After my tour of Dublin, I arrived home Tuesday night in time to run out for a fish & chips dinner before packing. (The dinner came with a bottle of Bud – my last beer in Ireland.) After wasting hours on processing and unsuccessfully uploading the whiskey tasting video I had hoped to post before I left, I finally hit the sack around 12:30am. On top of my anxiety over what would be a long day of traveling, the battery on my back-up alarm was alarmingly low, so even the six hours of rest I got was light as I worried about oversleeping.
The next morning, I was up and Skyping with my sister and her boyfriend before I and my bags were out the door and on our way to the bus stop a couple blocks away. The bus arrived at the same time I did, and we pulled up to the airport half an hour later, where I couldn’t help but think back four days and smile. I prayed that my flights would work out as well as my days in Dublin had, since I would be traveling six thousand miles over the course of twenty hours with some potentially tight transfers in between.
I hauled my luggage to the US Airways check-in counter and waited while the clerk was forced to write manual bag tags, since my connections (Dublin to Philadelphia to Newark to Seattle to Pullman) would not fit on a standard printed tag. She seemed to have trouble deciphering my itinerary on her screen, so I helped her with my Orbitz printout. She warned me that I would need to collect my bags and recheck them through customs when I arrived in Philadelphia. She also told me to provide my luggage information to Alaska Airlines, who would be picking me up from Newark, so that they would have the bags in their system.
I cleared security with plenty of time to grab some breakfast and fill up my trusty Nalgene water bottle before boarding the plane, which – as the Irishman sitting next to me observed – was the smallest transatlantic aircraft either of us had been on, with a single isle between rows of three seats on either side. I normally reserve isle seats when possible, especially on long flights, so that I can stand up and stretch easily. This time, I was sitting by the window; but remarkably, I didn’t need to get out of my seat a single time on any of my flights, two of which were over six hours long.
What was even more remarkable was the view out the window as we approached Newfoundland and Labrador. I was successfully dozing off when I suddenly awoke with the inexplicable feeling that I needed to look outside. If you have ever clicked on the NSIDC link under my blogroll, you know I like to check out the sea ice conditions around the North Pole. On Wednesday, that is literally what I had the opportunity to do. After figuring out what I was seeing below us, I still had a strange urge to look around, which was when I noticed we had company. I spotted several other planes as we crossed the Atlantic, but this Continental jet was close enough to …well… see that it was Continental.
As we continued inland, Canada was resembling the surface of the moon until we neared New Brunswick. As we approached Philadelphia, the similarity between the urban landscape and the rivers, lakes and mountains I had just flown over didn’t strike me until I was looking at these photos later.
When I landed in Philadelphia, my first stop was baggage claim as instructed. My bags were on the carousel in no time, and I was able to reactivate my cell phone to let family know I had made it back to the States. Rechecking the bags through customs was a piece of cake – it was passing through security again that made me happy I had a two hour layover. I have never been required to pass through airport security more than once on a trip, so when I found myself at the end of the line that rounded a corner ahead of me, I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for. By the time figured it out, I had already been waiting a good fifteen minutes, and it would be another fifteen before I was being told that my bag would be searched.
My bag was also searched when I left Norway, thanks to a heavy crystal ball that I was carrying to help lighten my checked luggage. When I realized that the lead-containing crystal could trigger a search, I decided to carry it with me again in case that could circumvent my checked luggage being opened. So when the friendly security officer in Philadelphia said he would have to look inside, I mentioned the ball. As he reached in, he said that it wasn’t the ball he was after: it was a completely full Nalgene bottle that had completely slipped my mind. He gave me the options of hydrating myself on the spot, leaving my precious bottle behind, or dumping it out in the bathroom. I knew the trouble a liter of water could cause me on the plane, and I wasn’t about to leave behind a bottle that had been everywhere with me, so I opted for dumping it out. The only drawback here was that he would have to escort me to the exit, and I would need to spend another half hour in line for my third security screening of the day. Well, I had the time, and what else was I going to do?
After the crew on the first flight had kept me happy with drinks and food free of extra charge, the jaunt from Philly to Newark was too short for even a cup of water. This was where I would need to pick up my boarding tickets for the two remaining flights on Alaska Airlines. I found out that meant another chance to practice my security procedures, as the only place to pick up my tickets was at the unsecured check-in counter. With only an hour between flights this time, I had to be quick about it. The ticket clerk already had mine printed, but it wasn’t until I was on my way through a short security line that I remembered my instructions to provide my luggage information. With a split second opportunity to return to the counter, I decided I could try to provide the tags to someone at the departure gate instead. I would rather be on that plane than my bags, and I had a feeling my bags would be fine anyway.
