7-10-09 ~ Friday
First day of the hiking the Wicklow Way!!!
We were on the trail by 9:00, picking it up just beside a little craft shop in the village. The trail was a thin dirt line, thickly hedged on either side by ferns and stone walls. It went up a little way over a road and into a forest of sweetly-musky pines and abundant foxgloves. There were fences all along the trail that you cross by way of a low wooden step that goes through the fence and a wooden beam over the top of the fence. You just step from one side of the fence to another - very convenient. I could scarcely believe how gorgeous the forest was. The amount of ferns was massive, groves upon groves of them totally blanketed the ground, and the bright pink foxgloves were everywhere. The trail started as dirt and crushed rock. Almost immediately it went up a fairly steep incline and the trees loomed closer and closer until they knit together to make a dark corridor. The temperature was still perfect, and though the skies turned from blue to grey it still felt pleasant throughout the entire day. It smelled vaguely of sea air in the places where the pine or moss or alfalfa blooms weren’t stronger.
The trail opened up to a lovely view of the Monastic City from above, and you could just see the top of the cathedral, chapel, and of course the round tower. It was as if we’d stumbled into a mediaeval time. Heather bushed grew thickly now, dense and spiny with delicate lavender blossoms. The panoramic view was amazing! Our trail leveled out as we passed above Laragh -- we could see the fields dived with stone walls, making neat little squares of land -- before going back into an incline as we hiked up Paddock Hill. A mere 380 feet at its highest, pleasant on a map but a bit wearying on foot. It ascended pretty quickly and wild raspberry bushes would sometimes reach right out and prick you through your jeans or, in my case, snag your hair.
We started to travel along a gravel road, curious what part of the road we might be on. It led us right to Laragh, where we’d been the night before. Not right. Upon backtracking we discovered the little hiker sign that tells us where to go, hidden by thick brush. It said ‘turn right.’ We had gone straight. Okay, well, what’s a little twenty-minutes detour? It led us parallel a river and to a bridge over the reddish water. The trail became two planks nailed together to make distant stair steps, which then became a gravel walk with deadwood on either side. This ended when we crossed the highway and officially began the hike to Roundwood, our next destination. There was one more hill on the way to Roundwood but it was a gradual uphill that sloped into a sheep pasture, over a gate, and to a merciful home that had labeled one of their spigots “Drinking Water.” We were running pretty dry by then, and were very grateful for the refill!!
A long section of road took us to the next part of the trail, but we had to divert then to go into Roundwood. It was about a forty minute walk into the small village and up the hill to the Lakehouse B&B, simply a larger home owned by a wonderful couple named Lisa and Volker Nexer. They had a very young son named Caylon who, for the most part, stayed in the residential part of the house and was very nice the few times we saw him. Our room was eggshell white with pressed flower-paper lampshades and blue comforters. The beds were just was we needed after five and a half hours of hiking, and the sliding doors offered a great view of the Nexers’ backyard, complete with a small pond and lily pads. Beyond were the rolling hills and patchwork fields I never tire of seeing.
We asked Volker where he would recommend eating, and he said of the two places in Roundwood he liked the Roundwood Inn better. It was a quite, charming place with wooden floors and beams, hearts carved into the tables’ legs, and lampshades made of multi-colored pieces of glass. A fire burned low in the fireplace at the end of the room. My meal was Irish veggie soup and brown bread, perfect for the drizzling day it had become, and Katie had chicken and chips. (The Ha’Penny Pub’s are better.)
Extra hours in the evening left us able to walk up and down the main street and view what was to be viewed. I was taking pictures of the giant cathedral when a man pulled next to us in his car and asked, “Ehm, excuse me, are you two girls from ‘round here?” We shook our heads.
“Oh. I was jus’ wonderin’ if there’s a Cat’olic church nearby?” he asked. I pointed to the massive structure directly behind him. He turned and looked.
“Oh! T’anks, girls!”
