Living creatures on this planet are humans and animals. Nobody is in doubt of that. For all those Christian, Jewish and other Abrahamic religion believers a very old rule from the Old Testament is quoted regularly in the shortest possible version, conscious and subconscious: “subdue the earth”, in Latin language “Dominium terrae”, an order from God to rule the world. The rest of that order is seldom quoted, is happily forgotten.

On Wikipedia you will find this explanation:

Dominium terrae (Latin for ‘dominion over the earth’) is a theological term for a significant motif from the Old Testament, namely God’s command to man (Genesis 1:28 EU: ‘Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it, and rule over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air and over all the animals that crawl on the earth!’

The second aspect of my thoughts is the fact that mankind is a meat eater. Not everybody and not over millions of years, the majority of humans take meat for nutrition.

But.

If you want meat you have to kill, take away the life of a creature of this planet. It´s bad enough that this meat supply became an industry. For animals of the sea and on the ground. It might be a friendly view, that here in Europe we eat mostly cattle and chicken, but not snakes or dogs like they do in Asian countries. However, we kill to eat.

Did you notice, that those animals that we like to eat, cattle, pigs and chicken are actually vegetarians?

What about the other genre on this planet? There is Fauna and Flora.

To keep your flowers at home or in the garden alive, you have to water them and give some fertilizer.

To keep them alive.

Do you get what I have tried to say already? What strikes me? Plants of every type are alive as well. Such a pity, that in Genesis 1:28 our beloved Flora is not mentioned. A mistake by translation or does God not care about it?

Do we, the humans, care about our Flora? To use an even better expression for all types of trees, scrubs and herbs: vegetation.

We burn down rain forest to give animals more space, we chop down trees for firewood and to build houses, we pluck fruits to eat and drink. Does anybody ask if trees, vegetables and fruits like that? We kill them as well.

Recently in my kitchen I heard a soft cry, a cry of pain, so it seemed to me. No radio, no machine was switched on, silence in the kitchen. Just the sound of my work was in the air. Getting a chopping board, sharpening my big kitchen knife, preparing a salad of lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes, capers, feta cheese. Chopping down everything to a convenient size for consumption. As we all do.

After taking a tomato in my left hand, slicing down the knife with my right hand, getting the first slice of tomato, I first overheard that cry. But then I was confused. Did I hear something, where did it come from? Cutting again I thought I´m hearing things. But cut no 3 gave direction for ears and eyes. A very soft cry, a cry of pain. Another cut and I was sure, that´s from the tomato. Another last cut and that tomato was sliced, lying on my chopping board, still.

There are things on this planet you can´t explain. Well, ignore it. Can´t be. Put your head together. Stupid, so you are. It´s a tomato, a vegetable or maybe a fruit, whatever is botanically correct. A tomato is the result of water and fertilizer, growing as a plant, taking in the sunlight. That´s it, so easy. It is just a tomato.

Taking a second tomato in my left hand, cutting a first slice with my very sharp knife, I could hear this soft cry, this soft painful cry again. This time in a different octave. Are tomatoes individual? Do they have different voices? I´m close to madness. Quick, get it over and done with. Before I lose control of myself. Chopping the slices quickly one by one I whistle a tune. Some tune,
can´t remember which one. I don´t want to hear this crying. Am I too sensitive? Is there a real cry of pain? Madness, absolutely insane.

This will be a smaller salad. One more tomato. Why do I cut carefully now? Slow but precisely. And again, with every cut I can hear a noise that sounds like the sound of pain. I´m terrified. What about the lettuce and the cucumber? Didn´t hear anything. Chopping something bigger like a melon or a cauliflower, will the cry of pain be much louder? Never ever did I notice anything.

But, I have to confess now, I´m irritated. We kill animals for consumption, well known. But do we kill plants as well? We keep them alive, but some of them we eat. Vegetables, fruit, herbs. Can we expect the same pattern of living and dying for our vegetation? Is this a human view on it? Surely, after chopping down, after plucking, after harvest these plants are in some stage of dying. But do they feel any pain? Does a cut hurt them?

I´m absolutely confused.

What do you think?

Did you hear that soft cry of pain of the vegetable as well?

Die letzte Aufgabe war nichts für Angsthasen, denn die Wasseroberfläche war ruhelos. Der Westwind und die Ebbe trafen aufeinander. Der Wind schob die Wasseroberfläche Richtung Land, die Ebbe zog das Wasser Richtung Atlantik.

