I Thank You A LOT Polish Airline You Part 1

The trip to Ireland made me realize that one of the joys of living here, beside loving my students, is the easy access to other countries. We have been wanting to see Vilnius, Lithuania and Riga, Latvia for years now. With half of my fall break booked with guests, I took the matter in hand to book us tickets for the rest of that week.

On September 2nd, I was hunting down tickets on the various sites with numerous options. This is like venturing into extreme sports.You know you have to be ready for battle; there may be scarring in the process. Little did I realize that the scarring was going to be more like a branding iron.

I found a fare, not so budget, but those choices from here are fewer than ever before. LOT Polish Airlines had flights for $573. to Vilnius for both of us. Most of the other choices involved an overnight stay in Frankfurt, Prague, or Warsaw. Connections between these two capital cities really bites. I was about to book the tickets, feeling some sense of relief that I would have a short escape from reading papers and theses during October, but company arrived. 

We moved into the kitchen for coffee. I was telling them what we were up to, but had not finished the deal. We discussed Vilnius vs Riga and by the end of the discussion, changed our minds to visiting Riga on the sea instead. While we were chatting their child was in the living room after having over heard half of the discussion. With a proud smile, he returned to the kitchen to tell us he completed the airline transaction for us, since I had left my credit card and frequent flier cards on the desk. I wanted to kill the kid, but for the sake of harmony, I and his family sternly admonished him for using someone's  credit card, especially without permission. The deal was done, the choice made, end of the story. Not quite.

Step 2 was finding a place to stay. I found a place for 50 Euros a night, centrally located, lovely looking, so I put in the dates from the plane reservation. In the right column where it tallies up your total cost for the stay, it showed 400+ Euros. Now I am thinking hey, I am not great at math, but even I know 4 nights times 50 does not equal 400 Euros. Taking a closer look at the dates, it did not ring any bells that the first date was October 21st, not October 28th. What came out of my mouth at that point cannot be repeated here. Not only did we have guests from the 21st to the 28th, but I had a whole week of school to teach. Hmmm...the latter was tempting, but no, couldn't do it. 

I immediately called LOT in Budapest. No help at all. If you book it online, you have to call the online numbers. Back to the Internet. LOT has a great set-up for the FAQ. There is a real woman standing there waiting for you to click on the preset questions and then she dramatically answers them. If it takes you too long to decide, she makes paper airplanes, files her nails, and so on until you require her services. What she does not do is give out phone numbers for help. "Contact us" was basically useless. I did find a number for Poland. Ron called, waiting on hold for twenty minutes before trying both the British and the US numbers. Different numbers, same results.

Plan B: Call my credit card and explain what happened. Within 3 hours of the reservation being made, I called the dispute line, explained the situation and the gentleman pleasantly stated that they would deny the charge when it came through. Thanking him, I also share that he saved the life of a young boy who otherwise may have ended up on death row.

One last problem, we still wanted airline tickets, but to Riga. Search, search, search. LOT Polish Airlines still has the best connections with the best rates. Book the tickets with my AMEX card this time. The Mastercard has a US address, but the AMEX has my Budapest address. It takes 3 days before the airlines will put through charges even though they send confirmations stating that the ticket is solid. For three days, I monitored both of these, but each was showing confirmed reservations with confirmed seat selections. One more day, one more day...but then I forgot about it.

To be continued...

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You Know the Vacation is Over...

You know the vacation is over as soon as you step foot in the home airport planning your transportation home again. Then you open the fridge to find it either empty or a lab for nutritional biologists.

Having having access to the Internet was more relaxing than stressful, which I had anticipated. Once home and connected, I was especially grateful for not checking e-mails while gone. There were over 500 fairly legitimate e-mails, with another few hundred in the Spam filter.

Students are starting to think about school again, which is encouraging. There were over a dozen e-mails from various groups of my kids. My newest group do not know they are soon to be my kids. Of course there are university problems, but not student initiated. Classes that overlap each other, but are still required for all, problems with accessing the registration online, and the list goes on. Fortunately, there are some responsive people at school who have helped out with some of this. It just makes me wonder how Trinity handles their 16,000 students when registration comes around, but better yet, how did they handle it before computers?

So later today, I will meet with students who are writing their thesis this semester and I am their adviser. I will meet with a new substitute teacher who is replacing colleague on maternity leave. I will meet with some new students to give them the CDs for the upcoming classes. When I am done for the day, I will come home and look at my pictures from Ireland and try to recapture those feelings of relaxation and peace. 
 