When I got to my gate, I presented my information to a woman who was happy to help. She remarked on the manual tags, and with a closer look, questioned why my pending flight to Seattle was written down as 737 instead of the correct flight number, 7. I pulled out my Orbitz itinerary from a wide open carry-on bag whose zipper had just called it quits, and sure enough, my flight number was seven. I wondered how the clerk in Dublin could have made the mistake. Then I noticed what type of aircraft I was on. But the lady now in front of me wasn’t too worried, since mine was the only Alaska flight to Seattle.
As she was entering my information, she got a call on the radio about two bags with a suspicious flight number. We both looked at each other and smiled. She passed along the correction and confirmed to me that my bags were being loaded onto the right plane. I can only wonder what might have happened if I had decided to turn back for the check-in counter. It was a close call that I already knew was not to be my last: as we were touching down in Newark, I looked out the window to see at least a dozen departing jetliners waiting in line. By the time we were rolling down the tarmac, the captain came on the intercom to inform us that we would have a slow time getting under way: we were number twenty in line for take-off, and I had less than an hour layover in Seattle. When he added that we would be battling a strong headwind the entire way, I began to wonder if I would actually make it home. The Lord knows I like an adventure, but maybe the day’s adventure was to end in Seattle instead of Moscow. There was nothing to do but wait and see.
In the meantime, I would satisfy my growing appetite and try to catch a few winks. In contrast to US Airways, Alaska charged for both their food and entertainment. On the other hand, the Alaska attendants were more professional, and the televisions on US Airways were next to worthless. I just had to keep reminding myself that I had bought the cheapest ticket I could find. After paying six bucks for a soggy burger, I would have tried to sleep were it not for the half hour of bad turbulence we hit over the Midwest, plus the fact that I got the middle seat this time. We ended up pulling into Seattle a half hour behind schedule, which wasn’t bad, considering. But I was sitting in the next to last row of a full flight that had to deplane before I could make a beeline for my last leg to Pullman. I found my gate in a flash and was able to slip right into the end of a line that was just in the process of boarding.
After being on the ground in Seattle for less than half an hour, I was glad that it looked like I would be making it home, but I had to wonder whether my bags had made the last connection as quickly as I did. After a bumpy cranberry juice, we were descending over the lights of Pullman. I walked into Pullman’s single airport terminal to find my luggage, a poster with my name on it, and the lovely family waving it. Hugs all around.
Instead of using my last day in Ireland for a long and expensive train ride to the west coast (a beautiful trip I will save for next time), I spent Tuesday seeing a few sights in Dublin. My first order of business, however, was to try to find a laundromat. I had been told there was one on Parnell Street a few blocks away from the hostel. After walking up and down, I found only a closed dry cleaners, which meant that I would be flying in three day old socks, among other things. So I wasted no time boarding one of the city’s hop-on/hop-off buses: a guided route through the city with stops every ten minutes at two dozen attractions along the way. I would have been hard-pressed to hit all of them, but I didn’t have much of an idea what I wanted to see. I played it by ear, and decided to check out Trinity College first. Or was it Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? It certainly appeared so with the Trinity graduates walking around in their black robes. Indeed, for most of my time in Ireland, if I didn’t feel like I was just around the corner from the Shire, then I was stepping through the magic world of Harry Potter. I discovered that the Book of Kells is on display at the college library, though I decided to save time and money by heading back to the bus stop.
My next destination was Christ Church. I had already passed by the cathedral a couple of times and knew I would have to explore. As I paid my admission, I was asked if I would like to visit the adjacent museum called Dublinia, which depicted Viking history in the city of Dublin. I suspected it was designed for a younger audience but was obviously interested in the subject matter, so I took a chance. While the displays were certainly built to capture a child’s imagination, the exhibits were equally informative to adults and I enjoyed learning how Vikings (primarily from Norway) were responsible for establishing much of modern Ireland and the city of Dublin. For example, I have always considered many Norwegian words to be influenced by English. In several cases, however, due to their influence on the English language, many of our words actually stem from Viking vocabulary. This museum came after my tour of the cathedral itself, which was highlighted by noon peace prayers.