Es war kein wirklich kalter Wind, der den Teilnehmern um die Nasen wehte. Es war dieser für Irland typische Wind aus dem Westen, nicht wirklich kalt aber kräftig. Die starken Sonnenstrahlen wurden von weißen Wolken immer wieder abgefangen. Durch den intensiven aber kühlen Wind war man nicht auf Sonnenschutz eingestellt. Sonnenbrandgefahr. Eine wetterfeste Jacke zu tragen war sicherlich der eine Gedanke, das bevorstehende Ereignis der zweite und einzig wirkliche Gedanke.

Eingefunden hatten sich Regina und Johnny, Schwester und Bruder von Lilly, die Nichten Emma, Stacey und Nicole, Neffe Mark, Schwägerin und Schwager Fiona und Mark, die zwei besten Freunde Geraldine und Tommy und auch ich, mit Lilly im Rucksack auf meinem Rücken. Unser Skipper hatte ein Boot für Rundfahrten ausgesucht, so dass wir alle in einem Halbrund in Fahrtrichtung sitzen konnten.

Kaum hatten wir den Hafen verlassen, wurde das Wasser unruhig. Unsere Aufmerksamkeit galt allerdings den ersten Delfinen, die uns ab dem Hafen begleiten sollten. Unser Skipper hatten Namen für sie parat. An den Finnen kann man sie erkennen und sie sind ständig hier in Hafennähe, so seine Erläuterungen mitten unter uns stehend, während das Boot quasi alleine weiter fuhr.

Je mehr wir uns von Hafen und Land entfernten, um so mehr schaukelte das Boot. Der Blick auf Galway konnte uns erneut ablenken. So hatte noch keiner von uns die Stadt gesehen, eine völlig neue interessante Perspektive. Jetzt konnte man sich weitaus besser vorstellen, wie einst die spanischen Händler am Ufer angelegt haben und durch den “langen Weg” (the long walk) zum Stadttor gelangt sind. Eine kleine Kurve fahrend haben wir uns dann auch dem Stadtteil Claddagh genähert, wo Fiona und Johnny mit Familie wohnen.

Wind und Ebbe spielten miteinander, wir mittendrin. Weiter hinaus in die Galway Bay bedeutete weiter hinaus in die Kräfte der Natur. Die Wasseroberfläche glich einem Waschbrett, aber die Rillen waren nicht gleichmäßig angeordnet. So wie auch der irische Regen nichts von deutscher Ordnung hält. Nicht senkrecht geordnet herunter fallend, sondern mal im Zick-Zack, dann wieder waagerecht, dann peitschend, dann vorübergehend nachlassend. Ungeordnet. Diesem eigentlich nicht vorhandenen Muster glich heute die Wasseroberfläche der Galway Bay. Mit etwas Phantasie konnte man tausende von Möwen erkennen, die im Wasser schwimmend uns umkreisten.

Wie auch die Delfine. Insgesamt drei Delfine hatten sich eingefunden, die unser Boot nebeneinander in Formation schwimmend begleitet haben.

Dann stoppte der Skipper den Motor und erlangte schlagartig unsere Aufmerksamkeit. Auf einmal waren wir wieder im Hier und Jetzt. Bitte hier auf dieser Seite, seine Anweisung, damit die Ebbe die Asche in die Galway Bay hinaus trägt.

Den Deckel der Urne abschrauben, die Urne drehen und langsam die Asche ins Wasser gleiten lassen. So die beinahe über Monate geplante und geübte Handbewegung. Feine weiß-graue Asche fiel auf die Wasseroberfläche, schaukelte auf den Wellen, umarmt von imaginären Möwen, ebenfalls schaukelnd auf dem Wasser. Nichte Emma war noch einen Blumenstrauß auf Asche und Meer. Das alles hat vielleicht nur 15 Sekunden gedauert und doch so bedeutungsvoll. Der letzte Wunsch im Testament wurde erfüllt.

The final challenge was not for the faint-hearted, as the water’s surface was choppy. The westerly wind and the ebb tide were at cross-purposes. The wind was pushing the water’s surface towards the shore, whilst the ebb tide was pulling it towards the Atlantic.