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No Hopping for These Guys

What to do on a rainy Sunday in Dublin… Our package deal with IrishRail included two-day tickets for the green as opposed to the red Hop-On, Hop-Off bus tours. I often wonder if the name of those tour buses is discriminatory for those who are physically challenged. However, I have yet to see anyone taking the name to heart. I have never seen anyone actually try to hop entering or exiting the vehicle. Either way, we sat up top in the open air letting the mist and raindrop flutter through our hair as we traveled the speed of a crippled dog.

We did the entire loop of twenty-three points of interest in 1 ½ hours, but still did not do any hopping yet. What I find interesting, yet disappointing are the Sunday hours of museums. Is it because this is a Catholic country that museums do not open until 1 or 2 pm on Sunday? Do the attendants need that time for church, get home have that full Irish breakfast, change, and then get to work? Even I know Saturday night masses can count for the points a Catholic needs to tally up for a Sunday obligation. They are going to be closed all day on Monday like most museums worldwide. It would make more sense to open early, close early.

Continuing on the bus, we did get off, sorry, no hopping was involved, but we were close to the National Gallery of Ireland on Merrion Square West. This art museum houses over 7,000 pieces. I cannot say it was in deference to our time constraints, but over one floor was closed off for renovations. Admission is free and we were short on time, so it worked in our favor. We were able to see the highlights of what interested us.

In the interest of time, we were able to walk to the Irish National Museum of Antiquities. We had been here on our last trip, but it seemed the same issue as this time. Museums are open 2-5 pm on Sundays, causing a mad dash as Monday is a no-go. I don’t get enough time in this museum, but it is actually four museums at four different locations. I really need a day for each. Look, look, look, digest the visual overload, look, look, look, leave to nap and return again. Admission is free.

There was still time to fit in one more museum, a unique one; unique due to the subject and because they are open until 6 pm. The National Leprechaun Museum was on my watch list. Okay, I admit I have a carry-over from childhood when the marketing to youth included “Be the first on your block to…”  I am certain we are the first and probably only ever on our block to visit this museum. It was not focused toward children as much as one would expect, though they do have a charming end to the guided and self-guided tours. It is obvious they put a great deal of thought, energy, research, and workmanship into making this as enchanting as it is. Never did catch that evasive leprechaun though.

Dinner was in the Temple Bar area. We learned on our tour that Temple was a provost at Trinity. He and his family lived in this district. bar in Irish means ‘close to the river’ (Barra an Teampaill). There are no associations with bar and pub, though there are plenty of pubs in the Temple Bar area, but there are also shops, restaurants, and residences. Using Ron’s Silver Surfer card, we went to the Turk’s Head for another 2 for 1 dinner. A lively pub atmosphere when we arrived at about 7 pm turned into a ghost place by 8:30 pm. Maybe we missed the second shift.

To work off dinner, we did a bit of shopping, not much mind you. We only have carry-on luggage and a backpack that can carry another forty pounds, but that is reserved for books. I found a funny sweatshirt that made me guffaw out loud, something rare these days. It has “I swear to drunk, I am not God.” Had to buy it. Off by tram to Ryan’s Pub, the only place we have found that had Galway Hooker on tap or at all actually. One of the genealogy research places shows that my original family name hailed from a tribe in Galway. I must have needed to get to my roots. If you go to the Galway Hooker website, read the first page carefully. It is funny, not really adult rated.

If WiFi access were not 6.95 Euros an hour, I would have thought to check their website for other places that sold it. Darn!

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Kinsale by the Sea

Allowing ourselves to sleep in until 8:30 was a rare treat. Breakfast was included in this hotel stay; we could fortify our bodies for an endurance test in shopping with some sightseeing added in. In addition to a standard buffet including choices of cereals, pastries, and juices, another option was for a full ‘traditional’ Irish breakfast.

It is a wonder the Irish don’t have a short life expectancy. The full deal is an egg, bacon, and a slice of ham, sausage links, black and white pudding, sautéed mushrooms, and a half a fried tomato. Sounded good to me for a once a vacation meal, but I could not do it every day. Before accepting the black and white pudding, being of a suspicious nature, I questioned the ingredients. From the waitresses description it sounded like they used the results of a pig’s D & C (Dilation and Curettage) for the main ingredients. I love the cryptic names these types of foods are labeled with: black and white pudding, head cheese, chitterlings, Rocky Mountain oysters, haggis, scrapple (Bet this one really makes board game companies angry).

Of course, being with Mr. Map (A.K.A. If I don’t have a map in my hand, I am not a happy camper), a stop at the tourism office is a mandate. At the hotel we picked up a copy of “What to do in Kinsale”. Second on the list of our things to do right after book shopping were the ferret races that is espoused in the booklet. It has been a full lifetime since I have been to a ferret race, so this was a ‘must see’. Wouldn’t you know it? “They discontinued them a year ago and never updated the booklet. They said something about having problems finding suitable jockeys.

