Ireland
My trip to Ireland started off with a bang. Being back in an airport of course reminded me of 'the incident' (please refer back to the blog entry on Valentine's Day if you have forgotten... though 'the incident' is one of those things you remember... at least I do.) Thankfully I arrived with PLENTY of time, as to not miss this flight. It was smooth sailing through the line at the check-in counter, and once I got felt up by security I was on my merry way to my gate. On the long stroll past EVERY terminal (at least it seemed) to the one that my plane was leaving at, I saw many things that caught my attention. First, I spotted lounge chairs that look like they belong on a beach. You know... the kind you sun tan on. They were there simply for the use of travelers who happened to miss their flights and had to spend the night. I considered taking photos of the chairs and sending them to Gatwick airport- perhaps they could take a clue. Also I came across vending machines that dispensed books...novel idea. When I finally found my gate and took a seat, I quickly realized (to my delight) that I didn't recognize any of the automated PA announcements, and thus tuned in for a bit to see if their automatic computer voice was nicer sounding than the one at Gatwick. She was.
I used to always dream of walking out of the airport onto the pavement and up a tin roll away stair case onto the airplane. The first time that I experienced this was in fact in Ireland in 2004. Since then, I have had a number of flights that I boarded via an outdoor staircase, including one in New Zealand that wasn't so much a flight of stairs but more of a turned over milk crate to boost you into the 7 seater plane (a story for a different time). My fascination and obsession for climbing steps into a plane diminished on this trip when boarding the plane in Edinburgh and again disembarking the plane in Ireland, I nearly toppled over the low guard rail to my demise because my pack made me top-heavy and I'm pretty sure the wind could be classified as gale force. Thus, I have had my fix for a while climbing stairs.
The flight was nice and short to Ireland. Sort of annoying when the actual time on the airplane is considerably less than the time spent getting to the airport, going through security, and waiting at the gate. Anyway, as soon as all wheels had touched down in Ireland the sound system started blaring a trumpet. I don't know the name of the song... but it was the sound that proceeds the man announcing 'Its post time!' at the Dairy Land Dog Race track. It startled me out of 'landing mode'... you know when your hand is placed on the seat in front of you and your elbow is locked... eyes bug eyed and fixated on the embroidered stitching on the back of the seat that says 'please fasten seat belt.' The captain came on to happily announce that we were the 1,000 something plan to land on time in the last 12 months with Ryanair. Now my question is this... fair enough that they are proud of their record... but Is there really a need for a 110 decibel trumpet sound? I think not. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Ryanair...let me give you a glimpse. They pride themselves on offering cheap airfare. Thus everything is a perk. For example- beverages and food are for purchase only on flights, there are no seat assignments, and if you check luggage you must pay per bag. Not exactly posh flying... but they sure give you a nice loud welcome if you land on time!
When traveling internationally... the actual flight is usually a piece of cake compared to the dreaded customs and immigration check. Once we arrived to immigration, I was in the short line because I was one of 2 people on the flight that didn't hold a passport from one of the European Union countries, and thus was shunned to a different customs official. I'm sure he was a nice guy, except that he was behind a glass window with one of those little microphones that popped in from the wall panel that then projected his voice through quarter sized speakers on my side of the glass. Only I'm 99% positive that the microphone wasn't on... therefore I was forced to read his lips (because you never point out that a customs official could have done something so silly as to have neglected to turn on his microphone). The problem with reading lips is that I have trouble enough doing it in America... let alone reading the lips of an elderly Irish man who I could only imagine had a nice thick Irish accent. Now this is a predicament for a few reasons. First... the old theory of 'smile and nod' when you don't understand someone doesn't exactly apply to an Immigration officer. You know, in the event that he was asking me 'are you planning on working here illegally and taking government funding?' or 'will you be overstaying your 3 month welcome?' or 'are you smuggling any illegal substances?' a smile and nod would not be appropriate. However you can't negate everything he says because if he were to ask 'did you pack your own bag?' 'did you have a nice flight?' or 'welcome to Dublin' I wouldn't want to piss him off by saying 'no.' Anyhow- after a few minutes of confused banter, my good looks got me in (Ha!).
I stayed the first night in Dublin, then woke up early Friday morning to catch a train to the town of Kilkenny. Unfortunately my (not so) handy guide book told me that trains depart regularly from Connolley station to Kilkenny... however when I arrived at Connolley the nice man told me that trains in fact departed from Heuston station (which I might add is on the other side of town.) So two escalators, a walk, a tram ride, and a flight of stairs later I made it to Heuston Station with 2 minutes to buy my ticket and jump on board just before the stationmaster whistled the train away. I made a mental note to email the guide book company to point out their mistake. Kilkenny, like so many other Irish villages, makes its mark on the map because of the castle that the town is built around. It was the type of place where people walking down the street say things like 'lovely day isn't it?' or 'Hiya how've you been? I've just been round to the market and there is a great sale on carrots.' Of course there were a few more tourists like myself...seeing as the castle ruins draw some attention from holidayers. Along one of my many walks through the streets of the town I came across a fortune teller running her business out of an old RV. A pink fluorescent poster taped on the front windshield claimed that she 'will find the love of your life.' Hell... I haven't been able to... let's give it a go. €3 later I found out the following startling revelations.