Back at the house Lisa offered a small laptop and a selection of DVDs for us to watch; we chose “Ratatouille” and I finished up my journaling while Katie got the laptop up and running.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Europe Trip: July 9
7/9/09 ~ Thursday
Technically it was 12:30 by our internal clocks, but by then we had set our watches forward to Ireland time, 7:30 a.m. Trying to sleep in the airplane was almost comical. You could sleep sitting up but eventually your head would roll onto your chest and put a crick in your neck. The girl across from me folded down her meal tray and rested her torso and head on that. She was much smaller than I was, though, and when I tried that I ended up with my body one way and my head another… which puts a crick in your neck… Katie brought her knees up to her chin and slept in a fetal position which she said was the most comfortable of all that she tried. I was in one of the two seats on the side that didn’t have enough leg room to get my knees us to my chest, so I ended up scrunching to one side of my seat and trying to slump down so my head could rest on my shoulder. I awoke a few minutes later thinking it was cozy and warm… then I realized I had leaned back onto Deb’s shoulder. Katie and I both got on-and-off minutes of sleep for about two hours, then it was time to start our “Irish” day.
“Good morning!” I said to Deb when she awoke a few minutes after me. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah, until the screaming started,” she said. Yet another young child had just started screaming for no reason about an hour into our ‘sleep’ and the mother brought him to the back of the plane (where we were seated…) so we got the full force of the siren until the flight crew managed to stuff him and his mother into a far back room to work out whatever the problem was.
The airplane actually served us breakfast! A humble croissant, yogurt, and orange juice, but still way more than I expected and quite satisfying! We began our descent at 8:40; high above the clouds it seems like you’re in a whole new land. Just a solid sheet of white with rises and depressions in silver and steel grey that stretch far to the horizon and intersect with a pure, pale blue sky. We slowly angled down until the plane sliced through the clouds and swirling wisps trailed off the wingtips. I had no shame in aiming my camera over Deb to get pictures out her window for when the clouds broke and I got my first view of the North Sea, dusty blue with a metallic silver sheen rippling over it. Then the Irish coast came into view; at first it was boggy and rocky, a sort of muted sepia shade overall, then it burst into green fields and patchwork colors, the farmhouses and cottages little flecks of white or steel in the sea of green. The farmland morphed into asphalt surrounding the Dublin airport, and soon after the plane landed we were allowed out. So nice to actually move our legs.
The walk through the airport to customs had a strong feeling like we were cattle being moved through a series of curving chutes to an unknown destination, but as long as everyone else was heading that way we were content to follow. The halls gently curved one way and the other until they led down some stairs and through a labyrinth of post-and-ribbon pathways until we finally reached Customs. The fellow checking passports wasn’t very happy. He just stamped your visa and shoved you on through. We didn’t even have to get our backs checked again before exiting the airport. It was a lovely day outside, particularly after that hot Idaho weather. The skies were grey and the temperature mild, and though we saw a lot of people walking around in longsleeves we were perfectly fine in t-shirts.
We took the 16A bus to Dorset St. North, though for a few tense minutes we had no idea where we were going or where the bus was stopping. We couldn’t find any street signs for the life of us! I finally asked the elder man sitting next to me how they knew what street they were on.
“Day’s upon der billings,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, and wondered how I could pantomime to Katie that I wanted her to ask the person next to her how they knew what street they were on. Fortunately the lady behind me clarified the elder man’s statement for me: the street signs are on the corners of buildings on that street. There aren’t any signposts like we have in the US. Oh. Once we knew that we were able to get a clue of where we were and got off at the proper street.
The bus to Glendaloch left at 11:30. If we wanted to make that, we’d have to find the Dublin International Youth Hostel, check in our big bags (we each had one big pack and one small backpack), get back to a bus that would take us near St. Stephen’s Green, and from there catch the Glendaloch bus. If we didn’t make the 11:30 bus it left at 6:00 p.m., but that would take out our whole day in Glendaloch. It was 10:30 as we searched for the Dublin IYH. Katie navigated with her printed map and we walked as quickly as we could. We found the place pretty easily, actually, and a fellow named Salvo helped up get our big bags into a store room where they’d be safe the next few days. We transferred over a few things into our backpack, because from now until Sunday evening we’d be living out of our backpacks.
