On the Flight to Dublin

Our flight was delayed (no surprises there) so we boarded when we were supposed to take off.  I found my seat alright, had a coke, pictures will follow, it was both tiny and had strange dietary labeling, well worth documenting in the field of strange travel differences.

I'm seated next to an American man, and he seems alright, but has had three Heineken's and a glass of red wine so far.  Although, he gave me his arugala salad during the dinner service, so he can't be all bad.  I had the beef stroganoff with p-A-sta, peas and carrots, a little bowl of iceberg lettuce with a cucumber slice, a brownie, a roll, and some cheese and crackers.  It was actually really good, and blisteringly hot.  The Fight Club joke about the single-serving air travel life, with the Cordon Bleu Hobby Kit seems particularly appropriate right now.

If I thought I had great amenities on Virgin America, Aer Lingus takes the cake.  They have the same personal entertainment system, similar games and such, but they also have all the main Irish radio stations as play lists.  I very demurely listened to Classical Irish selections while reading Rick Steve's.  They also have tv and movies, that are free to watch.  They have the entire Batman trilogy (aaaahhhh!!!!  I do love me some Batman, and if I wasn't sleepy, I would watch The Dark Knight Rises.).  And a nice selection of Irish movies, and I watched Big Bang Theory over dinner.  It was the episode when Howie gets back from space and Penny and Amy Farrah Fowler and Sheldon and Leonard are playing Pictionary. 

Our flight route took us north west to the Nevada border, north-northwest over Boise, north-west again over the corner of Montana, and when we hit Canada, we rose from 10,000 to 30,000 feet, and we've proceeded fairly straight northwest over the mainland.  We're approaching a body of water, and later we will go over Greenland.  Mom was right, we are coming near the Arctic Circle.  It is local time 5:10 at my destination, and I took off my glasses, so I'm not sure which Canadian province we are currently over, but it's the one to the right of Saskachuan.  Someone just snored a cartoon snore, I hope their stocking cap got in their mouth.

We're about 1/3 done with our journey, I think the Province is Manitoba, and I'm pooped, so I'm not going to stay up for the in flight, duty free purchasing of watches, fragrances, nor cigarettes.  They are also permitting us to fetch our own sodas, and I can only imagine the anarchy that will ensue.

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After five hours of uncomfortable, fretful stage one sleep, someone decided it was morning now, and an hour before we landed , they turned on all the lights and started handing out ham and cheese croissants and orange juice. I woke up feeling very pouty and with a severe crick in my neck; at least twice I was awoken from a fairly good sleep by hot pins and needles in my arm. And there is no where to put one's foot without touching someone or getting in the way.

We flew south over Northern Ireland, and overshot Dublin into the Irish Ocean. We hung a sharp right, and I saw the deep blue water, and made a westerly landing. The highways look normal, but the road signs are blue. The car park for the Aer Lingus travel agency is gigantic, and along the edges of the asymmetrical fields, the farmers have left fluffy shrubbery grow. The fields are neither circular nor rectangular, and not even hexagonal or a traditional shape. I will have to ask someone why.  For now I'm on the tarmac, waiting to taxi to the terminal.

The guy with the Heineken's is here for an amateur golf tournament, and in no way am I surprised. We said some pleasantries, and now we're anxiously waiting to never see each other again except at the luggage trolley. 

I promised that I would write when I got to the hostel, and even if I rush to get online, it will be about 5 in the morning when I finally post. So, good morning family, I'm alive and you're asleep.

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I went straight through customs and found my luggage, mom, you were right, the dam Irish broke my address tag. I recognized my bag none the less. I wandered out following signs, found an exchange station and got 20 euro, found the bus stop, and immediately spent six. The girl at the ticket counter was exceedingly pleasant, and helped me to find a place for my bag on the bus.

If you thought Seattle was bad for renaming streets at every bend, come to Dublin, where each block of the street has a different name. The hostel is on Merchant's Quay (key), and also Usher Quay, and various other names in varying degrees of Gaelic. The merging of very all described pictorially at each entrance to the freeway, L-permit drivers are not allowed on the highway (I suspect a staggered license system), and there was a signal indicated roundabout, which seems to defeat the purpose.