Wild Rumpusing in Ireland: You're Very Welcome

Due to lack of Verizon Wireless service in Ireland,
I am unable to tweet and chronicle my adventures.
Because I'm a writer and feel the need to blab about
my trip immediately, enjoy this series of blog entries.

~~

Prologue 


Saturday, August 10th. A small yellow imp rattled my doorknob. It didn't startle me, as I was warned by my sister the night prior my three year old nephew is early to rise and requires the assembly of all inhabitants - human and animal alike - for breakfast.  Though a bright child,  Steven didn't remember the plans of iHop until his father planted the idea of pancakes, bacon, and eggs in his head.

Though he's only met me once prior to my visit to Wichita Falls, Tx (where my sister lives and works), he took to me quickly. I'm certain he called "Uncle Greg" no less than 50 times in the past 20 hours. Maybe his little toddler senses knew he'd only have a short while with me before I took off with his mother for Ireland; maybe he was genuinely excited to have someone else around to play with. Either way, we enjoyed each other's company immensely.

After breakfast, my sister continued to fiddle with her new semi-professional grade Nikon camera and pack her luggage as my new snap-and-shoot Coolpix remained in its box. I'd toy with it later, I figured. By 12:30, it was time for us to depart. My brother-in-law drove us to the small Wichita Falls airport, my sister wishing her husband a fun week of father-son time before he rode off into the distance.

Checked luggage and flight times confirmed, we walked through the single lane security check to the single waiting room and made nice with a fellow passenger. No more than 15 minutes waiting, we received news over the intercom that the plane experienced malfunctions and was being repaired in Dallas, where my sister and I needed to fly in order to catch our connecting flight to London, where we would then catch a 30 minute flight to Dublin. The next flight to Dallas was two hours from arriving.

Before my sister arranged to have all of our flights switched, we contemplated calling her husband to drive us to Dallas, it being only a two hour drive. Had we managed to convince him, we still wouldn't have made it through Dallas airport security fast enough. Originally, had all flights ran smoothly, we would have made it to the Dublin hotel before noon. Now we wouldn't arrive until 14:05 or so, well after the tour program we signed up for began. Luckily, the only site we would miss before the group returned to the hotel would be the Dublin Castle. But a castle was a castle.

In a frustration, I stepped outside the airport to curse the building. Lip-syncing to Prince songs three minutes later cooled me down. It helped time pass.

Soon enough, we were on the smallest plane I'd ever flown in to Dallas. A short 40 minute flight. However, before boarding our connecting flight to London, we noticed something. Perhaps my sister still knew how to work her cute charm, because the handsome southern gentleman who switched our tickets bumped her up to first class. Granted, he wasn't able to give us our tickets from London to Dublin and instructed us to acquire them from British Airways upon arriving, but a bump up was a bump up. My sister tried to charm me into first class with her, but with no seats left, there wasn't a chance. I told her to enjoy it.

I was seated on the far right of the five-seat middle aisle next to three 20-something looking Dutch travelers I wouldn't have minded getting to know during the nine hour flight. Before I could embark on such an unusual endeavor for me, my sister walks up the aisle. "Yeah, the guy made a mistake. We're both alllll the way in the back." I was heartbroken. Now I had to sit next to my sister for nine hours. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but when you spend a week long vacation with family - no matter what age - you're going to get sick of them at some point. I was simply hoping to prolong that inevitable moment.

If the snafu in Wichita Falls ticked off my sister, the running around through London's UofMD campus-like airport infuriated her. The flight had mellowed me out, so I reminded 'Lex to relax and just let would be be. Our tardiness wasn't going to change anyway we sliced it. Though her persistence and the help of an Englishmen, we obtained our tickets to Dublin. As my sister scurried off to exchange currency, I sat down in a chair to see which gate our plane would eventually fly out of. In the meantime, I took the opportunity to set up my camera. The first shot I captured: my new navy Nikes.



Chapter 1


Sunday, August 11th. A non-existent Saturday left me adrift. I find myself in a strange land inside an even stranger hotel. It was far too clean, far too polished to be a proper hotel reception area. Or perhaps this was to be the beginning of my spoiling.

My sister and I walked to the receptionist, a tall, dark woman with long black hair pulled into a ponytail. Her Polish-sounding accent threw me for a loop. "Hello, you're very welcome to the Davenport Hotel. How can I help you?" My sister gave both our names. "Aw yes, Clark? CIE Tours, yes? Jah, you aren't the only late ones. About six others." A relief we wouldn't be the alone missing the first trip, but what misfortunate had befallen our soon to be comrades. I decided I didn't care enough six seconds later.

With agenda and room key in hand, we rose in the lift - half, maybe even a quarter of the size of an American elevator might I point out! - to the fourth floor of the Davenport Hotel. 408 was a nice room: two queen sized beds, coral wallpaper, two plush armchairs, a desk, a clean and stunning bathroom. But no electricity it seemed. No, the outlets cleared worked as 'Lex plugged in her iPad which immediately lit up. We flipped every light switch three or four times before I found a little port on the wall to the left of the front door. Unlabeled, on a hunch, I slipped the key card out of my pocket and into the slot in the port. Without fail, all the lights popped on to burn our retinas. "Welp," I said, "That's a smart way to cut down on your light bill."

