Dun Dun Dún

My last few days in Ireland were very busy filled with writing essays, which I hadn’t really had to do for eight months, Christmas shopping, and attempting to do everything I hadn’t done yet in Ireland.

On my last Thursday, I to the DART train to Dún Laoghaire (pronounced Dun Leary), a pretty little port town 20 minutes south of Dublin.  The goals of this trip were to see Dun Laoghaire, take some pictures, and try to find my Dad something “older than America”, which was his request for a Christmas present.  Brooke went with me and we took some fun pictures on the pier, but it was windy and absolutely freezing.  So picture taking didn’t last very long.

Windy Medusa hair

Best picture of the day: crown of thorns

We ran into the town and looked around the main street.  It was full of the Irish standard locksmith-shoe repair combination stores, but all the antique stores were just jewelry stores, so no luck finding anything.  Then it started to rain, and Brooke and I ran into a fish and chips restaurant so I could have my last dish of delicious, seaside Irish fish and chips.  They were scrumptious of course.  For some reason the restaurant was completely empty and it played absurd music, though I can’t remember exactly what.  It was probably just standard pop music, like Backstreet Boys or something.

Massive pigeons.  Dun Laoghaire, like everything else in Ireland, is clearly built for defense.

Midday traffice jam, life-size suspended sleigh decorations.

We went to the Dún Laoghaire mall after that and there was some kind of choral group with dogs, which was nice.  Why they were caroling at 1 pm on a Thursday was beyond me, but the dogs were cute. We still didn’t get anything, but we had fun.  Then we left the mall and of course there was a traffic jam at 2 pm because no one works.  It didn’t matter of course because we were taking a train.  Again it was freezing, so we scurried back to the station and went back to Dublin, concluding my last day trip in Ireland.

Keeping the Faith: The Somewhat Harrowing Journey Home

My flight home was really easy, simple, and lucky compared with the flights of pretty much anyone else attempting to leave the European continent.  Bear this in mind.  I was extremely grateful to be able to leave the day I planned six months earlier and to arrive with all of my things.  Here’s how my venture went:

I was up until 3:30 miraculously packing my belongings into two large bags, a carry on, and my backpack.  The bags could only be 50 lbs since there was no way I was paying the 175 euro overweight charge.  It had started to snow Monday evening at 4:05, and had been snowing buckets ever since. (I know because as I walked back from lunch at 4 it wasn’t snowing and when I went out to do some shopping at 4:15 there was already nearly half an inch on the ground.)  The airport had been shut down pretty much all day Tuesday and most of Monday night.   So when it continued to snow late into Tuesday night I was freaking out a little (hence the facebook statuses, if you caught them, which mirrored me screaming out my window at the snow to stop.)  I also spent 45 minutes on the phone calling 25 cab companies trying to get someone to come at 6:20 in the morning to take my friend Matt and I to the airport.  Most didn’t pick up, some were all booked, others wouldn’t “go that far south” (we live in the heart of Dublin),  but recommended companies who wouldn’t take any reservations because it might be icy the next morning.  Finally I found one online form, filled it out and crossed my fingers.

I finally finished packing, vacuumed and dusted my room, and went to bed for an hour and a half.  I woke up at 5:00 to finish cleaning and throw away my duvet and sheets and check online one last time to make sure my flight wasn’t canceled.  I also called the cab company for which I had completed the online form to confirm the reservation.  Incidentally, the night before they had said they were not taking any reservations.  When I called at 5:50, they had no record of the reservation and were all booked.  I tried the other numbers of companies I had that I knew would serve the area and they were all booked.  Lucky me.  So I decided we’d chance it and was about to take out the trash when I received a surprise call at 6:15 from a cab driver asking where exactly I was.  I hurried to take my stuff out (Matt was already there and ready) and packed the cab to the brim.  The guy way overcharged us – it ended up being 28 or 29 euro – but I guess it was icy and snowy to be fair, so he had to drive slowly, and we had a ton of luggage between the two of us. Ordinarily it’s around 20 to get to the airport. Whatever, all I cared about was getting there and getting on a plane.  So I get to the airport super early and it is packed with people.  It’s not even 7 am and the queues for the airline ticket booths were massive because everyone was still trying to reschedule from the day before.  Matt said that when he was in line to check in, an airline employee was walking around offering $600 to anyone who would fly home on Christmas Eve instead.  With all the snow and uncertain weather it was a hard sell.