I had forgotten how much fun it was to browse whole bookstores where ninety-nine percent of the books were in English and new at the same time. There are no used bookstores in this little town. I had also forgotten how expensive new books were. My trick was to write down the name and author of all books that looked interesting, which were not on any list I previously created. When we return to Dublin, I can check the other bookstores for second hand copies or sales.

At one point along a road through a residential section, Ron wanted to climb a lengthy flight of stairs between two homes, leading to an upper road. He took the high road and l took the low road, but hey, that is Scottish, not Irish. Anyway, the homes I passed has some themes like the Mermaids Haven and the Red Apple Place. Imagine the way the exterior was decorated based on their names and then imagine being their neighbors.
Eventually, Mr. Map and I found each other and went to an exhibition of craftspeople from around the county. Porcelain, glass, fiber, wood, crafts of all materials were used to create glamorous and stunning pieces of art: both functional and non-functional. Across the street, we visited an old church and graveyard dating back to the 14th century. I should look so good.

Two coffee stops were needed to warm up from the damp cold air from the sea when the sunshine was not doing its best at warming, but also for a save the back rest. Lunch was at Cucina (motto “Eat, Drink and Sleepover”), a delicious lunch at bargain prices, highly recommended for the next time you are in Kinsale. Our IrishRail person picked us up at 5 pm to drive us the fifty minutes to Cork to catch the 6:55 pm train back to Dublin.

Ryan’s pub shouted out our names when we returned; it is so very close to the train station, but the ride was close to 3 hours and we were encumbered with carry-on suitcases. Another time Ryan, I will remember your name. Did I happen to mention that President Clinton made a stop here? He drank, but never swallowed.

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Onward to the Watery Ways

Cóbh (Irish for Cove) is the last port of call that the R.M.S. Titanic made before it met its fate. With this bit of history attached to the town, our tour included admission to the ‘Queenstown Story’ in the Cóbh Cultural Center which was once the White Star Line Victorian railway/transatlantic terminal. 

Three million Irish emigrated through Cóbh including Annie Moore and her two brothers. If your memory is not jiggled by reading her name, no worries, she was the very first person to be processed into the US via Ellis Island. Just 14-years old and traveling with her two younger brothers, Anthony (11) and Phillip (7), Annie departed from Queenstown (County Cork, Ireland) on December 20, 1891 aboard the S.S. Nevada, one of 148 steerage passengers. The trio would spend 12 days at sea (including Christmas Day), arriving in New York on Thursday evening, December 31. They were processed through Ellis Island the following morning, New Year's Day and also Annie's 15th birthday. All three children were soon reunited with their parents who were already living in New York.

Cóbh is a delightful little town on the waterfront. But with only 2 hours to explore the museum and the town, we only received a glimpse. I would have liked to have had more time there. Back on the bus, we stopped at St. Colman’s Cathedral. The best part was getting out of the rain while the guide spoke. This is not the same Colman as the famous mustard, but probably the mustard is better known worldwide than the saint.

We were the only ones of the group continuing on to Kinsale. Most of the group was returning to Dublin, while 4 others were going to a different city. Rather than hire a car to transport us for the hour’s ride, we had the entire bus to ourselves.

IrishRail booked us into Trident Hotel in Kinsale. As we drove past the adorable downtown area, it seemed like the bus was never going to reach our hotel. I calculated the cost of taxis getting back to the shopping area. Our room had glass walls on two sides overlooking the sea on one side and the port on the other. Fantastic choice of hotels! Here the rack rate on the door was 350 Euros a night, but included in our package deal.

When we were ready for dinner, I asked a rather robust woman at the reception how far it was to walk to the heart of the town. She said 5-10 minutes at which I had to ask “by speed walking?”. She smiled, laughed and said “Look at this body. Does it look like I speed walk anywhere?” She was right. It took us ten minutes; an amazingly short amount of time when you consider we had to crawl there. Neither of us had full use of our legs having left the Blarney torture chamber and the mile high stone only hours earlier. We found this wonderful restaurant amongst many choices called The Shack. I had a fantastic rib eye steak dinner for the cost of a middling lunch in Dublin. Funny how a delicious satisfying meal can heal the weary muscles. Add to that a slew of little intriguing shops that are just begging for a visit tomorrow when they are open again. Don't worry little shops, I will not ignore your need for attention.

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Pucker Up!

Getting the skinning on economic downturns and the barrage of signs offering office, apartments, and full buildings for rent, sale, or barter with the bank did not make it all too appealing as a place to stop, but it was not a scheduled event anyway. We were off to see the famous Blarney Castle and the infamous Blarney Stone.

