My last morning in Dublin followed my last night in Dublin, which might have been my "last morning-after my last night-before" in Dublin. Fortunately, I wasn't hung over or any the worse for wear when I woke up.
I spent some time putting my stuff together, getting things packed, making sure I hadn't forgotten or overlooked anything, and I headed downstairs. In the living room, I found Chris and Finn sprawled on the L-shaped couch in ways guys can only manage when they're too drunk to notice how uncomfortable they are. I didn't see Jay anywhere, but later on it turned out he was sacked out in the front room, the door to which was closed. I wandered around, rejigged my stuff, brought it down, and started getting antsy about making my flight, which was around noon. In Canada, living next door to the United States of Paranoia, I've gotten used to the idea you get to the airport at least two hours in advance of your flight. But no one seemed particularly bothered about it as time went by. At one point, I started wondering if I shouldn't hail a cab. Then Jay appeared, followed not long after by Dave. Even then, the urgency didn't seem to be real to anyone else but me. I found out why. Someone turned on the radio and they happened to mention that there was a big soccer match (or something) going on in England, and everyone was catching flights to it, so you'd better be smart and give yourself lots of time at the airport... maybe even an hour early.
An hour? On an unusually busy day? No wonder nobody but me was concerned. But, like I said, some things are different.
I said my good-byes and my thanks to Mary, who never once failed to make me feel at home despite the fact she had Cara to look after and another baby due in just a few weeks. No one could doubt the sincerity of Irish hospitality after that. It was another thing that impressed me that, yes, there are some things that are different on either side of the Atlantic.
Jay and Dave took me to the airport, reversing the course we'd taken when I'd arrived. It was a perfect send-off. They didn't just drop me and go, but they didn't linger and let things get maudlin. They came in with me and stood with me as long as they could before security protocols dictated we had to part. I thought it was nice that Jay came in to see me off, too, because I'd come to see him as a friend apart from Dave. I know it's a cliche, but I as I stood there, I really did find myself wishing I could stay longer. I watched them as they walked away, staying in Ireland, forever part of what I'd only managed to touch for a few brief days.
I remembered how I'd entered Ireland as an Irish citizen, proud of my Irish passport. Now I brought out my Canadian passport, travelling back to Canada as a Canadian. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Strange to be one thing one day and something the next, but really, to be the same thing all along. They put a sticker on my passport, admitted me to the secure area of the airport, and I went inside.
I lingered in the bookstore there. I saw a lot of books about Irish history, and I was tempted. My last €25 were burning a hole in my pocket. I also saw a book about a recent discovery, some 47-million-year-old primate they'd named "Ida", who was supposedly ancestral to both wet-nosed and dry-nosed primates (a no-longer-missing link, as it were), and I nearly picked that up, but didn't. I wish I had; by the time I got home, it was a big deal all over YouTube. It would have made a nice souvenir. Oh, well.
I sat in the waiting area, looking at the other passengers bound for Toronto, and I played a game trying to figure out which ones were Irish going for a trip and which ones were Canadians going home. I figured most of them were Canadians, but when I was finally standing in the line to board, and everyone's passports were out, half, or maybe more, were burgundy, not blue. It's nice to know that some people still want to visit Canada. One guy I overheard, about 20 or so, was actually from Northern Ireland and heading to Canada for some sporting event way out west or something. I didn't envy him the trip; getting to Toronto was probably just a little over half way. But he was excited. I hope he had a good time.
When I got on the plane, I had the middle seat in my row, which sucks. But I made the best of it. At the window seat was a very slight woman, who was virtually never in my way when I availed myself of opportunities to shoot out the window...
Here is the takeoff from Dublin airport.
I spent some time putting my stuff together, getting things packed, making sure I hadn't forgotten or overlooked anything, and I headed downstairs. In the living room, I found Chris and Finn sprawled on the L-shaped couch in ways guys can only manage when they're too drunk to notice how uncomfortable they are. I didn't see Jay anywhere, but later on it turned out he was sacked out in the front room, the door to which was closed. I wandered around, rejigged my stuff, brought it down, and started getting antsy about making my flight, which was around noon. In Canada, living next door to the United States of Paranoia, I've gotten used to the idea you get to the airport at least two hours in advance of your flight. But no one seemed particularly bothered about it as time went by. At one point, I started wondering if I shouldn't hail a cab. Then Jay appeared, followed not long after by Dave. Even then, the urgency didn't seem to be real to anyone else but me. I found out why. Someone turned on the radio and they happened to mention that there was a big soccer match (or something) going on in England, and everyone was catching flights to it, so you'd better be smart and give yourself lots of time at the airport... maybe even an hour early.