It wasn’t a particularly cold wind that blew in the participants’ faces. It was that typical Irish westerly wind – not really cold, but strong. The strong rays of sunshine were repeatedly blocked by white clouds. Because of the intense but cool wind, people weren’t prepared for sun protection. Risk of sunburn. Wearing a weatherproof jacket was certainly one thought; the upcoming event was the second and only real thought.

Regina and Johnny, Lilly’s sister and brother, her nieces Emma, Stacey and Nicole, her nephew Mark, her sister-in-law and brother-in-law Fiona and Mark, her two best friends Geraldine and Tommy, and I – with Lilly in the rucksack on my back – had all gathered together. Our skipper had chosen a boat designed for sightseeing trips, so that we could all sit in a semi-circle facing the direction of travel.

No sooner had we left the harbour than the water became choppy. Our attention, however, was focused on the first dolphins, which were to accompany us from the harbour onwards. Our skipper had names ready for them. You can recognise them by their fins, and they’re always here near the harbour, he explained, standing amongst us whilst the boat carried on almost of its own accord.

The further we moved away from the harbour and the shore, the more the boat rocked. The view of Galway served as a welcome distraction once again. None of us had ever seen the city like this before – it was a completely new and fascinating perspective. Now it was much easier to imagine how the Spanish traders must once have moored at the shore and made their way along ‘the long walk’ to the city gate. After rounding a small bend, we approached the Claddagh district, where Fiona and Johnny live with their family.

The wind and the ebb tide played off one another, with us right in the middle of it all. Heading further out into Galway Bay meant venturing further into the forces of nature. The water’s surface resembled a washboard, but the grooves were not evenly spaced. Just as the Irish rain has no regard for German order. It didn’t fall vertically, but sometimes in a zigzag, then horizontally again, then lashing down, then easing off briefly. Chaotic. Today, the surface of Galway Bay resembled this pattern, which doesn’t really exist. With a little imagination, you could make out thousands of seagulls circling us as they floated on the water.

Just like the dolphins. A total of three dolphins had gathered and were swimming alongside our boat in formation. Guarding us.

Then the skipper cut the engine and instantly caught our attention. Suddenly, we were back in the here and now. ‘Please, over here,’ he instructed, so that the ebb tide would carry the ashes out into Galway Bay.

Unscrew the lid of the urn, turn the urn round and let the ashes slowly drift into the water. Such was the hand movement that had been planned and practised for months. Fine white-grey ashes fell onto the surface of the water, swaying, bobbing on the waves, embraced by imaginary seagulls, also bobbing on the water. My niece Emma scattered a bouquet of flowers onto the ashes and the sea. It all lasted perhaps 15 seconds only, and yet it was so meaningful. The final wish in the will had been fulfilled.

Mit einer Flasche Singha-Bier mache ich mich auf den Weg hinunter zum Sandstrand. Es ist so friedlich hier. Ich höre nur Stimmen in der Ferne und das Rauschen des Meeres.

Ich bin im Urlaub in Thailand. Ein wunderschöner Ort auf der Erde, gutes Essen, freundliche Menschen, viel zu sehen und zu erleben. Eine kurze Recherche mit meinem Handy verriet mir, dass ich mich auf dem 10. Breitengrad befinde.

Die Sonne wird bald untergehen. Dieser leuchtend gelbe Ball wird orange werden und später im Ozean versinken, wobei er das blaue Wasser rot färbt. Still, aber unaufhaltsam. Es ist immer noch nicht möglich, direkt in die Sonne zu blicken, aber dieser Sonnenuntergang verläuft sehr schnell, da wir uns nahe am Äquator befinden.

Blick nach Westen. In Erwartung eines wunderschönen Sonnenuntergangs wie aus einem Bilderbuch. Ein sogenannter romantischer Moment. Was ist daran romantisch? Ein Tag neigt sich dem Ende zu, das ist alles. Die Nacht bricht herein. Morgen früh wird die Sonne wieder aufgehen. Ist das auch ein romantischer Moment?

Blick nach Westen. Genau in diesem Moment hat jemand an einem Strand in Somalia zu Abend gegessen. Hoffentlich. Wie sehen seine Lebensumstände aus? Warum sitzt er gerade jetzt am Strand? Im Schatten einer Palme, nehme ich an. Ist er ein Tourist? Ein Tourist in Somalia? Wahrscheinlich nicht. Hat er eine Aufgabe zu erfüllen und wie heißt er? Ich werde ihn nie treffen.