At least checking in was a breeze.  One of my bags was a little overweight, but the very nice lady did not charge me.  I turned in my VAT receipts, had breakfast, and then enjoyed a half pint of Kilkenny before going through the Customs passport control even though it was 8:40. It was the last drink I would be able to buy myself for a year, last Kilkenny I could have for a while, and my flight still wasn’t supposed to leave for another 2 hours.   Passport control/customs wasn’t difficult, but once you got passed that, the four gates they had for flights going to America were packed.  All the seats were taken so people were sitting all over the floor and everyone was anticipating delays.

My 10:45 flight started boarding at 11, which I didn’t think was bad at all.  Then I saw the plane.  The wings were coated in inches of snow and ice, since the plane had apparently been sitting in the snowstorm since Monday night. 

Then came the comic relief.  In true Dublin fashion, two airport employees broke out their sweeper and attempted to sweep the snow and ice off the wing.  They broke the broom on the first sweep.  We sat there for an hour waiting for the real de-icing people to get there.  That group had some high-powered hot water hose, and it took two hours to clear the plane.  After three hours, we were finally ready to go, meanwhile we had been getting 20 minute and half hour departure estimations from the pilot (only relaying what he was being told) and water from the flight crew.  And then, before we even push back from the gates, out the window it is snowing.  The girl next to me had been trying to fly home to Toronto the day before and had only just got on our flight on standby, so she’d had a really rough day Tuesday as a result of the snow.  Looking out the window, both of us were on the verge of tears.  Thankfully, she was rationalizing out loud that as long as we got up before it stuck to the ground, we could fly.  Every person on that plane was just thinking get me to America.

The snow was brief and we pushed back and went over to the runway and they turned the engines on for twenty minutes.  I’ve never been on a flight where they let the engines run that long before sending taking off, so obviously everyone begin to think something was seriously wrong with the plane.  They revved the engines and they sputtered.  This was not a good omen for an overseas flight. 

The flight finally took off with the plane thankfully intact three hours late, and we flew over beautifully snowy Ireland but like everyone else on the flight, I was so relieved to get off the snow-crippled European continent.  The plane didn’t have individual televisions which made the seven hour flight seem so much longer, plus they only played one movie (the new Karate Kid) on the large TVs in aisle, and then bad TV shows. The flight attendants brought food and drinks every hour, on the hour trying to calm all the people missing connections and to keep people from getting angry.  It was the most food I’ve ever had on a flight and I’m pretty sure they gave out everything they had. I had a pasta lunch, three sodas, three or four waters, pizza, ice cream, pretzels, and I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting.

I flew into JFK and the flight was 2.5 hours late, but it took an hour to unload the luggage.  By the time I got through baggage control it was 5 pm EST (10 pm Irish time).  Of course it took 20 minutes to find Dad and Chelsea.  Having only had 1.5 hours of sleep, I fell asleep on the drive and got home around 8, completely out of it.  But I'd made it home.

Barcelona Parte II: running through churches and strolling through parks

On our second day, we woke up early and set out for La Sagrada Familia, a Gaudí church that was started in 1882 and is still under construction.  I think their goal is to finish it by 1926, the centenary anniversary of Gaudí's death.  It's this spectacular cathedral in downtown Barcelona that's really popular so that's why we had to go early.  Luckily for us they had recently finished the ceiling so there was something we could see. However,  there was still a lot of construction taking place around us.  The builidng is surrounded by cranes and there was a man drilling into the floor in the middle of all the tourists. 

Under construction, dun dun dun. 

Between you and me, this chuch is never getting finished.  125 years of labor and they just put the ceiling up.

The ceiling was somehow designed with hanging balloons and string.  No wonder it took so long.

