaying the person in a frenzied rush directly behind you, not the contrary as is the case more often than not. Yes, I’m talking about you.

This jungle will spit you out one of these days. It won’t even chew you, the taste will be so bad. But don’t worry the jungle won’t miss you, there’ll be another bottom feeder ready to jump in and take your place, salivating at the opportunity of a glorious October morning along the quays…

The Maoul Bus*


I walked up and down the street looking for the bus stop on the opposite side of the street. Where I was going was only four stops away in that direction, but I soon realised that the bus only went in the opposite direction, which left me a good fifteen stops away.

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I bit the bullet and crossed the street. Before long a stubby little green bus trundled up to the bus stop. The doors jerked open quickly like a trap and an assortment of people disembarked. Once the bus was empty I stepped on, found a seat, and sat there waiting for what appeared to be the moment when the bus was full enough to move on.

I thought at first there was an age limit, me being the youngest on board by a good thirty years at least. This notion was shot once a school girl got on and buried her face busily in the screen of her smartphone, her hair hanging down over her ears and face providing the perfect shield from the banal surroundings.

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As the bus pulled away a woman carrying her toddler waved it down and she got on, sitting just in front of me, the child’s face buried in the cosiness of her mothers neck. Occasionally the child would peek up at me, and I would smile back, and she would bury her face again in her mother’s neck.

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The bus moved on and stop after stop more people clambered on, the bus seemingly rocking from each additional weight. It felt like it would collapse with every groove and divot in the street the tyres met. It hauled itself around tight bends, up hills, and over speed ramps. All the time the standing passengers held on tightly to the precarious handrails dangling from the ceiling.

There were all-sorts on this bus. An elderly couple who bickered back over each comment shared between them. A primly dressed university student talking quietly on his phone. A short and gnarled man with a glowing winter weather beaten face dressed from head to toe in black. A lady, out of place it seemed, in a long beige coat of smooth wool with a faux mink stoal around her neck, earrings glitzing, and her sunglasses black as her well dressed hair standing out against her pale makeup adorned face.

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I sat there watching as the bus winded through so many alleys I forget. It groaned up a steep hill and slipped back down on the other side, revealing a panoramic view of Seoul and its river Han adorned with highrise dressings on its far bank.

These streets it wound through were narrow and a constant battle for space ensued. Cars slipped into every possible space, while men and women walked up and down next to the bus arms full of bags and the likes. The bus wove its way through expertly and without apparent complaint.

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These streets were full with businesses whose trade was only barely recognisable through the window trappings. People gazed in at mannequins fashioned the same way for twenty years. Proprietors stood on doorways and gazed out at the world going by. The bus moved on, up another hill or around another corner.

And then I arrived. I pulled myself through the throng of passengers, pushing the stop button on my way. The doors flung open again with a clatter and I jumped clear before the shut on me as I escaped. I turned and watched as the diesel engine spluttered exhaust fumes as it excelerated away full to bursting with bundled black silhouettes destined for somewhere else in the locale.

(* the maoul bus – 마을 버스 – is a local bus service which services neighbourhoods in the bigger towns and cities of Korea. This particular bus was located in Yongsan-gu, and serviced Hanam, Bogwang-dong, and Itaewon)

Words and photographs © Conor O’Reilly 2013

70


by Ray Hyland

For as long as I’ve been a resident of dear Dunboyne, there has been a tenuous but definite link back into Dublin City. An artery if you will, which pumps from the heart of the City Centre back to the edge of the old green belt.

I’d guess I’ve been on the 70 bus or one of its variants at least 5000 times since 1985 or ‘86.Probably more actually. I remember all subtle route changes. Did you know its original terminus was just by the Ha’penny Bridge beside an old carpet shop? From there it would wrap around to Liffey Street back onto Lower Abbey Street, pass the old O’Connor’s denim shop ( complete with weird mural that nobody remembers) back onto Capel Street, over Grattan Bridge and back to the still familiar route.

The terminus was pushed around a fair bit after that. The 70 made its home in Middle Abbey Street for a while, near the old Chapter’s book shop, before switching to the Abbey Theatre. It was moved to facilitate the Luas works, whereby it took up residence at the model railway shop on Hawkins Street. Right now it starts at the Burlington Road, hitting Dawson and Suffolk Street before going back onto the quays.

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Image courtesy of Dublin Bus Stuff http://www.dublinbusstuff.com

To live in Dunboyne without a car is much like living in a rural town without your own transport. For a long time, the bus only ran every two hours and sometimes not even then. Weekends especially were(and are) quite frustrating. I used to visit my Gran near NCR and by the time it got there from town, the single decker bus was always full, leaving me to sitting in the old luggage hold by the double doors.

So many times I’ve had to put my faith in this wretched service. The worst was on those busy winter nights when it would already be full by the time it got to Prussia Street. You knew well it was full of fuckers from Castleknock who had just missed the 39.Worse yet, going to school in Blanchardstown for 6 years meant I either had to get the special school bus or the 70 on Wednesday half days.