Blick nach Westen. Genau in diesem Moment freut sich hoffentlich jemand in Guinea auf sein Mittagessen. Die Sonne wird bald ihren höchsten Stand erreichen. Das ist normalerweise Mittagszeit. Oder vielleicht ist es zu heiß zum Essen. Ein guter Schluck Wasser würde für eine Weile helfen. Hat er Zugang zu Wasser, zu sauberem Wasser, zu Trinkwasser?

Blick nach Westen. Genau in diesem Moment sitzt jemand an einem Sandstrand in Venezuela, blickt nach Osten und beobachtet den Sonnenaufgang. Ein neuer Tag beginnt. Genießt er den Sonnenaufgang? Freut er sich auf diesen neuen Tag? Es ist dieselbe Sonne, die in wenigen Minuten vor mir untergehen wird.

Ich stehe auf, verlasse diesen wunderschönen Sandstrand und mache mich auf den Weg zurück zu meinem Hotel.

Blick nach Osten, während in diesem Moment jemand auf einem Schiff südlich von Japan wie ein Murmeltier schnarcht.

18 h Thailand

14 h Somalia

11 h Guinea

07 h Venezuela

Nerja (a busy holiday resort),Costa del Sol, Andalusia, Spain, 26 degrees in the shade already, last rain we had three days ago.

It’s 8am and the daily pow wow of the seagulls has started. Sitting on antennas, terracotta colour roofs, water tanks and on solar panels, adding another white coating on it.

Listening intensively to them, they squawk a different sound than our seagulls at home in Ireland. It’s definitely the sing song of seagulls but it sounds like a different language or just a different accent. A bit hoarse, a touch of a lower key if you allow me to use a musical term. It reminds me of female opera singers, voices like soprano or contralto. Our seagulls sing the soprano, seagulls here at Costa del Sol maintain the contralto.

Obviously a daily routine by the seagulls, exchanging news. Where is the best spot for food, what waste bin turned over last night, where will you find evidence of last night’s best party. That must be the subject of discussion, I suppose. Then the seagulls go quiet. Time for some cosmetic and feather clean up. Single feathers are flying through the air, some of them fall into that fresh white liquid on the roof, the result of too many cold chips, I guess with some disgust. The sound of pigeons takes over.

9am and I’m out on the street for some shopping. Three cats are out on the street as well. Skinny ones, slow moving, a bit afraid of the stranger coming along, observing my steps of unknown sound. Yes, they are skinny. Very skinny. They need a good meal on their rips. All three of them are still asleep, so it seems. Maybe a car was taken to work and the shelter is gone. First sunbeams disturb the cool and shady spot, the cats have to move. Slowly, not voluntarily, no powerful walk, more a weak sneak. Poor devils. Cats are domestic animals, they love their territory, their own surrounding, living close to humans. Rarely cats go roaming a longer distance.

Seagulls are all over the place, flying up high, diving down to food, like an eagle down into the river for a salmon. Surely you have seen such a wild life report. This seagull operation looks just the same. From a distance they detect tasty food, fly up, fall down from heaven and in less than a second they are gone again, successful. Waste bins are not the only target. It should be common sense to everybody to protect your ice cream, your burger or your bag of chips. But licking you ice cream, with your big bite into the burger, with your wooden fork on the chips, you forget the risk of seagulls. Like procrastinating the danger of losing your joyful munch. These seagulls are fast, very fast. A second later your filthy mouth is full of curses, but gone is gone. The winner is the seagull, always.

In Germany at the Baltic Sea a restaurant owner had a clever marketing idea. With your take-a-away food or even for your outdoor sit down meal you can pay into an insurance. If, yes if, a seagull takes your food you will get a replacement from the restaurant. There is no statistics yet about the win and loss. If the seagulls only knew. Great marketing anyway.

11am and it’s time for a break for myself. Jobs are done but a bit too early for some lunch. The thermometer shows 31 degrees. A big bottle of mineral water is my longing, no food please. Sitting somewhere in the shade is a must.

“Una botella di agua minerale, por favor” Yes, I’ve learned a bit of Spanish and I’m proud of it. Quite happy with myself, a cool drink and table in a cool shady spot, watching the world go by. I have to confess, life is not too bad.