Two hours of settling in and realizing my new camera decided to experience a "lens error" swiftly became 16:52. An opening day info session with free drinks was soon to commence. The tour company must have anticipated late arrivals by now. We made our way down to the meeting room on the first floor a little tardy; everyone else sat in the three-row L-shape of chairs around the room. Our tour guide, Joe Laverly, greeted us at the door; I knew him to be the tour guide because he was the only one standing and I immediately spotted his lack of dental care. Also, the accent. That, too.

We take our seats next to what seems to be a white family of four, though I can't tell who's with who just yet. The demographic of the room is old. Capital "O" old. But what else could you expect from an Irish holiday? Mostly white senior couples, I took more note of the four older Asian couples in the room. My mind took to racial stereotypes of Asians on vacation taking pictures of everything and speaking quietly to each other. "What are you laughing at?" my sister turned to me. I could only shake my head.

A waitress soon turned the corner with a tray of drinks: the first full of wine glasses and small gin & tonics, the second full of pints of Guinness.  Joe's eyes seemed to follow this tray closely. "Now you have to understand something," he said. "To an Irishmen, a pint of Guinness is like a tall blonde in a black dress." The first round of laughter commenced. I laughed as well, until I thought he might be hamming up his Irishness for laughs. I don't take kindly to hamming.

In the midst of the hilarity, one of the senior members of the group took a sip from his wine glass. "Hey, wait a minute," he said spotting the second tray, "Is this Guinness or...?" The room bursted into snickers. This could turn out to be an entertaining trip after all.

Being late, the tour guide directed the waitress in our direction. My sister ordered a white wine while I look around the room. "...Guinness, please." When in Ireland, right?

Many things were said during this information session: important things like where we'd be going and food options. But all of it paled in comparison to what he would reveal towards the end of the session.

"Now, we in Ireland have a saying. It's 'Where's the craic?'" Commotion came over the room. "No, no, it's not like your crack. This is Ireland craic. It really just means where's the fun." Turns out it's an gaelic acronym: Ceol(Music), Rince(Dance), Amhrain(Songs), Inis Scealta(Storytelling), and Cainte(Gossip/Conversation). Surprisingly, "drink" was not part of the acronym, but then again, most craic was found in a pub anyway. 

By the end of my pint, the session was over. People quickly filed out of the room as they left their glasses on the counter. It seemed as if many of the older folk were hurrying to eat dinner they should have digested two hours ago. I suggested to my sister we should do the same.



Chapter 2 



After a sitcom's length of time deciding from the hotel's guide of restaurants what to experience, we agreed upon a Nepalese/Indian place a few blocks away. Directions drawn on a map from the Polish-ish lady receptionist and we were on our way.

As soon as we stepped outside into the Dublin air I was met with a familiar feeling. The hotels, rows of small business and restaurant chains, the clean and small streets. I felt as if I were back in Boston. Granted, yes I know, Boston is full of Irish descendants; trust me, it was more than that. The aura of the place was too similar for me to ignore it.

Walking the streets of Dublin gave me first taste of true sightseeing. There were handsome tourists and natives alike all over the city. Being the capital and largest city in Ireland, this was to be expected. However, the hipsters were not. I knew they were hipsters because they dressed like American hipsters and had the same "I'm dressed better than you, ironically"demeanor to them. Irish hipsters. I almost fell in love before reminding myself of my mission: finding a red-haired fiancé to smuggle in my suitcase through Customs. Listen, we all have fantasies.

The other attraction to catch my eye: Mama's Revenge. Twas an Irish burrito spot. To my dismay, it was closed on sundays, but I vowed to my sister we were eating there for lunch the next day. "Okay, little brother, " 'Lex said as she continued to snap pictures of regular buildings like a tourist.

After 3 blocks and two left turns, we found the restaurant only to be told they do not accept debit or credit. A ten minute detour to locate an ATM and discreetly withdrawal funds in Euros later, we returned. The young, 5'2" Nepalese woman who shooed as away the first time now smiled as came prepared to spend money.

Cobra beer was my second drink in Ireland. I received a small bottle and a small glass as I continued to ponder whether I wanted to branch out this a spicy chicken dish or stick to the butter chicken I had been introduced to while still in university. "Be careful, Greg. Indian spicy is different from regular spicy." Oh sister who I have not seen in nearly 10 years, you know me not. For the price of €18 ($24.02 American), sticking with what I knew seemed foolish. New land, new experiences, new taste.

Once the food arrived - and I was slightly toasty of two beers on an empty stomach - the food tasted delicious. Not too spicy at all.
"What's this flat bread?"
"Naan," I told her. I allowed what little I knew about Indian food take charge that day in an attempt to impress her. It didn't seem to affective.

Food done and dessert declined, we were offered shots of Bailey's on the house. Whether it was because they knew we were tourists or because they were new to the neighborhood, I decided to take them up on the offer. It's vacation, and it was off to a good start as far as I was concerned.


Word


Chapters 3-7