10:45: Run like heck. Thank goodness Dublin looks a lot bigger in the maps than it is in life. With Katie at the helm we darted from one sidewalk to another until we reached the 16A bus again. The timechart said it should be coming at 10:55, but by the time we reached the bus stop it was 10:53. We asked the nearly-toothless man next to us if we had missed the 16A bus.
“16A, sure, it comes by ‘ere,” he said.
“But did we miss it? The chart here says 10:55...” Katie said.
“Don’t give it a damn,” he said. “Dey’re niver on time anyways.” A minute after that our bus arrived and we asked if the driver would notify us when we reached Aungier St. It looked like a French word so we pronounced it like a French word. He gave us a funny look.
“Anger St.?” he asked. We exchanged puzzled looks.
“Yeah, dat’s it,” the toothless man said from behind us. We had explained our route to him in the hopes he could help. Not only did he help, he told us when the stop was approaching and the driver gave us directions to catch the St. Kevin’s bus to Glendaloch. Everyone is so nice around here.
We started running again, just smiling when the other pedestrians gave us curious looks, and though our watches said we were just a few minutes late, we turned the corner and found the bus still there!!! We ran to it and panted out our explanation.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, take your time, it’s okay,” the bus driver told us. We paid him and sat down to enjoy the scenic drive south from Dublin directly to Glendaloch. The Mediterranean couple in front of us seemed to be experimenting with new ways to make out on the bus, the Russian family to our left included a teenage boy who generally tried to deny he was connected to the parents sitting before him, and behind us was a German couple who discussed a great many things in their native language. The drive was a hour and a half and ended at the Glendaloch Informational Center. Our hostel, the International Glendaloch Hostel, was just a few minutes’ walk down the road from there. Over a stone bride in the main part of the village were two vendors with their wares laid out and two food carts. Though we never learned her name, one of the vendors was an incredibly friendly lady who talked with us about destinations, flights, and fascinating pieces of jewelry made out of compressed heather.
“Omigott, you’ve got to try this. These are the best ever,” she said, handing us a piece of shortbread she’d been breaking pieces off of to eat. It was almost pure butter, and really quite good. How nice of her to share with us!!! We asked her if she recommended any places in town for a good dinner later in the evening, and she said there weren’t many nearby - just a few that were in the next town over, Laragh, which was do-able if you were walking but still a ways off. She offered to drive us there if we could find a taxi back, but we politely declined since we didn’t know how accessible taxis would be. Glendaloch is a fairly remote part of the country.
We walked past our hostel and jumped onto a little trail that was beside the road. It led back the way we came and through a pasture, and soon it delivered us directly to the Monastic City!! We didn’t even realize it was this close! It’s an old chapel, cathedral, and tall round tower that used to be populated by monks. It’s surrounded by Celtic crosses, both historic and modern as the graveyard is still used to this day. We got many pictures of the beautiful knot work on the crosses, and the ruined chapel was fascinating. As we explored the whole area we made our way back through two archways, which deposited us right back out at the vendors! Wow!
After cleaning up at our hostel, we decided to try for dinner at one of the restaurants in Laragh. We set out walking for those… and walking… and walking. I don’t think it was “just a kilometre away,” as described. When we did get there it looked like a facy kind of restaurant -- really posh-looking waiters stood at the door, and posh-looking people went it. We tried the other recommended restaurant (okay, the ONLY other restaurant…) and it was also pretty spendy.
“Well, our hostel had a little diner next to it that made sandwiches,” I suggested. “If nothing else we can always scope out the Laragh Convenience Store!”
“No!” Katie said, so we walked all the way back to the Glendaloch Hostel. The diner was closed due to a wedding. So we walked all the way back to Laragh and bought some questionable sandwiches from a cooler in the convenience store. We were so hungry at that point, though, they were the best-tasting Laragh convenience store sandwiches we’d ever eaten.