It improved slightly over time as the single deckers where taken out of commission and a new 270 service was deployed in the late 90s. This was to provide transport to the newly built Blanchardstown centre. Now noisy little yellow red mini buses went up and down the motorway. No matter what ideas you had about yourself, any passenger on these looked a bit ‘special’.

There was never any real novelty value going on the bus. It was good seeing friends or acquaintances on there that might break up the long journey. It was even better to sometimes feign sleep when you saw someone you didn’t to see getting on at the next stop.

A fond memory was the quiet man. He was a lad of maybe 25 and he’d sit down the very back of the top deck and roll himself a lovely joint. He’d have about half of it, never say a word and then offer it to whoever was sitting beside him before he got off at Littlepace. I wonder what became of him.

I finally managed to move out in my early 20s, free now from the grip of those dusty green(then blue) seats. But I still get shudders when I think of all the time wasted waiting around for that bus, or worse yet having my life dictated to by its questionable scheduling.

I never even mentioned the epic adventure that is the 70 Nitelink service or the old 70X that ran from UCD belfield for many years.

Nowadays there’s a train that goes from Dunboyne into the city, though it doesn’t impress me much. It’s a long walk back into the village but I guess it’s better than nothing!

My advice, get a car, or make lots of friends with available couch space in town.

This post is guest post. For more on guest posts and how to submit please follow this link.

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Hi, my name is Ray and I live in Ireland. I am slowly learning how unfair life is and dealing with it accordingly. Currently I live at home with my parents at the tender age of 32, having decided that success and a nice abode of my own was all too predictable. I presently work as an Intern, which in Ireland means, the same as everywhere else in the western world (no job prospects!). My principle interests include observing soccer players secretly laughing at the rest of us, wrestling with the reality that sometimes you’re better off not trying, wrestling full stop oh and fast food, consummation and critique thereof. I don’t like long walks along the beach, Monday is my favourite day of the week and if there’s an American TV show out there that you love and can’t stop talking about chances are I probably despise you.

The People -v- The Black Guy on the Bus


Courtesy of The Marmots Hole this piece of ‘news’ came into my world. I’m sure much more has been said and much more will be said.I’m sure much more has been said and much more will be said. If you are really interested I will allow you to spend your afternoon taking in the comments section in the post – there are some wonderful, inteligent commentors to marvel at. All of that aside I want to chime in with my own little tome. These are just a few things I was mulling over as I walked home from work (yes, today in that heat…perhaps I’m delirious) – I didn’t take the bus because I was afraid of ajjoshis, but because I need to lose some weight and I like walking at night during the summer.

In the above blog post, I felt much of the blame seemed to be levelled at the black fella who did the shouting at the poor old Korean ajjoshi. And, perhaps that is the right thing to do because I suppose he was morally wrong, right? He shouldn’t have turned around and aggressively responded by shouting choice phrases like “see these nuts?”. He looks like a big enough fella and the poor misfortunate old man was properly terrified – I’d say he didn’t expect a response like he got! Either way, he still shouldn’t have done it, right?

Of course, as an expat/immigrant/smelly waeg and someone who makes a living in the same industry as the gentleman asking the questions on the bus, I should be embarrassed and try to reason with the rest of the Korean community that “we’re not all like that”. We are rational. We assess the situation before flipping off the handle. We consider the whole situation before we lash out when someone addresses us rudely. Bollocks. We are as human as both the perpetrators of this mini-scandal on the bus and I wouldn’t be surprised if most people who read this will take a side, and rightly so. In fact I’d be concerned if they didn’t. I won’t as I prefer the fence to criticise those messing in the mud below my goldenness. I will ask you to consider a few things though in hindsight.

I’m going to run a few scenarios and express some opinions on this situation. Much of this has been built around Robert Koehler’s blog post but are not meant to be an actual attack on his (your) opinion, they are just some observations. I hope you like them.

