It’s true. I traveled to Ireland. It was a quick trip. Maybe that’s why I’m still pinching myself. But which photos and details to share with you? I guess I’ll just start and you can come along if you’re feeling up for the ride.
I had spent a night in the Málaga airport and my friend had spent a night on her trans-Atlantic flight. So by the time we met up in the Dublin airport, it was obvious we were both running on adrenaline fumes. We tracked down transit cards and found the proper bus. Were we really in Ireland? Really?
Coming from an unseasonably warm Spain, I was soon chilled to the bone and thankful for every article of clothing I had packed… although most of them were still in my suitcase getting damp as we galivanted through puddles. I kept exclaiming about the green! the leaves! the peaked roofs! But where were the crosswalks? We made a dash across a busy street, our suitcases rattling frantically behind us.
Our airbnb host greeted us at the door with: “What are you doing out in such deplorable weather?” or something to that effect. We dripped our way into his entryway, grateful that he was kind enough to let us deposit our luggage at 11 a.m. We padded ourselves with extra layers and rain gear and then tromped back outside, in search of a place to eat. I whipped out my handy-dandy umbrella, only to have a gale turn it inside out two seconds later.
Instead of a cozy little pub with meaty stew, we found a shopping center. Hunger was morphing into hanger so we set aside expectations and splashed into a Steak ‘n’ Shake, or at least the Irish version of it. Oh well. Next time.
It took our tired brains a bit to realize that we would have to wait for the bus on the left side of the street. (That took some getting used to; in fact, I never really got used to it. I definitely did more than one double-take at a child sitting in what I mistook for the driver’s seat of a passing car.)
Our first tourist activity was the Glasnevin Cemetery. Yes, it does sound morbid. But this particular friend and I love visiting cemeteries. Perhaps it’s an introvert thing: hanging out in a crowd full of silent people. This particular cemetery offers tours, but we were too brain-dead to be able to retain information. So we strolled and strolled.
Under the walkway of yew trees, we let the carpet of supple red berries pop under our boots. The rain had stopped and gusts of wind caught the damp golden leaves and sent them twirling ahead of us. Wind chimes in a tree above a gravestone sang a tune of both mourning and joy.
We meandered through the National Botanical Gardens and into a steaming greenhouse full of tropical plants. Coming in from the outside chill, my camera lens promptly fogged and stayed foggy for the duration of our visit. The air was muggy and oxygen-rich.
We stopped at a bakery for a cuppa and pastries and we discussed how early we could logically go to bed. Eight? When we got back to the airbnb, we rolled around the idea of seven instead. Indeed, we were getting ready for bed about the time the other guests were heading out for a night on the town.
Well, I’ll write more another day. Stay tuned for part 2.