 I really like the weird style of art and the prickly evil soldier characters.

For some reason I was the only one of the eight of us who purchased a ticket for the lift up one of the towers.  It was only 1.5 or maybe 2 euro, but it was definitely worth it.  Though it was a little frightening that no one at the top of the tower spoke English and I was by myself, it was so cool.  I could see all around the city and the mosaic details of the towers.   But it was all pretty exposed, which was a little startling.  And I am pretty afraid of heights.  I also didn't understand that you could walk down, and looking down the towers was terrifying.

 View from the top

 Scary view down the tower

After the cathedral and lunch, Kayla joined us and we went to meet Sophie.  Both didn't want to get up quite at the crack of dawn (8 am) and so we met up with Sophie at the Plaza Catalunya.  Got out for a quick bunch of photos, then somehow ended up walking through the Gothic Quarter again, this time in search of a bank for people to convert money. 

In the Gothic Quarter, we passed by the Cathedral del Mar/Catedral Barcelona, etc, a stunning cathedral with three or four names.  It was undergoing renovations on the outside, but the inside was beautiful.  It's probably the prettiest church I've ever seen and trust me, I am super churched out. Plus it felt and smelled like a real church which is always a really good thing.  It also had an attached courtyard with statues, fountains, memorials, palm trees, and geese.  I think it cost 5 euro, so again I was the only one to go in and I did a really quick spin through because everyone was waiting.

Palm trees in the churchyard!

We then got smoothies.  Even though my feet were already killing me, I decided to go to Park Güell with Noelle, Kayla, Erin, Helen, and Sophie (and maybe Christian? I can't remember).  anyway, so we get off the metro and the hill up is unfathomably steep.  So steep, the city had graciously installed a series of six or seven escalators to make it more manageable to get to the base of the hill.  Once there, we had to climb a steep dirt hill all without the aid of modern technology.  We went to this hill with three crosses.  I'm not sure what it's called, but the little platform the giant crosses were on was packed with people and there were two narrow sets of rocky, uneven stairs that curved around the sides of the circular base.  Because the hand railing started even with the floor level of the platform.  Noelle and I were both wearing heeled boots and did not want to die.  In order to avoid this fate, Noelle brilliantly sat down and we scooted down to the third step.  And thus we avoided untimely deaths.

You can click to enlarge these.  The first is the best attempt to photograph the series of escalators, but the steepness of the hill imepedes that as well.  The second is not my picture, but the hill with crosses that was filled with people when we visisted.

Then we walked up another hill to the main drag of Park Güell which had Gaudí's pretty pink house, a dragon fountain, spectacular mosaic benches, and giant gingerbread-styled houses.  It was all designed by Gaudí and was super cool. But my feet were ready to fall off. 

After enjoying the sights we trudged slowly down the infinite path to the metro which never seemed to get any closer.  Finally we made it back to the hostel and everyone collapsed and napped until it was time for dinner.  We'd made reservations the night before for the ten of us near Casa Batlló called Citrus. There I had an incredibly delicious albeit small portion of seafood paella, granted I was splitting it because I wasn't that hungry.  I think I then had some flan.

We went to a beer garden and then out to a club that was alright, but really not that exciting.  I had to go at 3:15 anyway, because I had to leave at 5:45 for my flight the next morning.  I think I only got an hour of sleep, but I also slept on the plane and for six or seven hours after I got back to Dublin, which was covered in snow.  That was my day and a half in Barcelona, a whirlwind tour which was a lot of fun, but I think I need to go back again soon to finish seeing things and eat more paella.

Barcelona Part I: el primer día en España/Espanya

Though I’ve been told not arriving late is highly unusual, I landed in Barcelona over an hour early by virtue of a favorable tailwind.  The line for passport control quickly made up for any gained time.  Barcelona is beautiful and sunny even in early winter.  The flight was actually really pretty, going over the Alps and especially flying over the gorgeous Spanish coast with the sunlight sparkling on the water.