Following the previous day’s tour through the countryside, my camera battery still read full, so I did not think to charge it. That was a mistake, since by the time I was finished at Christ Church, the power on my PowerShot was shot. I had my video camera along, but since I knew how horrible it is at taking photos, I decided to skip a tour of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral a few blocks away. Instead, I stopped through the gift shop, which allowed me at least a glimpse inside the nave without having to pay admission. (If I ever return to Dublin, a tour of Saint Patrick’s will be at the top of my list.) When I entered Christ Church, the sky was mostly overcast. To make the loss of my camera even more disappointing, when I came out, so did the sun. I managed to get a couple shots of the cathedral under blue skies, which can be found along with pictures from the rest of my day in Dublin starting here. Be warned that all subsequent pictures were taken with my video camera and are probably worse than what you can take with your cell phone.
The next stop on the route was the Guinness Storehouse, and I had no choice. It is an intriguing, seven-story, self-guided tour through the history of the Guinness family, product and brand, which are celebrating two hundred fifty years in 2009. The building and it’s displays were sleek and large-scale, so it was no surprise to learn that it is actually the number one tourist attraction in Ireland. A couple of highlights were getting to pour my own pint of Guinness and a panoramic view of the city from the Gravity Bar on the top floor.
My next and final stop for the day was a tour of the Jameson distillery. I showed up thirty minutes ahead of the next guided tour, so I perused the souvenir shop where collections of whiskey were on sale for up to fifty thousand Euro. Then I sat down at the bar to order a drink that I had been making all season at Kvitfjell but never liked myself. Irish Coffee takes a couple teaspoons of brown sugar stirred together with black coffee and a measure of Irish whiskey, topped with a collar of whipped cream. Lars runs a simple cafe at Koia, so we always used whipped cream from a can. What a difference it made to taste a “real” Irish! Once the tour finally began, our friendly and animated guide started us off with a video telling the story behind the Jameson name. Next was a relatively quick but interesting walk through the various stages of whiskey distillation and maturation. The tour ended with a free sample for everyone and a comparison tasting for a few lucky volunteers. While both the Guinness and Jameson tours were fully worthwhile, the Jameson tour was much more personal and entertaining.
I am up early. I could hardly doze off last night because I was afraid I would sleep in, but prayer number one has been answered. It will be a long day, so please keep the prayers coming. It has been great staying at the Marlborough Hostel, and yesterday was another beautiful day in Dublin. I hopped on a bus tour of the city and visited Trinity College, Christ Church Cathedral, and the Guinness and Jameson museums. My camera battery was exhausted by lunchtime, though I did have my backup along. I have been having too much fun with still compositions to shoot much video, but since the camcorder also takes (unbelievably lousy) photos, I was able to document the rest of the day. You’ll have to wait to see that until I get back to the States, but I will say that one day exploring Dublin only made me want to see more. For example, I could imagine at least another day on a literary tour through the city that produced authors like W.B. Yeats, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce and George Bernard Shaw. Yesterday, however, was for sampling the brewing and distilling heritage of Ireland. I was going to leave you with a video of our whiskey tasting, but time is awastin’, and I must catch my bus. Good-bye Ireland. It’s Moscow or bust.
I expected some extra weight, even though I gave away or threw away most of my belongings between the time I packed up my apartment and arrived at the airport on Saturday. After sending a ten kilo package in the mail, I was left with two pieces of luggage to check weighing roughly twelve kilos a piece, plus a ten kilo carry-on – not much, considering that’s all I had left to my name after two seasons in Norway. Unfortunately, Ryanair limits me to checking a total of fifteen kilos and conveniently omits an overweight charge on their website. I had to cross my fingers, and in the end, I had to pay just over two hundred dollars for nine extra kilos. As the sympathetic lady at the ticket counter explained, Ryanair is great for traveling with a gym bag, but not necessarily for moving to a different country. I suppose that makes my trip on the “Low Fares” airline no different from the price I would have paid elsewhere. Fortunately, I was able to charge the additional fee and bid a final farewell to Tina.