Our guide explained we had 3 hours at the Blarney Castle, quite generous. His suggestion was to see the castle, kiss the Blarney Stone, go to lunch, and then go shopping in that order. We were somewhat obedient.

Ron really wanted to kiss the BS (funny how Blarney Stone shares the same abbreviation as…). I really wanted Ron to kiss the BS for an adjustment to his lack of verbalizing. Off we ventured to the castle in ruins. Over the little foot bridge there was a line of people, so I got in it. Wrong thing to do! It was raining and chilly, my only recourse for stupidity.

As the line moved along, we entered a cave. Hollywood could not have done a better job than nature did. Dark with spiny walls it had such a low ceiling I had to crouch to get into it. Now picture this. I am 6’1”, but strapped to my back I had my backpack with my netbook computer, my wallet and the extra lens for my camera snuggled inside. After 5 feet of crouch walking making me 4’5” tall, we were faced with a cave hole that looked like an inverted spiked dog collar. We needed to pass through it. There was no duck walking any longer, the next option was a crawl.

With the backpack on, I could not crawl well. Being too high, it was scraping along the top of the hole and the tunnel that followed. There was not enough room to maneuver to get it off of my back, but at the same time the floor was moist. I had fears of my lens or computer getting wet. The backpack is very waterproof. I was close to being on my stomach in my new winter raincoat trying to transition into the next chamber. Good heavens, the next chamber was more claustrophobic than the hole and tunnel. My severe claustrophobia spurred me to move faster to the next section. The damn thing was elevated and narrow. This forced more crawling, but having to crawl as well as climb. This is the exact reason I never joined any of the Armed Forces, just too much physical activity. I don't even like pub crawls. They just sound too energetic. Chamber after chamber, I went. Was Ron following me? I did not have enough room to turn my head to find out. Four chambers and enough tunnels to connect NYC with NJ, finally I found two young men standing in an area where an average man could stand upright. In my ecstatic state, I am blindly looking around for the rest of the line to kiss the blessed stone while praying there is a back entrance to this thing.

Not only was there no back entrance, but this was not the way to the Blarney Stone. This was the way to an old torture chamber of the castle and the two oversized leprechauns at the end surely didn't offer any magical solutions. They did say "Ready to party?". Had there not been a whole swarm following me into this geographic closet... The only exit was the reverse of the way in. I surveyed the crowd to see if anyone was willing to kill me then and there, but no takers. Back out I went. These tunnels were not made for two lane passageways.
 

By the time I reached the rain soaked air again, what used to be my legs were just flesh colored gluttonous masses. A good dose of Geritol would hardly have given me the strength not to have to crab walk to a bench to catch my breath. Come to think of it a little Geritol concession stand right there by the castle would not be a bad idea. Had this been a year ago, after seating myself on a bench, I would have lit a cigarette. Now, I just gasped for air like a fish out of water without any props to cover my mouth. After we were able to remove the oxygen masks, Ron asked me what possessed me to venture in there to begin with. Not reading the signs is what possessed me.

Around the side was the entrance to the Blarney Stone. I made sure of it this time. One hundred steps up to get to the BS. Not just any steps, these steps are an adventure a stunt person would enjoy. The staircase is circular and narrow. This means that each step is about ½ the depth of one of my feet is long and that is at the deepest part of the step. With every step you have to concentrate to make sure you really have a foothold on it before lifting your body weight upward. Along the right side is a rope acting as a moveable bannister. The sensation is similar to indoor mountain climbing, I would guess. Never did it for real. Too much exertion involved.

We reached the top. On the left of the stone is a photographer who snaps two pictures of you in unattractive moments that you really will never want to share with anyone, whether you want him to or not. On the right side of the stone is the guy who helps you position yourself for this kiss of a lifetime. First you have to get on your back on this rubber mat. Holding two metal rails on either side, you bend your head backward in unnatural positions hanging into the opening between the castle and the stone. If you lose your grip, the guy could possibly grab your toes if you are lucky. I chose not to kiss the stone for two reasons. 1.) I have too many problems with my back as it is. Why risk these contortions? 2.) I took a good look at the people in line ahead of me. I watched what was passing their lips in line and could imagine where their lips may have been. Did I really want to kiss a rock that they had just kissed? I don’t think so.

On the castle grounds, one day a week they have a farmer’s market. This was the day. One offering was a waffle with ham, broccoli bits, and onions, which we tried and it was delicious.

Our return trip was yet again through Cork, but via a different route, still not charming, but still raining buckets. This could have caused what looked dreary to look dreariest. Onward IrishRail adventurers, our next stop is Cóbh (pronounced Cove).