  1. The black fella was pissed off, it is clear. Why? Because a man on the bus clearly told him to ‘shut up’, right? How busy was that bus? It was fairly packed. So how did he get his attention? I imagine it was far from a polite “excuse me sir, would you be so kind as to shut up”? Hardly. My guess is that he did either one of two things: shouted “hey you, HEY YOU! SHUT UP!”; poked him in the arm and looked him right in the eye and said in a far from friendly tone, “shut up”.  I don’t care what anyone says, when a stranger tells you to shut up on the bus, you will perceive that as a challenge. Shut up is not a polite term, and the ajjoshi who said it knew what he was saying. Remember, he was only 61. He may have looked older but he definitely was not senile and definitely capable of composing his own thoughts. If he knew ‘shut up’ and ‘I don’t know’ then he probably knows ‘be quiet’, although ‘please’ is probably pushing it. There are a lot of men in Korea who think that because they have a penis they are entitled to be right all the time. This kind of arrogance leads to many of the same men to be bullies, plain and simple. This is my own observation after over five years in Korea and of course I know not every man is like this, but there are many who are. Many believe the oceans should part for them if they were to attempt to cross the sea, but unfortunately this is not the case as the sea (I’m talking in metaphors now) also has to exist in the same space. That ajjoshi knew what he was saying and got his just desserts for thinking it was ok to say it. 
  2. Now, why did the ajjoshi say shut up? Because the black lad was talking ‘loudly’ on the bus. Well, this is even more ridiculous. The buses are loud. It’s hard to hear someone addressing you, and especially when you don’t speak the language. Even more so, few people talk on the bus, except when they’re on their phones. Everyone minds their own business, staring blankly out the window or into the screen of their smartphone, myself included. People don’t enjoy the bus – look at the faces of people the next time you see a bus passing. There are no happy faces staring out like the pictures we all drew to accompany “The Wheels on the Bus” song when we were five. This is not only in Korea, it is everywhere. Why? Because people are usually going to or coming home from work. If you hear people talking on the bus they automatically stand out. If they are talking in a foreign language then this is even more so the case. I’m sure this is not the first time that something like this has happened in the world, and I’m fairly sure a lot worse has resulted. To suggest that Americans or foreigners are loud and obnoxious on public transport is probably fair – I mean who talks on the bus? It’s almost as ridiculous as having a quiet beer on your own in a bar while you read a good book. Unheard of.   
  3. Why did he fly off the handle? Well for starters he admitted he was wrong and wanted to apologise. Then he said he was offended when told to “shut up” and he felt that the ajjoshi was disparaging black people. I can understand why. Black people do not have it as easy as the sunshine press in Korea would like to claim. The racism in Korea is very crude and old-fashioned. I’ve heard black people being referred to as monkeys, gorillas, and being clearly talked down to. This is the kind of stuff my grandfather comes out with, and he has dementia. I remember I worked with a black woman from New York who had an awful experience in a hagwon I was working in. The parents, pure and simple, didn’t want a large, black woman – who was also a proud mother and happily married – teaching their children. No reason was given directly, but we were not idiots. In the end she left the job. I’m sure her experience is not unique. That being said I knew a few other black guys who got on fine with their employers, and were very popular. Maybe it’s an attitude thing, which is where my point is here. Maybe the black fella, which is what he is constantly referred to as, was pissed off because he got the same shit everyday from his boss who looked just like the ajjoshi Remember what Eddie Murphy said: . He clearly didn’t understand the ajjoshi, but then again should he have? While we’ve no idea how long he has been in Korea, it is likely that no one has ever tried to address him in Korean because there is an assumption that because he is a foreigner he can’t speak Korean, so why bother learning (don’t say there isn’t – there is). That aside, the guy insulted him in an English that was probably sounding broken up and sylabic, and then proceeded to use the word 니가, or nee-ga, to a black guy. What would you think if you were there? And even if you did speak some Korean, you would have to be quite proficient to understand it as it can’t have been easy to understand what he was saying. I imagine that the well meaning ajjoshi also said it in as aggressive tone as he said ‘shut up’. Not everyone is perfect and to respond like he did to an accusation like that is a little immature, and thick to be honest (whatever happened to being above that kind of idiocy), but he might also have been pushed too far. When people are pushed too far they have been known to go to extremes and to take ownership of the situation. This may have been a situation like that.

So what happens next? The black fella has offered to apologise and will probably get a slap on the wrist – although remember if you listen carefully you can hear the black fella say something about the ajjoshi slapping him on the face, which means the ajjoshi should also receive an official telling off. I think he knows he has done wrong. Perhaps there’ll be some form of penance.  

Assholes aside, I truly believe most people here who teach English are decent, relatively lazy but well meaning middle(ish) class, who have a minimum standard of higher education (which counts as little these days in the circus of life, but it’s a start I suppose). I’ve also found that most American people here are quite open minded and accepting of the foreignness of Korea. I don’t know if this guy is an asshole. I would assume that he does fulfil some of the above criteria, which is something.

There are a few problems that I now see growing. Thanks to the internet, which of course informed of this unfortunate event, this event will probably be blown totally out of proportion. The police should handle it, and it should be forgotten, but with the combined opinionative forces  of youtube, facebook, twitter, and fire-stokers like my wonderful self, it will probably snowball to a ridiculous proportion. That being said, the vast majority of people will probably forget in a week when the next public transport battery scandal arises.

As for the black fella? Maybe he won’t get his contract renewed, maybe he’ll move on. He shouldn’t get deported otherwise there’s no hope for any of us if it ever all goes south. In the end, I reckon he’ll listen a bit more carefully in future. As for the ajjoshi? He has probably learned to watch his mouth too