We were exhausted by the time we got back to the hostel. We’d been up for well over twenty-four hours and I was actually falling asleep while trying to write in my journal, so sleep couldn’t have come more easily.
Technically it was 12:30 by our internal clocks, but by then we had set our watches forward to Ireland time, 7:30 a.m. Trying to sleep in the airplane was almost comical. You could sleep sitting up but eventually your head would roll onto your chest and put a crick in your neck. The girl across from me folded down her meal tray and rested her torso and head on that. She was much smaller than I was, though, and when I tried that I ended up with my body one way and my head another… which puts a crick in your neck… Katie brought her knees up to her chin and slept in a fetal position which she said was the most comfortable of all that she tried. I was in one of the two seats on the side that didn’t have enough leg room to get my knees us to my chest, so I ended up scrunching to one side of my seat and trying to slump down so my head could rest on my shoulder. I awoke a few minutes later thinking it was cozy and warm… then I realized I had leaned back onto Deb’s shoulder. Katie and I both got on-and-off minutes of sleep for about two hours, then it was time to start our “Irish” day.
“Good morning!” I said to Deb when she awoke a few minutes after me. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah, until the screaming started,” she said. Yet another young child had just started screaming for no reason about an hour into our ‘sleep’ and the mother brought him to the back of the plane (where we were seated…) so we got the full force of the siren until the flight crew managed to stuff him and his mother into a far back room to work out whatever the problem was.
The airplane actually served us breakfast! A humble croissant, yogurt, and orange juice, but still way more than I expected and quite satisfying! We began our descent at 8:40; high above the clouds it seems like you’re in a whole new land. Just a solid sheet of white with rises and depressions in silver and steel grey that stretch far to the horizon and intersect with a pure, pale blue sky. We slowly angled down until the plane sliced through the clouds and swirling wisps trailed off the wingtips. I had no shame in aiming my camera over Deb to get pictures out her window for when the clouds broke and I got my first view of the North Sea, dusty blue with a metallic silver sheen rippling over it. Then the Irish coast came into view; at first it was boggy and rocky, a sort of muted sepia shade overall, then it burst into green fields and patchwork colors, the farmhouses and cottages little flecks of white or steel in the sea of green. The farmland morphed into asphalt surrounding the Dublin airport, and soon after the plane landed we were allowed out. So nice to actually move our legs.
The walk through the airport to customs had a strong feeling like we were cattle being moved through a series of curving chutes to an unknown destination, but as long as everyone else was heading that way we were content to follow. The halls gently curved one way and the other until they led down some stairs and through a labyrinth of post-and-ribbon pathways until we finally reached Customs. The fellow checking passports wasn’t very happy. He just stamped your visa and shoved you on through. We didn’t even have to get our backs checked again before exiting the airport. It was a lovely day outside, particularly after that hot Idaho weather. The skies were grey and the temperature mild, and though we saw a lot of people walking around in longsleeves we were perfectly fine in t-shirts.
We took the 16A bus to Dorset St. North, though for a few tense minutes we had no idea where we were going or where the bus was stopping. We couldn’t find any street signs for the life of us! I finally asked the elder man sitting next to me how they knew what street they were on.
“Day’s upon der billings,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, and wondered how I could pantomime to Katie that I wanted her to ask the person next to her how they knew what street they were on. Fortunately the lady behind me clarified the elder man’s statement for me: the street signs are on the corners of buildings on that street. There aren’t any signposts like we have in the US. Oh. Once we knew that we were able to get a clue of where we were and got off at the proper street.