A cat enters the scene. Skinny like all the others I’ve seen this morning. Kitty is looking for mice, Kitty is looking for food, I suppose. The body language of the cat tells me that. On the hunt. At this time of the day, I ask myself, in this high temperature. That cat must be very hungry.

I’m starting to philosophize and compare cats and seagulls. Skinny and fat. I’m beginning to develop a theory and you might follow me.

Cats are domestic animals, pets. Like dogs they live with us, are part of human life and we feed them. Plenty of them are neglected, not looked after, called wild cats though.

Seagulls are wild animals, finding food themselves. Humans don’t look after seagulls. But indirectly we do. Careless we do. Without thinking we do more for seagulls than for cats.

Because we produce waste.

Don’t like these chips, my belly is full, that sauce is not to my taste, sorry for losing over boarding food on my tray, far too much, oops some meat fell on the ground, just coming from the restaurant and have one ice cream too many, strange sausages, pour that cold coffee down the drain, bottle of coke in the middle of the walk way.

And no waste bin in sight, need to deposit litter now, here at this spot. Just leave it on the next windowsill. Somebody will clean up. Chips were expensive anyway, cleaning service included.

Seagulls are no gourmets, not fuzzy when it comes to food. I might say, they eat nearly everything in the line of nutrition products, raw or cooked.

Cats rarely raid litter bins. They have a better taste, more graceful, in my opinion. Cats still are noble animals, we humans lost our nobility.

We, the humans, give plenty of food to seagulls but not to cats. We act careless with food for seagulls and we intentionally neglect cats.

I hope you comprehend. Will we change our behaviour?

And there is John Lennon on the radio, singing:

“So this is Christmas.
And what have you done?
Another year over
and a new one just begun.
And so this is Christmas.
I hope you have fun,
the near and the dear ones,
the old and the young.
A very merry Christmas
and a happy new year.
Let’s hope it’s a good one
without any fear.”

Sounds like a birthday party. Another year over and a new one just begun. Just this word about Christmas is disturbing me. Otherwise we could sing this song at any birthday party. To replace “Christmas” with “your day now” would work out well.

For sure, I´m not the only one who would like to replace “Christmas” with some reality. How many people have ended their formal membership with their religious club? Being Catholic or Protestant or whatever form of Christianity it might be. Are they non-believers now? No more Christmas?

This Christmas Day and those four weeks leading up to Christmas is so hectic, reports on television want you to know. There is no space and no time for sentimentality. What Christmas spirit? Gifts have to be bigger and bigger. Nobody is able to stop this and the majority doesn´t want to stop this. Greed and convenience are still spreading like a siege all over the world. Convenience is so convenient. And greed is a helper to become rich and important. Nobody wants to see, that greed doesn´t give you inner peace and health, greed doesn´t give your soul real long term happiness. Greed only brings some short term material success. Nothing useful on your last days on earth and on your last journey. The best ever gift you won´t carry in your hands.

Does anybody think of the nature of Christmas? Yes, it´s about a birthday. A birthday we celebrate for more than 2000 years now. The birthday of Jesus. No family name mentioned. No pedigree left. I might remember my grandfathers birthday but we don´t celebrate that day any more. Must be an important guy, this Jesus. Year by year a birthday party. Impressive. In some parts of the world Christmas is a happy beach party, in other parts more contemplative. Contemplative for the first hour of that family come-together. Until old wounds on fragile souls cause new injuries. Ten people at a table represent ten different lives with ten various opinions and ten ways of living and ten contrasting experiences and, ok, stop.

By the way, Jesus is not born on Christmas day. After he was born that day became Christmas day. I can´t stand that false US-American sing sang.

We all have in common the years calendar and our longing for some holidays. But why is this Jesus born in December? June or July would be much more convenient. Not too cold at the northern hemisphere, not too hot at the southern part of the globe. That´s bad timing. Those ancient reporters should have considered this beforehand and change the facts a bit. That would be an advantage for society. Didn´t we learn this from successful politicians and big boss managers. That little unimportant re-date would save us from all these songs about white Christmas and reindeers pulling sleighs. There is no snow any more. If politicians and industry want to manipulate our time zones in modern times, would they be so kind and swoop Christmas into summer. Once, it was 12 o´ clock noon when the sun was at the highest point. Now they call it summer time and push forward an hour. So easy. So stupid. So ignorant to nature.