View of Barcelona from the hills

It wasn’t that warm, but like going somewhere cooler than Florida in the middle of winter.  It was sunny and bright and there were palm trees at the airport and this time they didn’t seem completely out of place.   I took the bus to the city and wound my way to the hostel which was pretty nice for a hostel.  I was waiting for two of my friends who were already in the city to meet me, but I was starving since by this time it was nearly 2:30 and my flight had departed at 10, so I’d only had an early breakfast.

Statue at the intersection near the hostel.  Instead of being square, the intersections were all octagonal even though they were still ordinary 4-way intersections I guess to facilitate turning.  It's an interesting aesthetic.

When Noelle and Kayla arrived, we walked to a square to find something to eat.  They wanted to go to a sushi buffet, so I grabbed a sandwich and joined them.  I ordered water at the restaurant (which you have to pay for) and ate my sandwich (which is fine in Barcelona).  However, the lousy waitress who abandoned us after taking our order determined, without asking us, I wanted the buffet too.  Mid-sandwich, the head waiter came over to me and explained in Spanish that I’d been charged 10 or 12 euro for the buffet.  Since I was clearly not partaking in the buffet, I carefully explained that the lousy waitress had never asked us, had abandoned us, and that obviously I was eating a sandwich and was not going to pay for the buffet.  So we argued and turned to arguing in English and eventually he agreed to remove the charge.  The food wasn’t very good according to Noelle and Kayla and some of the sushi had a greenish tinge.  They also had problems with contradicting claims from the staff and they’re nearly fluent in Spanish so there it was not an issue of misunderstanding.

The annoying thing about Barcelona is they speak Catalan instead of Spanish, which is almost the same except different.  Meaning 5 years of Spanish is as helpful as it should be for me to visit Spain.  It meant that spellings of words and things were funky more so than causing speaking difficulties. For instance, parking was 'parquing'.  They're also not super nice to you in Barcelona, and I think I'm just spoiled by Ireland and Belgium, but maybe it was just the people I encountered. 

After the rough patch at the sushi place, we took a stroll along the marina.  It was beautiful and you could almost see the sunset.  It was the first time in a month or so I had been somewhere that wasn’t overcast in the evening and wasn’t in the middle of a city, so I could see the sky change color and the light change.  After our promenade, we went to the edge of La Rambla, a wide pedestrian street usually covered with stands and street performers in the middle of the day.  We just covered the edge of it, but it was pretty dead because it was dark.

No seals :(

 Weird giant modern art

We then ambled around the Gothic Quarter and took the most confounded root to find the Picasso Museum.  We were following street signs which took us down rather narrow and twisty alleyways.  After venturing through these well-lit, though deserted alleyways, we found the museum which was really cool.  It had a lot of Picasso of course and it also had a pretty neat exhibit comparing works of Degas with similar ones by Picasso.  On our way back, which somehow involved much fewer alleys, we stopped for gelato and coffee and then wound our way back to the hostel.

Fountain in a plaza we walked through.  Coincidentally, this is the same fountain featured in those anooying camera commericals about recreating a picture, but this plaza is really central and not hard to locate.

 Intensely graffitti-ed  doors on the way to the Picasso Museum.

 A statue on a fancy building we passed.

This is the display of some toy store we walked by.  I really liked that the fat Santa rides on a reindeer to deliver the presents.

We were waiting for a large contingent of our party from Scotland to arrive. They were supposed to be in around nine but still weren’t there.  Kayla, Noelle, and I walked over to Casa Batlló to kill time.  Casa Batlló is a house designed by Gaudí, a really famous architect who designed other houses, parks, and a cathedral we visited the next day.  You can see he has a really interesting style.   Naturally, we had an animal-themed Christmas photo shoot.

(Sharks)

Leaving Casa Batlló, we went in search of a dinner restaurant given that it was now 10 or 11 pm and the others were still MIA.  The waiter kept telling me not to get the dishes I was trying to order, but eventually allowed me to order a dish.  Finally, the Scots showed up and we went to a stock-market themed bar that was alright.  The drinks were good at least.  We didn’t go too crazy because we had a lot planned for the next day.