The bus to Glendaloch left at 11:30. If we wanted to make that, we’d have to find the Dublin International Youth Hostel, check in our big bags (we each had one big pack and one small backpack), get back to a bus that would take us near St. Stephen’s Green, and from there catch the Glendaloch bus. If we didn’t make the 11:30 bus it left at 6:00 p.m., but that would take out our whole day in Glendaloch. It was 10:30 as we searched for the Dublin IYH. Katie navigated with her printed map and we walked as quickly as we could. We found the place pretty easily, actually, and a fellow named Salvo helped up get our big bags into a store room where they’d be safe the next few days. We transferred over a few things into our backpack, because from now until Sunday evening we’d be living out of our backpacks.
10:45: Run like heck. Thank goodness Dublin looks a lot bigger in the maps than it is in life. With Katie at the helm we darted from one sidewalk to another until we reached the 16A bus again. The timechart said it should be coming at 10:55, but by the time we reached the bus stop it was 10:53. We asked the nearly-toothless man next to us if we had missed the 16A bus.
“16A, sure, it comes by ‘ere,” he said.
“But did we miss it? The chart here says 10:55...” Katie said.
“Don’t give it a damn,” he said. “Dey’re niver on time anyways.” A minute after that our bus arrived and we asked if the driver would notify us when we reached Aungier St. It looked like a French word so we pronounced it like a French word. He gave us a funny look.
“Anger St.?” he asked. We exchanged puzzled looks.
“Yeah, dat’s it,” the toothless man said from behind us. We had explained our route to him in the hopes he could help. Not only did he help, he told us when the stop was approaching and the driver gave us directions to catch the St. Kevin’s bus to Glendaloch. Everyone is so nice around here.
We started running again, just smiling when the other pedestrians gave us curious looks, and though our watches said we were just a few minutes late, we turned the corner and found the bus still there!!! We ran to it and panted out our explanation.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, take your time, it’s okay,” the bus driver told us. We paid him and sat down to enjoy the scenic drive south from Dublin directly to Glendaloch. The Mediterranean couple in front of us seemed to be experimenting with new ways to make out on the bus, the Russian family to our left included a teenage boy who generally tried to deny he was connected to the parents sitting before him, and behind us was a German couple who discussed a great many things in their native language. The drive was a hour and a half and ended at the Glendaloch Informational Center. Our hostel, the International Glendaloch Hostel, was just a few minutes’ walk down the road from there. Over a stone bride in the main part of the village were two vendors with their wares laid out and two food carts. Though we never learned her name, one of the vendors was an incredibly friendly lady who talked with us about destinations, flights, and fascinating pieces of jewelry made out of compressed heather.
“Omigott, you’ve got to try this. These are the best ever,” she said, handing us a piece of shortbread she’d been breaking pieces off of to eat. It was almost pure butter, and really quite good. How nice of her to share with us!!! We asked her if she recommended any places in town for a good dinner later in the evening, and she said there weren’t many nearby - just a few that were in the next town over, Laragh, which was do-able if you were walking but still a ways off. She offered to drive us there if we could find a taxi back, but we politely declined since we didn’t know how accessible taxis would be. Glendaloch is a fairly remote part of the country.
We walked past our hostel and jumped onto a little trail that was beside the road. It led back the way we came and through a pasture, and soon it delivered us directly to the Monastic City!! We didn’t even realize it was this close! It’s an old chapel, cathedral, and tall round tower that used to be populated by monks. It’s surrounded by Celtic crosses, both historic and modern as the graveyard is still used to this day. We got many pictures of the beautiful knot work on the crosses, and the ruined chapel was fascinating. As we explored the whole area we made our way back through two archways, which deposited us right back out at the vendors! Wow!
After cleaning up at our hostel, we decided to try for dinner at one of the restaurants in Laragh. We set out walking for those… and walking… and walking. I don’t think it was “just a kilometre away,” as described. When we did get there it looked like a facy kind of restaurant -- really posh-looking waiters stood at the door, and posh-looking people went it. We tried the other recommended restaurant (okay, the ONLY other restaurant…) and it was also pretty spendy.
“Well, our hostel had a little diner next to it that made sandwiches,” I suggested. “If nothing else we can always scope out the Laragh Convenience Store!”
