Ireland 2023

We leave for Ireland on Friday. It's Tuesday now and I already started to pack some things. About half of these things are things that I will actually wear. The other half, I'm not so sure about. I'm going to have to think about these things. These things are going to have to earn their way into my suitcase. 

The smart thing to do would be to bring only the half that I'm certain I'll wear. But I don't always do the smart thing, especially when it comes to packing. I'm a terrible packer. I don't want to overpack but I really really don't want to get across the Atlantic Ocean only to find that I don't have anything to wear; or to discover that the one thing that I really really want to wear is among the things that I left at home in my zeal to avoid overpacking. What I want is to have everything that I truly need and want, and a few nice-to-haves. I'll check Joan Didion's packing list, that's what I'll do. 

*****

Well, I’m glad you asked. Joan Didion’s packing list was almost as famous as Joan Didion. She wrote a list of things to pack for when she had to travel on a moment’s notice (a frequent occurrence) and she taped it to the inside of her closet door. Her list was, of course, spare and elegant, much like herself. Of course she had to lug a typewriter everywhere she went, so she had to keep everything else light. But she probably would have anyway. She’d have always known exactly what to pack and what to leave behind, and she’d never get across an ocean or across town and find that she didn’t have the one thing she needed most. 

I did make a list of all the essentials; and thanks to that list, I won’t leave home without a bathing suit or contact lens solution or sunglasses or a notebook or my Kindle. I’m trying to limit myself to two pairs of shoes. I’m only going to bring two jackets - one rain and one not. I’m going to put all of my lotions and creams and cosmetic items into the TSA-mandated quart-size ziploc bag, and anything that doesn’t fit in that little square of plastic is not getting on the plane with me. But the rest of the clothes? It’s going to take some doing to decide what to take and what to leave behind. 

*****

It’s Thursday night now. Today was my last day of work before the trip. We leave tomorrow. I stopped on my way home to buy some socks and some contact lens solution. The day before a trip is like the day before Christmas. Whatever you need, you’d better have - it’s too late to shop now. I think I have everything I need. Now I just have to work out my carry-on and checked bag strategy. I have a very nice check-in suitcase that is really more than large enough to carry everything I need. I could just hand everything over to the nice Aer Lingus people and breeze on to the plane carrying nothing but a handbag. But I won’t, for two reasons: One, I need to have at least a change of clothes and a jacket and some basic toiletries with me on the plane, in case they lose my suitcase. And two, I need to have a carry-on in case we accumulate stuff when we’re over there, which we’re certain to do. I think that I can pack one or even two very lightweight changes of clothes in my large Le Pliage, and carry that and my handbag onto the plane. My duffle bag can be folded up into my suitcase, and it can become my carry-on for the return trip. I’m sure that Joan Didion would have stuffed everything into a Pan Am shoulder bag and breezed past the baggage check. She’d have handed all of her wrinkled but elegant clothes over to a hotel housekeeper for ironing. She’d never have to figure out what silk blouses and cashmere sweaters and elegant knit jerseys went with which skirt or trousers (she’d have called them trousers) because everything she owned would have worked perfectly with everything else. Well good for you, Joan. It doesn’t work like that for me. 

*****

It’s Friday morning and I’m almost packed. I have room left in both my suitcase and my carry-on, a fact of which I am absurdly proud. Those bags aren’t closed yet, though, so I’ll have to temper my pride. Packing is like anything else - it’s not over until it’s over. 

Our boarding passes are printed and our passports are ready and we have a ride to the airport. My travel wallet is stocked with euros and pounds. We’ll be at the airport three hours early, as recommended for international flights, and then we’ll just hang around, I guess. I like hanging around in an airport. You can wander around the terminal, watch people come and go, listen to the boarding calls for flights all over the world. You can have a snack or a beer, maybe buy a book or some magazines for your flight, or maybe a silly neck pillow or an unnecessary tote bag. The sun (it’s sunny today) will be streaming through the giant windows, and we’ll watch planes take off and land. It’s a pretty good way to spend an afternoon. 

*****

Dublin, 5:30 AM. We had as smooth a flight as anyone could have wished, and now we're standing in the baggage claim at Dublin Airport, waiting for the carousel to start moving. Irish immigration let us breeze into the country with barely a second glance. The immigration officer asked my husband if it was our first visit to Ireland. "First visit for me and my sons," he said. "My wife has been here before." He took each of their passports in turn, saying "Welcome to Ireland" as he stamped the passports. When I handed him my passport, he nodded and smiled. "Ah, there's yourself," he said. I didn't need a "Welcome to Ireland." I had just been away for a bit and was now coming back. 