1. I haven't met him yet (really!?)
2. I will meet him in the near future (not clear if this means days or decades)
3. I will meet him in an unexpected place (like what?)
She was done and all I could think of was 'seriously? that's it!?' On my way past the front of the RV I realized that I had misread the pink sign and it actually said...'will you find the love of your life?' At least she didn't say 'no!'
I don't know if I mentioned that I traveled alone on this trip. Now this was great at first, but by day two I realized that I wanted someone to talk to... go to dinner with... ride the train with... you know. I mean I enjoy my own company to a certain extent- but it got old. Regardless, the time I spent in Kilkenny was great.
I headed back to Dublin on Sunday and took another train to the village of Dun Laoghaire. I didn't know much at all about the town other than it was a beautiful seaside village, so I exited the train station and picked a direction to go. I eventually stumbled upon the beach, and sat for quite a while watching the waves crash into the rocky shore. I know its cliche but I love the smell of the sea. Not because I am particularly a water person (far from it actually) or because I love collecting rare shells, or tanning, but because I never grew up by the sea... so for me the smell of salty air means that I am traveling (something I love to do if you didn't get that by now). The smell of the sea means I am in Florida with the Nusbaums, or Aberystywth studying abroad, or Australia on the Great Barrier Reef. I wandered quite a bit down the seaside and realized I was about 5% lost... but without a care in the world. I literally stumbled upon an outdoor market/fair/festival and spent the afternoon walking around visiting the different vendors. One vendor in particular had a big sign posted announcing 'American apple pie.' Obviously that was a sign that I needed to have dessert first. Now of all of the vendors and all of the desserts, I don't know why I opted for a traditional American dessert instead of an Irish one... I suppose I was longing for a taste of home. Now you have to realize that I didn't ever like apple pie until about 5 years ago, and even so I am very particular about the kind of pie I like. So from the start this promised American dessert had a lot to live up to. The slice was a square, not a triangle (strike one). In all fairness, the pastry part was really good- the gooey apple part, however, had a lot of tweaking needed before it could live up to its 'American' claim.
I headed back to home sweet Scotland on Monday- fully ready to break the silence and have full force non stop jabber from the boys. I can't believe it is May already! 24 days until I return.... Crazy!
This is for my mom... because she gets angry when I post pictures without me in them. So here. Its me. In front of a castle.
I used to always dream of walking out of the airport onto the pavement and up a tin roll away stair case onto the airplane. The first time that I experienced this was in fact in Ireland in 2004. Since then, I have had a number of flights that I boarded via an outdoor staircase, including one in New Zealand that wasn't so much a flight of stairs but more of a turned over milk crate to boost you into the 7 seater plane (a story for a different time). My fascination and obsession for climbing steps into a plane diminished on this trip when boarding the plane in Edinburgh and again disembarking the plane in Ireland, I nearly toppled over the low guard rail to my demise because my pack made me top-heavy and I'm pretty sure the wind could be classified as gale force. Thus, I have had my fix for a while climbing stairs.
The flight was nice and short to Ireland. Sort of annoying when the actual time on the airplane is considerably less than the time spent getting to the airport, going through security, and waiting at the gate. Anyway, as soon as all wheels had touched down in Ireland the sound system started blaring a trumpet. I don't know the name of the song... but it was the sound that proceeds the man announcing 'Its post time!' at the Dairy Land Dog Race track. It startled me out of 'landing mode'... you know when your hand is placed on the seat in front of you and your elbow is locked... eyes bug eyed and fixated on the embroidered stitching on the back of the seat that says 'please fasten seat belt.' The captain came on to happily announce that we were the 1,000 something plan to land on time in the last 12 months with Ryanair. Now my question is this... fair enough that they are proud of their record... but Is there really a need for a 110 decibel trumpet sound? I think not. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Ryanair...let me give you a glimpse. They pride themselves on offering cheap airfare. Thus everything is a perk. For example- beverages and food are for purchase only on flights, there are no seat assignments, and if you check luggage you must pay per bag. Not exactly posh flying... but they sure give you a nice loud welcome if you land on time!
