On August 1, 2018 I boarded a flight at Stewart International Airport in New Windsor, New York to fly to Dublin. The flight was scheduled to leave at 9:00 P.M. but was delayed until 11:30 P.M. I wasn’t troubled by the delay because I realized that it would arrive in Dublin at a more suitable hour than dawn.
One thing I have learned about the airline industry, both international and domestic, is that the airlines are the only industry that is convinced that people are getting smaller.
After storing my backpack in the luggage bin, I wedged myself into my seat, tilted the seat back and closed my eyes confident that I would wake up as we descended into Dublin. The lights in the cabin were dimmed and I began to doze off. I was asleep for about a half an hour, when the lights were turned up and the flight crew made an announcement that they would begin serving the meals that passengers had ordered. That would keep me awake for another couple of hours.
One of the things that has changed dramatically during my lifetime is the convenience and comfort of air travel. When I flew from Syracuse to Knoxville Tennessee half a century ago to attend the University of Tennessee, air travel was elegant. Full meals were served along with a complimentary beer, wine or cocktail and the seats had more than ample leg room. Now, every foot of space is utilized to jam as many passengers into ever shrinking seats and every service is offered at a price ala carte. I predict that we are less than a decade away from the airlines perfecting a way to meter the air you breathe during the flight and it will be an additional charge on the price of the ticket.
A decade ago I had my right knee replaced and it didn’t take long for my knee and leg to stiffen in the cramped seating space. The only relief was from getting up and walking the length of the plane periodically down the aisle that could barely accommodate one person let alone two. All night long passengers squeezed past one another, brushing up against seated sleeping passengers with apologies. Needless to say the flight was neither comfortable nor restful.
Once the dinner was served and the trays collected, I did manage to get a few hours of sleep. I awoke at approximately 7:00 A.M. and was able to look out the window as we passed over the west coast of Ireland. I was as struck by the lush greenery that covers the whole island as when I first viewed almost two decades before.
The Dublin Airport had grown considerably and been modernized in the twenty years since I had last visited. I retrieved my suitcase from baggage claim and decided it would be wise to have a couple of cups of coffee before attempting to drive into Dublin, where you drive on the left side of the road and the steering wheel is on the right side of the car.
The first time I had visited Dublin, I was in a car with my wife Terri and her friend Mary Beth. Like this trip we had been on a flight that landed in the early morning. Bleary eyed, I tried to adapt to driving on the left side of the road and the right side steering wheel. The roads were narrow and every time we went around a curve the bushes would brush the left side of the car eliciting screams from my passengers. I tried to shrug off, what I perceived as needless hysteria, when I rounded a curve and sheared off the left-side passenger mirror on the side of a beer truck that was partially out in the road. My passengers let out a scream and dove into the rear seat with their coats over the heads. I got out and picked up the mirror and put it on the floor of the front of the car. “Are you going to call the police?” Mary Beth inquired. “Are you kidding me?” I responded, “who do you think is going to be found at fault for this?” We drove on and for the next several days I endured the shrieking that accompanied my driving.
We were coming out of Mass in Kinsale, a city with very narrow streets, when I tossed Marybeth the car keys and remarked, “I’m kind of tired of driving, why don’t you get us back to the B&B.” She climbed behind the wheel and drove about fifty yards, stopped and said,” I can’t do this.” “How about you Terri,” I said to my wife. “There is no way I can do it,” she said. We sat there for a few minutes and I said, “I don’t know how we’re going to get back then.” “Can’t you get us back?” Terri said. “You want me to drive?” I said incredulously. “Yes,” they both replied. “Okay, I responded, “I’ll do it on one condition. I don’t want to hear a sound for the rest of the trip about my driving from the rear seat.” With that understanding, we had a pleasant drive back to the B&B.
On my next trip to Ireland with my daughters, six months later, I discovered that the ability to drive on the left side with the steering wheel on the right, came back to me right away. My daughter, Meghan, who was nineteen at the time, also mastered it. Notwithstanding this, since it had been twenty years and I was older, so I was apprehensive about trying it in Dublin in midday. I needn’t have worried, it came back like riding a bicycle.
I don’t mean to suggest that driving in Dublin was easy. Like all of the cities, town and villages in Ireland, the streets are narrow and can be confusing. In some cases, the streets will intersect with another without any clear sign of where on ends and the other begins. It is not hard to get lost. Anticipating this, I had purchased an app for my cell phone called “Google Ireland” that was advertised as providing directions throughout the country. It would prove to be the most useless tool I ever purchased. As I drove to my hotel, jetlagged and all, the app never made a sound. I was relegated to driving through the city, while glancing at the screen to see if I was going in the right direction. Like a blind squirrel finding an acorn, I eventually found the hotel. I checked in and decided to go out for a walk to see if I could acclimate to Dublin time.
Dublin has metamorphosed into one of the most cosmopolitan, cultured cities in the world. It has a rich and diverse citizenry. The streets are filled with immigrant people dressed in their native garb. You can hear any language being spoken and find any cuisine. If you were to close your eyes and listen to the streets, you might think you were in New York City. Unlike Trump’s America, the immigrant population is welcomed, if not celebrated. I suspect that the reason for that is because throughout the past couple of centuries, other nations welcomed the Irish fleeing oppression and famine.
I checked into my hotel and immediately went out for a walk to stay awake, avoid jet lag and try to adapt to the new time zone.
Almost immediately I came across “The castle Lounge operated by J .Grogan.” Since one of my closest friends is Mike Grogan, I took this as a sign from God that I should have a pint. I went inside, ordered a pint of Harp and stuck up a conversation with the bartender. When he learned that I would be traveling to Northern Ireland he asked if I was going to attempt to cross the rope bridge at the Giants Causeway. It was the first time but not the last that I would hear about the Giants Causeway. At that point, the Giants causeway was not part of my itinerary and not being crazy about heights, I doubted the rope bridge would be added to it.
After leaving Grogan’s I walked through the neighborhood enjoying the scenery, sounds and the lyrical lilt of the Irish brogues. I ate dinner outside at an excellent Indian restaurant and decided to call it a night.
As I was checking out the next morning, the clerk inquired about my next destination? “Enniskillen,” I responded. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “If you think people are friendly here, wait until you meet the people there.” I would happily discover that she was right. To be continued.