*****

We collected our bags and walked to the taxi rank, and a minute later we were speeding through early morning Dublin with a taxi driver eager to share stories and advice. "Hear that? Seagulls. That's Dublin."

We arrived at the hotel far too early to get into our rooms so we checked our bags and took a walk. Our hotel is on the canal so we walked the towpath and down Fitzwilliam Place. We returned to the hotel at 7. It was really just midnight DC time but we were all very very tired. It's disorienting to land in a foreign country at 5 AM. Hotel check in is not until 3, and you're still in your rumpled untidy travel clothes, burdened with bags and bundles. My husband is carrying a sweater and some books and a bottle of water in a plastic shopping bag. We have sturdy and presentable canvas and nylon tote bags, too many to count, and my husband is traipsing round Dublin carrying what amounts to a trash bag. That’s himself. 

*****

Last time I was in Ireland, we also landed in Dublin at 5 AM local time, which was midnight my time.  My travel companions spent the morning and early afternoon resting but I found that I couldn't stay still so I took my own private walking tour of Dublin and then returned to the hotel to collect my mother and drag her off to the St. Patrick's Day parade. Trust me, I was doing her a favor. For pretty much my whole life, she'd been talking about going to Ireland someday, and now here she was in Ireland, ON ST. PATRICK'S DAY, and she was reluctant to go to the parade because she didn't think she had the stamina to walk to the parade route and stand and watch. My mom loves St. Patrick's Day, and she loves Irish dancing and music and she loves parades and I knew that she'd regret it for the rest of her life if she missed her one chance to see the Dublin St Patrick's Day parade. So I dragged her out of the hotel and Bataan death marched her to the parade. I told her that she'd thank me later and she did. It was much later, though. 

Later that night I literally fell asleep at the table in a pub. I'd been awake at that point for at least 40 hours and something had to give. 

And I did the very same thing yesterday. We arrived at our hotel at 6 AM, far too early to check in. But kudos to the Dublin Hilton Charlemont Place staff because they took pity on us and got us into one of our two rooms at 8. Maybe they wanted us out of their very nice lobby. We didn't look our best, and we were not very decorative. 

My sons went to sleep immediately, and my husband also went to sleep when we got our second room an hour or so later. And I was profoundly tired but not sleepy at all, so I went out to explore on my own. Which was glorious but a little sad. I walked to MoLI, the Museum of Literature of Ireland, and took pictures of the garden where James Joyce probably wrote something or other. And then I walked through Stephen's Green, filled with picnicking families on a beautiful Saturday. And then I saw a wedding party leaving the Newman Center church, and I felt lonely, out-by-myself-in-a-foreign-country lonely. 

*****

Later that evening, reunited with my family and still wide awake, I suggested a little visit to Sandymount Beach, where we walked on the sea bed at low tide. We collected shells and took photos of the famous Poolbeg chimneys. We had a delicious dinner at a neighborhood pub, and although I managed to stay awake throughout the meal, I fell asleep in a taxi on the way back. When we arrived at the hotel, I got in bed fully clothed and slept the sleep of the dead. I woke up disoriented and confused, not knowing where I was or what time it was. It was 10 PM. I'd been asleep for a little more than two hours. 

*****

My sons and I differ on a crucial point. I believe that Kit Kats in Ireland are far superior to their American counterparts. They assert, wrongly, that the American version, the original, remains the best. My younger son also tried his first Guinness and hated it so much that he was hard pressed to even swallow the first sip. He does, however, acknowledge the superiority of the Irish breakfast, even though he considers grilled tomatoes an abomination. Both boys are enjoying pub dinners and packets of Tayto crisps and Yorkie chocolate bars. Yes we know that there's other food in Ireland. But we're on vacation. 

*****

"Thank you for traveling Iarnrod Eireann." I'm looking forward to hearing this very announcement on board the Irish Rail train to Belfast. Right now we're sitting in the waiting room at Connolly Station, waiting for our train to be called. We're laden with bags and baggage but so is everyone else. We're not the only people who overpacked this week, I tell you what. 

Our taxi driver from our hotel to Connolly gave us a brief overview of the stalemate at Stormont. He blames the DUP, and rightly so because it's their fault. He seemed to think that we, as Americans, couldn't possibly understand anti-democratic obstructionism and bad faith refusal to heed the will of the people. I didn't try to enlighten him. Let these sweet summer children maintain their innocence for as long as possible, that's what I say.  