When traveling internationally... the actual flight is usually a piece of cake compared to the dreaded customs and immigration check. Once we arrived to immigration, I was in the short line because I was one of 2 people on the flight that didn't hold a passport from one of the European Union countries, and thus was shunned to a different customs official. I'm sure he was a nice guy, except that he was behind a glass window with one of those little microphones that popped in from the wall panel that then projected his voice through quarter sized speakers on my side of the glass. Only I'm 99% positive that the microphone wasn't on... therefore I was forced to read his lips (because you never point out that a customs official could have done something so silly as to have neglected to turn on his microphone). The problem with reading lips is that I have trouble enough doing it in America... let alone reading the lips of an elderly Irish man who I could only imagine had a nice thick Irish accent. Now this is a predicament for a few reasons. First... the old theory of 'smile and nod' when you don't understand someone doesn't exactly apply to an Immigration officer. You know, in the event that he was asking me 'are you planning on working here illegally and taking government funding?' or 'will you be overstaying your 3 month welcome?' or 'are you smuggling any illegal substances?' a smile and nod would not be appropriate. However you can't negate everything he says because if he were to ask 'did you pack your own bag?' 'did you have a nice flight?' or 'welcome to Dublin' I wouldn't want to piss him off by saying 'no.' Anyhow- after a few minutes of confused banter, my good looks got me in (Ha!).
I stayed the first night in Dublin, then woke up early Friday morning to catch a train to the town of Kilkenny. Unfortunately my (not so) handy guide book told me that trains depart regularly from Connolley station to Kilkenny... however when I arrived at Connolley the nice man told me that trains in fact departed from Heuston station (which I might add is on the other side of town.) So two escalators, a walk, a tram ride, and a flight of stairs later I made it to Heuston Station with 2 minutes to buy my ticket and jump on board just before the stationmaster whistled the train away. I made a mental note to email the guide book company to point out their mistake. Kilkenny, like so many other Irish villages, makes its mark on the map because of the castle that the town is built around. It was the type of place where people walking down the street say things like 'lovely day isn't it?' or 'Hiya how've you been? I've just been round to the market and there is a great sale on carrots.' Of course there were a few more tourists like myself...seeing as the castle ruins draw some attention from holidayers. Along one of my many walks through the streets of the town I came across a fortune teller running her business out of an old RV. A pink fluorescent poster taped on the front windshield claimed that she 'will find the love of your life.' Hell... I haven't been able to... let's give it a go. €3 later I found out the following startling revelations.
1. I haven't met him yet (really!?)
2. I will meet him in the near future (not clear if this means days or decades)
3. I will meet him in an unexpected place (like what?)
She was done and all I could think of was 'seriously? that's it!?' On my way past the front of the RV I realized that I had misread the pink sign and it actually said...'will you find the love of your life?' At least she didn't say 'no!'
I don't know if I mentioned that I traveled alone on this trip. Now this was great at first, but by day two I realized that I wanted someone to talk to... go to dinner with... ride the train with... you know. I mean I enjoy my own company to a certain extent- but it got old. Regardless, the time I spent in Kilkenny was great.
I headed back to Dublin on Sunday and took another train to the village of Dun Laoghaire. I didn't know much at all about the town other than it was a beautiful seaside village, so I exited the train station and picked a direction to go. I eventually stumbled upon the beach, and sat for quite a while watching the waves crash into the rocky shore. I know its cliche but I love the smell of the sea. Not because I am particularly a water person (far from it actually) or because I love collecting rare shells, or tanning, but because I never grew up by the sea... so for me the smell of salty air means that I am traveling (something I love to do if you didn't get that by now). The smell of the sea means I am in Florida with the Nusbaums, or Aberystywth studying abroad, or Australia on the Great Barrier Reef. I wandered quite a bit down the seaside and realized I was about 5% lost... but without a care in the world. I literally stumbled upon an outdoor market/fair/festival and spent the afternoon walking around visiting the different vendors. One vendor in particular had a big sign posted announcing 'American apple pie.' Obviously that was a sign that I needed to have dessert first. Now of all of the vendors and all of the desserts, I don't know why I opted for a traditional American dessert instead of an Irish one... I suppose I was longing for a taste of home. Now you have to realize that I didn't ever like apple pie until about 5 years ago, and even so I am very particular about the kind of pie I like. So from the start this promised American dessert had a lot to live up to. The slice was a square, not a triangle (strike one). In all fairness, the pastry part was really good- the gooey apple part, however, had a lot of tweaking needed before it could live up to its 'American' claim.
I headed back to home sweet Scotland on Monday- fully ready to break the silence and have full force non stop jabber from the boys. I can't believe it is May already! 24 days until I return.... Crazy!
This is for my mom... because she gets angry when I post pictures without me in them. So here. Its me. In front of a castle.
posted by Laura:) @ Tuesday, May 01, 2007
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