Ireland! The Great Saga Begins…

I am back from Ireland, and I have loads of trip details to share. So, hang onto your pie pan hats, grab your mug of Guinness or my preference Bulmer’s Cider, and I’ll share with you the tales from Eire. This will take a while, so hopefully I won’t bore you!

The trip started out with Michelle’s Typical Luck. Our flight to Boston was delayed…and delayed again…and delayed again. Would we even make the Boston to Ireland leg? It wasn’t looking good. The flight left at 9:15, and here it was, 7:00 and we weren’t going. At 7:45, we were sitting on the runway, and I knew that even if we somehow, by a miracle of God, made it to the plane, our luggage wouldn’t. Luckily, we packed out toiletries and a spare change of clothes in our carryon bags.

At 8:45, we landed in Boston and sat on the runway. Again. Finally, we made it off the plane and we were running top speed toward our gate, tossing little old ladies and strollers out of our way…only to hit another security checkpoint. :blahblah: As luck would have it, the man decided that I apparently was suspicious-looking, and began searching my carryon bag. He even unscrewed my lipstick in my make-up bag. Normally I would not have a problem with this, but it was now 9:05 and our flight was due to leave in…oh…ten minutes. And my husband’s father was waiting alone on us. Not good.

Finally, the man decided that I was not going to be a threat to the flight (although I was shooting him death looks for holding us up), and let us go. Literally, we were the last ones on the plane. They practically closed the doors behind us. But we made it. And this time, I paid attention to the safety information given out by the stewardess. ‘Cause you never know when the plane will suddenly lose pressure, oxygen masks will descend, and you can’t figure out how to get the freaking things out of the plastic containers.

Fortunately, we arrived safely in Shannon. As predicted, our luggage didn’t. My husband swears I’m cursed. Out of the three times he’s been overseas, they’ve lost the luggage twice. Both times he was with me. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had my luggage arrive with me, and being a military brat, I’ve done my share of overseas travel. Sadly, I believe he’s right about my luggage-jinxing skills. This wouldn’t be a big deal if we were planning to stay in one area for a few days, but they advised us to give them the address for the following day since there weren’t any more U.S. flights arriving that day. Lovely. But, we made our way to the ATM machine to pick up some Euros (ATMs are the best way to get cash, I swear) and then off to the Car Rental area. We basked in the blissful 60-degree Fahrenheit weather…ah…bliss! After enduring 90-100 degree weather in the States, I was thrilled to actually wear a windbreaker. There’s something to be said about going to a higher latitude country during the hottest part of summer. :headspin:

The Great Car Rental experience turned out to be more like the Car Rental Circus because the woman kept trying to upgrade our cars, get us to buy theft insurance, etc. We had to pay through the nose just to get an automatic transmission car, and then extra money on insurance because for whatever reason, American car insurance companies will not cover you in Ireland. Apparently it’s the second most dangerous country to drive in. Who knew?

When we picked up our lovely little Nissan Piece o’ Junk, I promptly handed the keys to my husband and said, “You’re driving.” Driving on the left hand side of the road doesn’t bug me. But the idea of sitting on the right hand side of the car as the driver’s seat, with everything completely backwards, was just too much to ask when you’ve been up for 24 hours straight. God love my husband, he agreed.

The Irish must be accustomed to people being weirded out by driving on the left, because they have huge signs that say “Drive on the Left” and “No, the Other Side, you Moron.” Okay, so maybe not the second one, but the painted arrows and words directly on the road are quite helpful. The round-abouts also have arrows pointing which way to go. Even still, we were grateful to only have a 15-minute drive to Bunratty Castle, our first destination. They really mess with your mind, I must say. They make you think that all roads in Ireland are nice little 2-lane highways, comfortably wide, and with well-marked signs. Then, you take your exit, and all bets are off.

In towns, people park on both sides of the road, leaving you exactly one-and-a-half car widths to drive down. And of course, you will have someone coming the other way at 100 km/p/h, and you simply cover your face and think, “I’d really rather not die now.” It’s quite the adrenaline rush. More on that later.

And to leave on a little cliffhanger, as all good authors should, we arrived at our bed and breakfast and our hostess greeted us with, “I’m so sorry, I have to leave, I have an emergency.” (To be continued….)

How about you? Ever have any near-disaster or truly disastrous traveling days?