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Traein Turas - Train Ride in Irish

By 6:30 am, we were at the Hueston train station opened in 1844 headquartering the Great Southern & Western Railway. Checking in for our IrishRail tour Ron received a senior discount of 30%, so he had to go to a special window to get his ticket. Mine was included in our packet.  We had fifteen minutes to get coffee before boarding, but once we had it in our hand, the rep from the tour office came running over to say we needed to board immediately.

The trains are modern and well appointed. Most seating is a four seat plan with two-two facing seats and a table in between. IrishRail had the entire last two cars reserved for them, so it was open seating. Two cars was overkill; the entire group could barely fill one coach, yet different tours were all traveling together, but getting off at different points. Our destination, Cork was a 2 hour fifty minute ride, the end of the line for this train.

Travel sights include grass green pastures, forest green trees, lime green flowers, emeraldIreland. Bordering the town on the right are the Slieve Bloom Mountains. Other towns we zipped through were Templemore and past Loughmoe Castle last occupied in 1760. Thurles is the next stop followed by Limerick Junction, but the latter is only five lines long and good for a laugh since it is close to Tipperary and not to Limerick. green sheep. What? That’s not right, but anyway, what you will see is every shade of green you can think of.  We passed through Monasterevan where the claim to fame is a convergence. This is where the Barrow River, the Grand Canal, the main road to the south, and the railway all come together. Portlaoise, the first stop, is the home to the only maximum security prison in

As we approached Cork, we followed the Martin River with the foothills of the Boggeragh Mountains finally going through Ireland’s longest railway tunnel, a short 1.2 km long. In Cork we were hurriedly boarded onto a bus; this was a blessing, because the rain was torrential. As the Irish like to say, all of this rain is what makes the country green, but my response was if I watered my plants this much all I would get is root rot. We kind of blazed through Cork in one direction and returned via a different one. What the guide shared was rather depressing. The entire country has been victimized by gang wars when gangs never existed before, crime has sky-rocketed, and businesses are having to pay protection money. Again, he reiterated that Ireland went from one of the richest countries in Europe to one of the poorest.

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Green, Green, Everywhere Green

Rain, sun, sprinkles of rain, sun, rain rain, sun, all in the first hour of our morning, but it continued like this all day.My umbrella was up and down, up and down. It was like an old man who had used an out-of-date dose of Viagra.

Our hotel was booked by Rail Ireland as part of the rail tour we will be taking with them tomorrow, but this gave us two nights in Dublin to settle in before getting up at 7 am to catch the train. The train station is two blocks away, a hop, skip, and a jump even with suitcases. We only travel with a carry-on bag each and I have my computer backpack for my 2 pound netbook and another 2 pounds of camera and equipment.

Breakfast at the hotel was going for 15 Euros additional, making it an easy choice to look elsewhere for our caffeine fix. We found a coffee place in the Spar stores called Insomnia. Their special was a choice of any coffee or tea drink along with any muffin, scone, log roll, or other sweet for 3.50 Euros. Having spent two summer vacations in Edinburgh, I catch myself thinking in British Pounds not Euros, sending chills up my spine when I see the cost of things. Then I realize, it is Euros, which is not as bad. Still, the cost of things here are expensive enough in Euros, let alone BP. For all of the economic depression Charlie and the hotel staff have mentioned, it has not hit the restaurant industry for sure. Looking at menus along the way, food is still expensive.

We were here in October/November 2001 when Ireland, but Dublin in particular was one of the richest countries and cities in Europe. Much of their money was made in computers. Apple, Microsoft, Dell, and others have European headquarters here. Prosperity was green for sure, but came in the many colors of the Euro bills also. Since then, multiple of ten times thousands have lost their jobs, not only in the computer industry, but others as well. Personal or professional space in Dublin was difficult to find and if you could was on par or greater than NYC for rents. In spite of the cost of everything, the city was alive. Restaurants, pubs, and stores were overflowing with tourists, even in the autumn months.

The changes in the economy are tangible. There is a feeling in the air, like a 21st century potato famine. It is difficult to miss visually as well with “For sale” and “For rent” signs everywhere. Office buildings are vacant. Rents are being offered for 15 Euro a square meter. People are being paid to stand on pedestrian streets holding advertising signs for services of businesses down side streets, which may otherwise be overlooked. Our hotel advertises their 'Rack' rate on the door as 175 Euros per person a night. Through IrishRail Tours we are paying 99 Euros a night for both of us. Certainly, even without IrishRail, bargains are to be had everywhere just to fill rooms. The rate signs were holdovers from better days.

