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.