“No!” Katie said, so we walked all the way back to the Glendaloch Hostel. The diner was closed due to a wedding. So we walked all the way back to Laragh and bought some questionable sandwiches from a cooler in the convenience store. We were so hungry at that point, though, they were the best-tasting Laragh convenience store sandwiches we’d ever eaten.
We were exhausted by the time we got back to the hostel. We’d been up for well over twenty-four hours and I was actually falling asleep while trying to write in my journal, so sleep couldn’t have come more easily.
Europe Trip: July 7 & 8
7-7-09 ~ Tuesday
Three weeks in Europe!
Katie and I left at the 6:00 in the evening. The drive to Salt Lake City was only five hours and rather pleasant; Katie’s mother, Meredith, drove the whole way, leaving Katie and me to our silliness in the back seat. During a particularly silly moment of silliness I hugged the seat in front of me, and almost immediately a red light on the dashboard began blinking and a little alarm bell started ringing. It quit when I sat back. I was rejected by a car seat! It did not like the hug.
It didn’t take us long to check into the airport hotel; the Palm Restaurant is right next to the hotel and there was a giant, live palm tree in the pool area of the hotel. It grew up three floors so you could see it even from the hallway we walked to get to our room. A ficus tree also grew nearby; also enormous and it had a toy monkey among the branches. Our room was nice; not very big with two beds in it; the sheets were a tasteful multi-colored paisley on an off-white background, and the furniture accents were all light oak or light marble. Tasteful multi-color paisley or not, they were still quite comfortable for the night’s sleep.
7-8-09 ~ Wednesday
We were up at 8:50, and our hotel room came with a free breakfast (limited options) so we took advantage of that. Mrs. Huebschmann left around 10:00 and Katie and I took the airport shuttle at 10:30. Not much terribly interesting at the first part of the airport; the guy who checked our passports at security teased us about our passport photos, but I mostly suspect that was because he was in dire want of something better to do. We took off our shoes and bared the contents of our backpacks for security and passed through just fine. Our flight didn’t leave until 12:45, so we wandered through the airport’s few shops. One of them had those “travel-friendly” crinkle-clothes, including shirts, skirts, and bags. The bags were actually a pretty nifty idea -- packs tiny but expands to a hefty size. Their downside was that they looked rather like a size-‘elephant’ speedo when they weren’t stretched out. Illustrative photos may follow.
The flight was perfectly on time. I hadn’t gotten to be on many planes before now, so the whole take-off experience is still so cool for me! Just the sheer speed the plane goes down the runway; you think for sure you’ll be pressed into your seat for takeoff, but without ever feeling a thing you suddenly see the ground just slope away. The only indicator that we had left the ground was the muted whir of the landing gear retracting. It was really fun to watch the city grow smaller and smaller until the buildings were just grey squares amongst the green and tan landscape and the highways and roads were little more than winding threads. I had no idea it was so marshy and green around the Salt Lake. You’d never know it just from the looks of Salt Lake City when you drive through it.
The two children in the seat across from us and one row back set straight away to expressing themselves as vocally and physically as possible. They must have been around five and eight, old enough to know better. The mother spent the first hour and a half delivering empty ultimatums. At one point the little boy threw his cheetos on the ground and stomped them into the carpet, and the mother did nothing to stop him. It took a little more than an hour and a half of shrieking, squalling, and general babbling for the mother to finally take them to the back of the plane (hopefully for a good wallop, though I highly doubt it…) and the lady in the seat directly in front of them immediately moved to a new seat.
“I just can’t take it any more,” she said as she gathered her stuff. I gave her an air-five. The children were not much better when the mother brought them back. She would hiss some threat at them and the two kids would laugh and laugh. By then the flight was pretty much over, and at the very end the mother let down all pretenses of trying to look good in public and just started yelling at her kids as the rest of the people left the plane.
We arrived at the Chicago airport at 3:45, twenty-five minutes early according to our pilot. The Chicago O’Hare airport is big! While the skies outside were grey and drizzling the inside of the terminal was buzzing with travelers. Katie and I walked all around the airport, venturing into a few interesting shops before searching for something decent and affordable (pick one…) for dinner. Of course everything was overpriced, especially because it was in an airport.