The day was spent just walking exploring the different areas. Since we have been here before so it was a 'get our bearings' journey. The city is no stranger to us, but there are parts we had not had proper introductions to yet. One such place was St. Stephen’s Green, which was new for us, but we only walked the inside periphery. The expanse of the park is twenty-two acres. One of the tourism people gave us the names of three used book stores. This made up our next three stops. Not buying a thing, I did make notes of titles that jumped out at me. So many did so, I felt like a victim of a lynching. We have 48 hour Hop On-Hop Off bus ticket, but it is 2 consecutive days. Leaving for our tour tomorrow, it is prudent to wait until we return to use it to the max.

The pub that Charlie recommended we all attend last night is called Ryan’s and it is just a ½ block from our hotel. We went there for a pint where I discovered Galway Hooker beer. This is my new favorite beer. Ron ate at the pub, but not being hungry yet, I skipped it. We walked to the train station, a few blocks from our hotel to get a visual for tomorrow’s excursion. The fast food place appealed, so I settled for a portion of curry fries for my dinner, but we had to return  to Ryan’s for a nightcap of that great beer. When we return from our tour, we will be on the other side of the city, making this less convenient to get to.

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Going for the Green

Thinking ahead, there have never been any redeeming factors for having a Malev’s frequent flier program membership. In the past, they always seemed to either lose my points or mysteriously disappear after three months without warning or explanation; however, Ron's remained intact most of the time. To question them, I always had to visit their office to adjust it in person. Too much hassle. One quick Google search showed Malev as now being a member of the One World Alliance. Opps! We don’t have any memberships with any of those airlines. Best options were American or British Airlines. American seemed the most logical, but we have not flown either for over fifteen years. With a couple of keystrokes, we each were instantly American Airlines members with virtual cards. A quick screenshot of them pasting them into a document, I had them printed out for an airport presentation. This flight is 3 hours, over 1,ooo miles, a trip too good to miss out on miles.

There was not a single empty seat on the plane, meaning Ron and I had to sit in different aisles. Initially, we were two rows apart. I would have shared my row with two youngsters until they mother asked me to change seats. That put me one row ahead of Ron, a wee bit closer, not ht that we had any conversation stored for the flight. Good thing too. There were over twenty unaccompanied children or twenty-some little people on their way to an International Little People convention, we were never quite sure of their category. Regardless of their status, the little munchkins were on their way to the Emerald Isle. Even at baggage claim in Dublin there was no supervising adult hovering over these children with worried looks. There was no news of any orphanages in Hungary reporting a great escape. I wanted to give them my number in case they did find Oz. I would pay for their map and directions. I guess we should have hopped on their shuttle marked Yellow Brick Road Express, but we were too busy looking for our provided ride by Irish Rail.

Our escort was supposed to be wearing a bright yellow jacket. As we left Passport Control and then Customs, there was a small mob of anxious people waiting for loved ones or those they were commissioned to temporarily love and transport for a short time. Those looking for strangers had signs announcing who they were there to retrieve. No one had our names. There was a grandpa looking man with a yellow rain jacket, but he was busy speaking to a young woman, who we presumed was his arriving daughter. His hands were to his sides, one with a briefcase. 

Calling IrishRail was useless. They close at 5:00 pm. We walked back and forth and forth and back, but no one bore our name on any sign or signal to alert our attention. Elder man never left, though his young female companion had dismissed him minutes earlier. We finally approached him asking if he were from IrishRail. At this he turned around and showed us the logo on the back of his jacket; like this was intuitive for us to check him out front and back. There was no indication on the front of the jacket. Later when he gave us our documents, I noticed a sign with our names on it that never made it out of his briefcase. He claimed he thought the jacket would be enough. Hey Charlie! News flash…it does not work.

Charlie is how we referred to him; we never did catch his name, but he could not remember ours either. He was to transport us to our hotel. Transport was public bus with tickets provided by IrishRail, but due to our late arrival, the bus we needed had its last run for the night. An alternate bus did not accept our tickets,  only took us part of the way, but then we had to take a tram the rest of the ride, purchasing our own tram tickets. We did not arrive at the hotel until close to 11:00 pm. Charlie kind of hinted we should join him at the pub near the hotel when I had asked about pubs being open. That was hours earlier it seemed and my interest had waned significantly. 

IrishRail booked us into the Ashling Hotel for two nights. As it turned out it was a Best Western, better than any I have remembered in the past and the service was exceptional. To celebrate Ireland, we had a pint in the lounge, deciding for forfeit dinner. Malev only provided a sandwich as a meal, but we were too tired by this point to hunt out places. Pubs would be closing soon, making pub food scarce. 

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Éirinn go Brách

We are leaving on a jet plane, sadly we know when we will be back again. If you recognize the title or realize it is the Gaelic version of Erin Go Bragh (Ireland Forever), that is where we are headed. Off to the Emerald Isle for a week's vacation, we will start in Dublin. 