*****

"What do you call a Northsider in a suit? The accused." A sample Dublin Northsider joke from our Liffey River tour guide, himself a proud Northsider. The boat cruise yesterday afternoon was our last tourist activity in Dublin. The tour guide and the pilot, both working class Dublin men of late middle age, regaled us with running commentary combining comedy, trenchant political observations (they're not fans of the greedy tech and real estate billionaires driving up rents in Dublin) and friendly insults toward each other. The cruise was nice, and those guys were hilarious. 

*****

I don't even know where I am right now. I'm on a tour bus, somewhere north of Belfast, driving on the left side of the road on a motorway with directional signs in blue. We're passing through a very cultivated area, prosperous looking farmland and houses surrounded by low brick walls or neat hedgerows. There are wind turbines at regular intervals. It's green and pretty, but tame. 

We arrived in Belfast yesterday and after settling into our hotel (when we called to report that our rooms appeared to be without electricity, the front desk person said "Aye, do ye have your wee room key, then? Just pop it into the wee slot by the door, then. Did that work, aye? There ye go.") We then set out by taxi to meet James, our tour guide, for a walking tour of West Belfast. We met at the infamous Divis Tower, now just an ordinary residential tower, and spent the next two and a half hours walking the Falls Road and the Shankill Road, taking photos and listening to stories and trying to make some sense of the Troubles. If you have trouble understanding how the United States is so divided and how people in the same family or the same neighborhood can have such differing political views, just visit the Falls Road and read the murals and signs, and then walk through the peace gate to the Shankill Road just steps on the other side and read their murals and signs and you will see how 180 degree opposition can exist in very close quarters, and how two very similarly situated groups of people can see things completely differently from one another. The Troubles are still not really over in Ireland and I'm afraid they're just beginning in the United States.

*****

Yesterday's tour bus took us to the Giant's Causeway, an astonishingly beautiful natural landmark on the Northern Irish coast. It wasn't part of our original plan because we were only two days in Belfast but enough people told us that we should try to see it that we rearranged our plans, and I'm happy we did. 

I toured the Ring of Kerry in 2019, and it was also beautiful. But it can't touch the Giant's Causeway, so much wilder and more remote. The northern coast of Ireland feels like the end of the world. The light and the air are incomparable. The high green cliffs surround you at Giant's Causeway and the rock formations form little pools in the Irish Sea and you can step out onto the hexagonal basalt Causeway and feel surrounded by cliffs and sky and sea and nothing else. 

There are lots of good things about a bus tour. It's easy, especially in Ireland if you don't want to try to drive on the wrong side of the road, and we don't. It's fun to ride on a great big motor coach, and kudos to our driver, Anil, who maneuvered that giant bus up and down very narrow winding roads, especially in beautiful Ballintoy (the northernmost settlement in Northern Ireland, from where you can see Scotland on a clear day). If you have a good tour guide, the ride can be very entertaining (our guide, an American expat, was fine, but other than the legend of Finn McCool, she didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know).  

The bad thing about a bus tour, of course, is that you have to go where they go, and adhere to their timetable. This means that we wasted half an hour at Dark Hedges to indulge the weirdo Game of Thrones contingent, when we would all have to rather spent a little more time at the Causeway, or at the beautiful lookout point at Ballintoy, looking at Sheep Island and Carrick a Rede and Scotland in the distance, and breathing that perfect air. I'll plan better next time. 

*****

It could rain anytime in Ireland. I checked the weather forecast every day in the week leading up to our trip, and rain was forecast for almost every day. We had a few drops of rain on Tuesday afternoon doing our Belfast walking tour, and a few drops on Thursday afternoon but other than those brief light showers, we've had clear bright sunshine all week. But good luck runs out eventually, and it's wet and gloomy here on our very last day. 

We're on a DART train from Dun Laoghaire to Howth. My original plan had us on a Dublin Bay cruise to Howth with the return trip by train but the tour company cancelled the cruise because of the weather. It's really not bad out and I suspected that the cancellation decision was based on economics rather than safety but the route to Howth runs right along the bay shore and the water looks choppy and rough so maybe that was the right call. What do I know?

My older son, who is very politically aware and engaged, is passionate about public transportation. I share his belief in its importance but I grew up riding subways and trolleys and buses, so I don't romanticize it as he does. But I have definitely enjoyed the freedom of jumping on a DART train or the Dublin Luas or a Belfast city bus and going wherever we want to go, pretty quickly and cheaply. It reminds me of when I was young. 