At last, I was on my way. I cleared security, got my passport stamped, and waited to board my flight to Dublin. Once in the air, I tried to distract myself from the looming uncertainty of where or how I would survive my first night in Ireland, so I turned my mind to deciphering diagrams:
It was an uplifting flight (pun intended), and my first sight of Ireland was incredible. After deplaning, I quickly collected my luggage and tried to piece together a game plan. This process was complicated considerably by the fact that I had still not received the paycheck I was expecting no later than the previous Wednesday. This was a critical piece to the puzzle I had put together when booking my flight, and the puzzle was falling apart. I confirmed with my boss’s wife that the payment had finally been sent late on Friday, but with the weekend it might be Monday before it was transferred to my account. I tried my Norwegian ATM card anyway, and the first thing I read in Dublin was, “Insufficient Funds”. The second thing I read – “Insufficient funds (sucks for you)” – came when I tried my American card. While I tried to solve the dilemma, I must have paced back and forth across baggage claim a dozen times collecting maps, a list of hostels, bus information and – yes! – an epiphany: maybe I could get cash out on my credit card at the currency exchange window. For a hefty fee, I was able to withdraw enough to get me into town, book a place to stay and buy dinner for the night. Now I just had to figure out how. I jumped on the bus I thought would take me to the city center, and when I got off a half hour later on O’Connell Street, it was like Lillehammer all over again. Judging from my map and list of hostels, the nearest one was just around the corner, so I strapped on my backpack and duffel bag and, with suitcase in hand, made way for the Marlborough Hostel. They had room, and I had a bed for the night. After settling in, I went off a tip from Melanie and located the Hard Rock Cafe in the Temple Bar pedestrian district. After an exciting day of traveling and a ten minute walk, I caught my breath over a pint of Guinness, a French Dip sandwich and the music video from the hometown heroes’ latest single, “Get Your Boots On,” though at that point I would have been quite content to kick them off.
I spent the rest of the evening hanging out with fellow travelers at the hostel, and used most of Sunday resting up and waiting for Money Monday to roll around. When I checked my account early this morning, the news was good, and I hopped on a bus that would take me out of the city to Glendalough and the Wicklow Mountains (an area popular for the filming of movies like Braveheart). It was a worthwhile trip through the countryside, and the weather was ideal. I could go on about the things I saw, or perhaps you would just like to see them for yourself? Suffice it to say, everything here is green, and there is a pub on every corner.
I have been hoping that I would be able to make it to the west coast and the Cliffs of Moher. There is a train I could catch tomorrow, but it would be an expensive trip and a long day ahead of an even longer day of traveling on Wednesday. So I will likely spend my last day in Ireland exploring beyond the few blocks of Dublin I have seen so far, hopefully finding a laundromat and one or two spots off the beaten path between the bigger attractions.
We woke up on Friday to a rainy morning in Kristiansand. Karl Sigve and I made eggs and bacon for breakfast and hung out at the apartment, since he was afforded a half day off following his business trip to Oslo. Around eleven, Runar and Tina arrived with their kids (my third cousins) and better weather. We visited for a while before saying good-bye to Karl Sigve and setting course for the zoo!
Despite their excitement and anticipation, Ida Sofie and Tor Martin (and us big kids) were a bit apprehensive about how near we could get to some of the animals, even bursting into tears under a close encounter with a curious ostrich. Zooming in on those apes, though, will reveal that the ring-tailed lemurs didn’t have a care in the world. This one posed motionless until the zookeeper entered with a bucket of freshly chopped apples, carrots and cereal.
The Kristiansand zoo is the largest in Norway, and since it is not yet high season, we had only a few hours to spend there before they closed. Otherwise, we certainly would have visited the park’s “Cardamom City,” which I remembered from my family’s trip while living here fifteen years ago. This poster of the famous “Cardamom Law” still hangs in my parents’ home.
After navigating our way out of the zoo (which was not quite a walk in the park), we crossed to the other side of the highway for an early dinner in Sørlandsenteret, the sprawling shopping center that has attracted most of the city’s music shops. After having given up hope, Tina and Runar helped me finally get my hands on a copy of Medea.
We arrived home in Skien three hours later. Along the way, all flags were out in honor of the national holiday celebrating Norway’s liberation in 1945, and it seemed as though each was waving me a fond farewell. I am intrigued by churches wherever I go, and we drove past one that catches my eye every time I road trip to or from Kristiansand. Upon our arrival in Skien, we made a detour by another church that I last visited in 2001. On Flag Day, I ironically found myself walking past the headstone of Vidkun Quisling, a Norwegian politician who was executed as a traitor on October 24, 1945.
As much as this churchyard might look like Ireland, I would not arrive here until the following day. Yesterday morning, I packed my bags and said good-bye to Runar and the kids as Tina carted me off to the airport to catch my flight to a new adventure in Dublin.