In today's Tourism Review, there was an article about the dire state that Irish pubs are facing due to lack of tourism. They cannot keep their doors open with fewer bar hoppers coming in to get a wee bit of Irish in their bloodstream. Locals are finding they can save two-thirds the cost of booze by buying it in the grocery store. This must distinguish the social drunks from the hardcore 'I just need to get drunk' drunks.


The Irish pub owners can count on us to do our bit for the economy and have a pint or two, but we will spread our euros out here and there. We will be in Dublin for only a couple of nights, Cork one or two, and then somewhere else. Needless to say, Ron planned the trip, not I. The Irish Travel Association along with the Irish Rail have a number or packages, allowing me to comment on at least one as we venture forth.


As usual, the whole trip will be documented on my handy-dandy 2 pound netbook computer. I don't leave home without it. However, the postings may lag behind the times depending in the availability of Internet access. As spoiled as I have become here in Budapest, where WiFi is everywhere and free, I do hear from guests many complaints about other parts of Europe and the US really having fallen by the wayside of the Internet highway in this regard. So know as soon as I am able, the posts will be a comm'in your way. 


We return on the 24th, a short trip, but as the Irish proverb goes "Is deas an rud an beagán ach é a dhéanamh go maith." 
Little is best if well done.

"The legend goes that St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. I was thinking... that must be hard to put all the tiny seatbelts on all the snakes."
-- Ellen

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Luck of the Irish and Some Foot Stomping

After thinking about having a summer vacation last year, the long "To Do" list this summer with fall teaching immediately following, I had to put my foot down. There had to be some R & R (rest and relaxation) for R & R (Ryan and Ron). R the elder is doing his annual trek to Denver and a little town in Iowa that no one has heard of outside of Cedar Rapids. Though he is visiting family, he does claim there are fun times involved. Personally, I love his family, but there is no family in the world I could handle for longer than 3 days including the days of arrival and departure. 


Having been a staunch supporter of equal rights for decades, I demanded petitioned and then threatened to have a fun time this summer also. Foot firmly planted after putting my foot down, we booked a week in Dublin for August. Hunting for a cheap airfare is like looking for an udder on a bull, but we finally found one. The key is being flexible with dates, but we had to fit it in between guests coming and going.


The last time and only time we were in Dublin was 2001. We loved it then, taking some side trips to Tara and other locales. Then we also spent a week in Galway, equally enchanting. Other day trips are on the list this time. I am not mailing anything this go around. The last time, I mailed myself souvenirs I did not want to carry, but they never arrived. 


Dublin, making the thought of the summer vacation ending, bearable. 

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Passing Over

Once again, the sounds of silence were not to be had. Noise, noise, noise from next door. Six in the morning is an ungodly time to have eat breakfast. My digestive juices don't start flowing until 8am at the minimum even if we did get up at 5:15. Joseph would be waiting for us at 6:30 as we have a "long" day ahead of us, but he leaves us at the Tanzania border to be greeted and continue with a different guide/driver. The rendezvous was set for 10am, but that did not happen. For the first time, Joseph lost his way and could not find the right way to the border. Of course, since there are no street or directional signs anywhere, it is reasonable. He stopped 5 times to ask directions. People either seemed to not know or gave the incorrect information.

By 11:20, he finally had us parked in front of Kenyan Immigration Offices. The young officer had us fill out a short form and stamped our passports. A short drive across a lot had us in line at the Tanzania Immigration Office where we lined up with the rest. A young officer asked us where we were going. Duh, we are in the Tanzania office, we are coming to see you. He gave us each a short form to fill out and then told us to skip the line moving to the second window. After asking for US $100 for EACH of us, we had our one year, multiple entry Visa for Tanzania. Pointing out that there was some mistake, we were told it was $50 each and we only wanted a single entry Visa. No mistake, due to some treaty or other the US and Ireland of all places no longer get single entry, but only multiple. The cost is the same, so trying out a brogue would not have helped at all.

When we left the office, Joseph was antsy, ready to turn us over to Anwar, our new driver/guide. We moved our things from a room van to a less roomy, less comfortable jeep. Anwar showed me the sign he had ready. It showed "Run Shmitz and Ryan James". I asked Anwar if this were a transitional vehicle, but darn it all, it is all we get until we fly off to Zanzibar. Anwar is young, friendly and I am sure we will enjoy him. His English is moderate, so it takes some getting used to his accent. He was telling us that Tanzania has over 144 languages with Swahili the official one. Kenya has 44 languages with Swahili and English as the official languages.