Between public transportation, including train travel between Dublin and Belfast, and 7 to 12 miles of walking every day, we've seen quite a bit. It's been a good, full week, with no wasted time. Our hotel here in Dun Laoghaire has a very warm indoor heated pool and spa. My younger son and I went to swim last evening and were greeted by the young man who runs the hotel's fitness center, which also caters to local members. "Aye, staying in the hotel then?" I said yes and gave him our room numbers.

"Grand," he said, handing us our towels. "And do ye have your swimming hats?" I did not have a swimming hat, nor had I ever heard a swim cap referred to as a swimming hat. My son is a competitive swimmer who owns no fewer than 50 caps, but he didn't have one either. Six euros later, we were both outfitted with stretchy red nylon swimming hats, and we spent a lovely 45 minutes swimming. Six euros well spent. We'll swim again this evening and when they ask me if we have our swimming hats, I'll wave my little red nylon cap and say "indeed we do."

*****

In Ireland, a blustery day is a lovely day, and we had a great time in Howth, gray and windy and damp but not wet, the silvery gray sky blending with the lead gray water of the harbor and bay. The weather didn't scare us, and it didn't scare anyone else either - Howth was lively yesterday. We walked along the piers and waterfront, taking photos and watching boats and looking for seals. There were seals everywhere, popping up out of the water for air and then diving back down for fish. Very entertaining animals. We had a late lunch and a pint in a little harborside pub, and then rode the DART back through the center of Dublin to Dun Laoghaire. The real weather didn't start until we were walking back into our hotel. Storm Betty dumped a ton of rain on southeastern Ireland overnight, and the rain was accompanied by high winds. The hotel room windows are designed so that you can keep them open in the rain (like many hotels in Ireland, this one doesn't have air conditioned rooms) and we laid in bed listening to the rain and wind. I woke up at 2:30 and the wind and rain were still going full force. But this morning, the sun is shining and the pavement is almost dry, thanks to the wind. There's a rainbow over the Wicklow Mountains, a nice Saturday morning view from our hotel room. It's almost time for our last Irish breakfast and our last look around the hotel room. Aer Lingus to Dulles this afternoon. 

*****

It’s Sunday now. I felt a little blue yesterday as we waited for boarding. The trip that I planned so carefully and looked forward to for months was over in a heartbeat, and my son is leaving for college in just a few days. I’m trying not to think too much about that. But it’s a sunny Sunday morning now, and I’m almost finished with laundry and unpacking, though it’s only 10:15. After Mass, I’ll restock the refrigerator and the pantry, pay some bills, and go swimming. I have no idea what the weather was like in Maryland last week, so I have no idea what the pool water temperature will be like. I’m just glad I don’t have to wear my little red swimming hat. 

Our trip home was almost completely uneventful. When we boarded the plane, I noticed that almost none of the crew were wearing Aer Lingus uniforms and I worried for a moment that there’d been a mix-up that put us on the wrong plane. And then an Aer Lingus representative announced that the Aer Lingus crew were not available and that the flight would be run by another European airline, with herself on board to represent Aer Lingus, and I worried for a moment that “unavailable” was secret code for “bound and gagged and held hostage in an undisclosed location” and that we were about to be hijacked. The 30-minute delay on the tarmac was not reassuring on that count. But the plane took off smoothly in due course, and thanks to favorable wind conditions, we landed 30 minutes earlier than scheduled, despite the delay in departing. We exited the plane, proceeded to baggage claim, and waited, looking around to see if anyone else smelled the smoke. And they did, and people started to murmur, and then all of a sudden an airport representative was walking through the baggage claim area, yelling at everyone to exit the building, which was on fire. And we were a little concerned, but we also wanted our bags. And so did everyone else on Aer Lingus EI119 from Dublin. We chatted among ourselves. There was an exit door right next to the carousel. It couldn’t be more than five minutes or so before our bags would arrive, and we could get out quickly. We stood still and waited. 

The PA system began broadcasting the evacuation order, and the airport representative walked past us again, and ordered us out, but she didn’t do anything to force us to leave. So we kept waiting. We could definitely smell smoke now, and could see it too, and we decided that we’d wait no more than two additional minutes, and then we’d abandon our luggage and go. My suitcase dropped just at that moment, and a minute later our other suitcase appeared, and we got out, probably just in time. I don’t think the fire was bad - local news wasn’t even covering it - but emergency vehicles were arriving and we’d have had a hard time getting out of the airport even two minutes later. 

Yeah, we’re eejits, I know. But we’re eejits who don’t have to return to Dulles Airport today to retrieve our bags, so it’s all good. All’s well that ends well. Our trip was perfect, and it ended well.