Gate K7 originally said our flight would depart at 6:15, but when we got there it had been pushed to 6:45. We hung out around the gate until 6:30, when the gate attendant let us board the Boeing 747-300 (I remembered that specifically for you). This plane was freaking huge. It had forty-two rows of seats, and in the lower-class area each row had seven seats across (three in the center and two on either side). The plane taxied to the beginning of the runway and sat there for a long time. Then the pilot jammed the throttle forward and we rocketed down the runway, lurching into the air and slicing through the low-lying clouds. I never cease to be amazed by how much we take for granted -- this enormous metal craft, jamb-packed with passengers, still manages to become airborne and carry us all so far away.
A very nice African lady had her two- or three-year-old son sitting in the row behind Katie. Her son was still very young, so it was easier to understand his constant crying. The lady did all she could to help him, checking all his necessities, rocking him and singing softly. The lady next to me was disgusted that the flight crew didn’t offer her a first-class seat to help her out, since she was sitting between two strangers and still trying to calm her child. The lady next to me was named Deb, and though she has cousins in Galway and her grandparents own five pubs there, this was her first time going to Dublin. I inquired about the crop circles book she was reading.
“I’m a very new age person, yeah, and I’m huge into meditating,” she began her explanation. She studies the earth’s energy lines and has been keeping an eye on all the crop circles Europe gets per week (CropCircleConnector.com or something like that?). She said this year has been a banner year for crop circles with an increased number of animal shapes and an impressive one based on the binary system. She mentioned there had been quite a few recent crop circles around the area in London where we’d be staying. She has a friend who had a crop circle appear right next to his house and he meditated inside it. He said “it was a totally trippy experience to meditate inside of a crop circle,” so she was going to try for herself. That’s why she was on this flight.
The lights dimmed at 9:30 and a tv screen showed where our flight was on it’s path. We were over Nova Scotia! Such a bummer it was too dark outside to see the scenery. Katie and I had been forewarned to get some kind of sleep during the flight since we’d be crossing into a totally different time zone, so we pulled out our provided pillows and tried…
Three weeks in Europe!
Katie and I left at the 6:00 in the evening. The drive to Salt Lake City was only five hours and rather pleasant; Katie’s mother, Meredith, drove the whole way, leaving Katie and me to our silliness in the back seat. During a particularly silly moment of silliness I hugged the seat in front of me, and almost immediately a red light on the dashboard began blinking and a little alarm bell started ringing. It quit when I sat back. I was rejected by a car seat! It did not like the hug.
It didn’t take us long to check into the airport hotel; the Palm Restaurant is right next to the hotel and there was a giant, live palm tree in the pool area of the hotel. It grew up three floors so you could see it even from the hallway we walked to get to our room. A ficus tree also grew nearby; also enormous and it had a toy monkey among the branches. Our room was nice; not very big with two beds in it; the sheets were a tasteful multi-colored paisley on an off-white background, and the furniture accents were all light oak or light marble. Tasteful multi-color paisley or not, they were still quite comfortable for the night’s sleep.
7-8-09 ~ Wednesday
We were up at 8:50, and our hotel room came with a free breakfast (limited options) so we took advantage of that. Mrs. Huebschmann left around 10:00 and Katie and I took the airport shuttle at 10:30. Not much terribly interesting at the first part of the airport; the guy who checked our passports at security teased us about our passport photos, but I mostly suspect that was because he was in dire want of something better to do. We took off our shoes and bared the contents of our backpacks for security and passed through just fine. Our flight didn’t leave until 12:45, so we wandered through the airport’s few shops. One of them had those “travel-friendly” crinkle-clothes, including shirts, skirts, and bags. The bags were actually a pretty nifty idea -- packs tiny but expands to a hefty size. Their downside was that they looked rather like a size-‘elephant’ speedo when they weren’t stretched out. Illustrative photos may follow.