So bear in mind, we left the lodge we had stayed at for three nights, at 6:30. We road the bumpy, rutty, pitted, roads until getting out of the car when Joseph had to fix his shock absorber, and then not again until we received immigration. Climbing back into the jeep at 11:30am, we were cramped in there until we stopped for lunch along the way. We had an hour of reprieve, before continuing onward. In Tanzania the roads are paved, a real blessing; however, there is a speed bump every fifty feet. If it ain't one thing, it's another. Ride, ride, ride, doze, chat, ride. We reach the gates of the Serengeti National Park. This is an extension of the Masai Mara National Park on the Kenya side. The two are separated by the countries borders. The Serengeti is the size of the State of Connecticut, so that will give you an idea of the size of the country. Tanzania is the largest country in Eastern Africa and includes Zanzibar, which is an island.

Once we reached the park gates, we said good-bye to paved roads and back to the bounce by the ounce. Anwar kept stopping to show us animals along the way to the lodge. We had to remind him we had been on numerous safaris this trip and others in the past. As much as we appreciated this, we really wanted to get back on two legs and out of a vehicle. Miles and miles away, we finally reached the lodge by 7:00 pm. I thought for sure if the park was the size of Connecticut, we started in NY and drove to the MA border in the time it took us to get here. We are staying at the Serona Wildlife Lodge. People here are not nearly as friendly as any of the places in Kenya. Even  driving here, we received nasty to hateful looks from those we passed on the street, but this was similar to our reception here. There was nothing warm or welcoming about it; in fact, they could not find our reservation. It finally turned out that it was due to Run's Shmitz's name being misspelled. After wiping some of the dust off with the wet towel given upon entering, it went from sparkling white to dusty brown within minutes. Later, jumping into the shower, another coating turned the tub into earthenware.

Interesting note, we found that all of the places we stayed at in Kenya as well as this one and a number of others are owned by Indians, India Indians, though the land is leased only. The properties here in Tanzania are still owned by the government, but Indians run the business and Chinese laborers do the construction. This place is huge, but still under construction. My eyes sparkled when I saw an Internet Cafe sign, but they lost their luster when I looked in the window to see there were desks, but no computers. The gift shop is empty and the fitness room has all of the newest equipment stuffed into one corner. 

We are only here for one night, so we will survive. Interestingly, for as upper class as this is portrayed, the buffet is the smallest of any place we have stayed. I also am curious how places in countries like this receive their star rating. Under normal circumstances, to reach a 4 or 5 star, certain requirements must be in place. These include a phone and a television in each room for starters. Not one place has had these, though a television would be rather pointless, but a phone would be helpful with wake-up calls.

At dinner, we had a funny event. Eating away, a young person of the staff comes to our table and stands between Ron and I. I asked if there was something she needed, but she moved her head in Ron's directions, but he was not paying attention to her in the least. When I said something, she  started in saying "Sir, you forgot to sign for your drinks from the bar." The receipt book she had in her hand had whiskeys on it and 12,000 shillings as the amount due. We both said we did not order any whiskey, nor did we have anything from the bar. She walked away confused and disappointed. You know how it is; all white men with white hair and beards look alike. Of course, she was confused.

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St. Patrick's Day

In the U.S, tomorrow everyone has enough Irish in them to drink a green beer or to join is some sort of festivity private or public. It is a great excuse to have a party.

Here things are different. The majority of Irish are the ones who came bought blocks of property and then went home again while collecting the rents. There are enough ex-pat Irish here to have a decent party and there are a few Irish pubs here that are like Irish McDonalds. They have a strange similarity to a franchised Irish opportunity as you can find them in just about every country and they look surprising alike. We have also come across franchise literature for Irisih pubs, so the idea is not my imagination.

When we were living in the States, I would have our house decorated for the occasion and we hosted dinner parties each year with the traditional corned beef, cabbage, and boiled potatoes. Funny, when we were in Ireland, a few of the Irish told us that they thought Americans were funny for serving this dinner. We were told it was not customary in Ireland and it was considered pauper's fare.

We have no decor for the holiday here, no corned beef, and nothing that will set the day off from any other Saturday, but that is tomorrow.

This evening, Lyn and Nicole came over with a friend. We sat around and talked, not moving forward into a card or table game. Again the evening was pleasant and filled with laughter, until Ron's mobile rang.

It was the neighbor from hell calling from his vacation. His brother who is supposedly watching his apartment told him they had 2 cm of water in their bathroom. Can we say "hyperbole"? Ron allowed him to rant and rave and then mentioned that it had rained for the better part of a week, which seemed to slow him down. He insists he is going to get an 'expert' to check out our bathroom. More power to you, Sparky, but we are not paying for anything. We put out 40,ooo Huf already for 'experts' who could find nothing in our apartment to fix.

This leak is dampening my mood one drip at a time.

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