But it would push that Christmas hectic into summer. Do we want that? Hectic, I´m talking about. Buying gifts, bringing home a presentable Christmas tree, chocolate cookies melting in the sun, you know what I´m talking about.

This babble about Christmas time and peace drives me up the wall. Peace on earth is just an illusion. Well, for the next 300 years for sure. Any war around Christmas time might stop for a few hours. Soldiers might shake hands on the battlefield. The following day they have to kill each other by order. Both sides pray to God and ask for support. The clergy on both sides is biased and loyal to their government, not to God. How scary is that. Does God finally elect the winner?

The death of Jesus and his resurrection is an essential part of Christian belief. What about peace on earth then? What about happy Easter songs on the radio? Rock, Pop, Jazz, is there any Easter related hit climbing the charts? No Black Week? No consumer frenzy? No complaints from retailers about bad business? Those three wise men bringing gifts put an awful twist to Christmas. Granted, they didn´t expect such a horrible ending for Jesus.

So what is Christmas all about? What does it mean to you?

Dear reader, what would you like to read? A crime story about coffee, about eternal love for coffee, or about life in general? About a decent cup of coffee?

Sorry to disappoint you. I have nothing like that for you. Not a single word of that sort of stuff.

I have a question for you. Do you drink take-out coffee? Do you drink while walking? Shame on you.

Fine. I have to except that you stop reading this text now. Yeah, dump it. Dump it with your recyclable coffee cup. With the rest of your going cold sip of coffee. Happy now? Some relief, wonderful. The world is good with a cup of coffee in your hand while walking.

Why do you do this? Walking and drinking, probably walking and drinking and talking and checking your mobile phone. Are you late, time ticking away? To prove multitasking? Is eating and drinking just an act of fuelling your body? Like planes get fuelled up in air while flying?

In my little world a take-out is a disgrace. An act of disrespect. To eat and drink is an important and mindful action for your body and for your soul. They say „you are what you eat“ and my addition to it says „the way you do this is a glance into your life“.

Yes, you can add fast food to my list of disrespect too. Disrespect to yourself.

Is this fast-stuff-action a sign of modern life? Is there no time left for a quiet meal or even a decent cup of coffee in a china cup?

Why is being fast the ultimate answer?

On ebay you should buy, pay, send, receive and confirm in the time span of 48 hours. Because of the slow working post system. Why does it take that long to transport a parcel. That whole ebay process could be faster.

On What’s App the sender gets the information that you have read the message in a few seconds. A reply is expected in the following minute. Can’t go faster. That’s the time limit, set by technology that we’ve achieved.

Everything has to go faster. At the supermarket’s cashpoint, getting served in a restaurant, that expected reply from the tax office, can’t stop for a few seconds to let this grandmother to cross the street.

I’ll tell you something, the worst thing is to eat and drink in a hurry and what is even worse is to drink while walking. Have you ever observed such people? Holding their cup in an upright position, trying hard not to spill, making faces because the coffee is too hot or going cold? Stopping for a second at an inappropriate spot, leaning forward, slurping, lifting the unnecessary lid, more or less successful. Throwing the empty cup into a waste bin, successful only sometimes. All this waste is a another story, all on it’s own.

By the way, that cup is a great display for advertisement. Companies don’t like your neutral reusable cup.

In Ireland we say “when God made time he made plenty of it”. Giving time to yourself and to friends is one of the most grateful gifts nowadays and always was and always will be.

Please, join. Have your coffee in a decent china cup, breath, reflect life, enjoy life. Be nice to yourself.

Respect yourself.

Thank you for reading and not dumping my few lines.

We are Anne-Marie & Proinsias Donlon.

Anne-Marie is enjoying painting, creating and poetry writing
while continuing to work as a freelance English teacher part-time.

Proinsias is a novice in writing, travel journalist and worried earthling, as he calls himself.

International Police Association
Special Interest Group https://www.globalwritersforum.co.uk/

Deutsch-Irische Gesellschaft e.V. Düsseldorf
https://www.deutsch-irische-gesellschaft.de

Deutsch-Irische Juristen- und Wirtschaftsvereinigung e.V.
German-Irish Lawyers & Business Association
https://www.deutsch-irische-juristen.de

Literature Ireland
https://www.literatureireland.com/