The flight was perfectly on time. I hadn’t gotten to be on many planes before now, so the whole take-off experience is still so cool for me! Just the sheer speed the plane goes down the runway; you think for sure you’ll be pressed into your seat for takeoff, but without ever feeling a thing you suddenly see the ground just slope away. The only indicator that we had left the ground was the muted whir of the landing gear retracting. It was really fun to watch the city grow smaller and smaller until the buildings were just grey squares amongst the green and tan landscape and the highways and roads were little more than winding threads. I had no idea it was so marshy and green around the Salt Lake. You’d never know it just from the looks of Salt Lake City when you drive through it.
The two children in the seat across from us and one row back set straight away to expressing themselves as vocally and physically as possible. They must have been around five and eight, old enough to know better. The mother spent the first hour and a half delivering empty ultimatums. At one point the little boy threw his cheetos on the ground and stomped them into the carpet, and the mother did nothing to stop him. It took a little more than an hour and a half of shrieking, squalling, and general babbling for the mother to finally take them to the back of the plane (hopefully for a good wallop, though I highly doubt it…) and the lady in the seat directly in front of them immediately moved to a new seat.
“I just can’t take it any more,” she said as she gathered her stuff. I gave her an air-five. The children were not much better when the mother brought them back. She would hiss some threat at them and the two kids would laugh and laugh. By then the flight was pretty much over, and at the very end the mother let down all pretenses of trying to look good in public and just started yelling at her kids as the rest of the people left the plane.
We arrived at the Chicago airport at 3:45, twenty-five minutes early according to our pilot. The Chicago O’Hare airport is big! While the skies outside were grey and drizzling the inside of the terminal was buzzing with travelers. Katie and I walked all around the airport, venturing into a few interesting shops before searching for something decent and affordable (pick one…) for dinner. Of course everything was overpriced, especially because it was in an airport.
Gate K7 originally said our flight would depart at 6:15, but when we got there it had been pushed to 6:45. We hung out around the gate until 6:30, when the gate attendant let us board the Boeing 747-300 (I remembered that specifically for you). This plane was freaking huge. It had forty-two rows of seats, and in the lower-class area each row had seven seats across (three in the center and two on either side). The plane taxied to the beginning of the runway and sat there for a long time. Then the pilot jammed the throttle forward and we rocketed down the runway, lurching into the air and slicing through the low-lying clouds. I never cease to be amazed by how much we take for granted -- this enormous metal craft, jamb-packed with passengers, still manages to become airborne and carry us all so far away.
A very nice African lady had her two- or three-year-old son sitting in the row behind Katie. Her son was still very young, so it was easier to understand his constant crying. The lady did all she could to help him, checking all his necessities, rocking him and singing softly. The lady next to me was disgusted that the flight crew didn’t offer her a first-class seat to help her out, since she was sitting between two strangers and still trying to calm her child. The lady next to me was named Deb, and though she has cousins in Galway and her grandparents own five pubs there, this was her first time going to Dublin. I inquired about the crop circles book she was reading.
“I’m a very new age person, yeah, and I’m huge into meditating,” she began her explanation. She studies the earth’s energy lines and has been keeping an eye on all the crop circles Europe gets per week (CropCircleConnector.com or something like that?). She said this year has been a banner year for crop circles with an increased number of animal shapes and an impressive one based on the binary system. She mentioned there had been quite a few recent crop circles around the area in London where we’d be staying. She has a friend who had a crop circle appear right next to his house and he meditated inside it. He said “it was a totally trippy experience to meditate inside of a crop circle,” so she was going to try for herself. That’s why she was on this flight.
The lights dimmed at 9:30 and a tv screen showed where our flight was on it’s path. We were over Nova Scotia! Such a bummer it was too dark outside to see the scenery. Katie and I had been forewarned to get some kind of sleep during the flight since we’d be crossing into a totally different time zone, so we pulled out our provided pillows and tried…
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