An hour? On an unusually busy day? No wonder nobody but me was concerned. But, like I said, some things are different.
I said my good-byes and my thanks to Mary, who never once failed to make me feel at home despite the fact she had Cara to look after and another baby due in just a few weeks. No one could doubt the sincerity of Irish hospitality after that. It was another thing that impressed me that, yes, there are some things that are different on either side of the Atlantic.
Jay and Dave took me to the airport, reversing the course we'd taken when I'd arrived. It was a perfect send-off. They didn't just drop me and go, but they didn't linger and let things get maudlin. They came in with me and stood with me as long as they could before security protocols dictated we had to part. I thought it was nice that Jay came in to see me off, too, because I'd come to see him as a friend apart from Dave. I know it's a cliche, but I as I stood there, I really did find myself wishing I could stay longer. I watched them as they walked away, staying in Ireland, forever part of what I'd only managed to touch for a few brief days.
I remembered how I'd entered Ireland as an Irish citizen, proud of my Irish passport. Now I brought out my Canadian passport, travelling back to Canada as a Canadian. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Strange to be one thing one day and something the next, but really, to be the same thing all along. They put a sticker on my passport, admitted me to the secure area of the airport, and I went inside.
I lingered in the bookstore there. I saw a lot of books about Irish history, and I was tempted. My last €25 were burning a hole in my pocket. I also saw a book about a recent discovery, some 47-million-year-old primate they'd named "Ida", who was supposedly ancestral to both wet-nosed and dry-nosed primates (a no-longer-missing link, as it were), and I nearly picked that up, but didn't. I wish I had; by the time I got home, it was a big deal all over YouTube. It would have made a nice souvenir. Oh, well.
I sat in the waiting area, looking at the other passengers bound for Toronto, and I played a game trying to figure out which ones were Irish going for a trip and which ones were Canadians going home. I figured most of them were Canadians, but when I was finally standing in the line to board, and everyone's passports were out, half, or maybe more, were burgundy, not blue. It's nice to know that some people still want to visit Canada. One guy I overheard, about 20 or so, was actually from Northern Ireland and heading to Canada for some sporting event way out west or something. I didn't envy him the trip; getting to Toronto was probably just a little over half way. But he was excited. I hope he had a good time.
When I got on the plane, I had the middle seat in my row, which sucks. But I made the best of it. At the window seat was a very slight woman, who was virtually never in my way when I availed myself of opportunities to shoot out the window...
Here is the takeoff from Dublin airport.
A view over Ireland, just west of Dublin.
Other views, a little further west.
Quite a bit later on, this is over the north Atlantic. The very, very white patches are ice in the ocean. When I was looking at this stuff, I was imagining my grandmother, coming over on a steamship, almost a century ago. What must have taken her days, or even a week, took me a quarter of a day.
Video over the north Atlantic.
When I got home to Toronto, the friends who'd dropped me off the week before were there to pick me up. As I made my way out of the terminal to the pick-up zone, I remember how strange it felt to be back in Canada. It was like some place I'd made up becoming suddenly real... like a place you're used to isn't quite real for you, and its reality is only brought home to you when it's been absent from your life for a while. While being overseas made Ireland a "real" place for me, somehow something about the experience made Toronto a "real" place for me, too, instead of just the backdrop of my life. It seemed like an unexpected bonus at the end of the most wonderful trip I've ever been on. I have so much to be grateful for, and so many to be grateful to. And I hope to see them again, so I can tell them so, face to face.
Sláinte.
Sláinte.
I just found your blog through a search on Google - and am still reading through all your posts about your trip to Ireland and Northern Ireland. You write really well, and your video clips of driving along the narrow roads with their massive hedgerows so tall you can't see over them, and the houses rising up right next to the road, brought back such happy memories of our first visit to the island last year (I'm desperately keen to go back for another exploration). Our trip took us (almost) all the way around the outside, but next time I want to explore the interior more. Thank you for sharing your story, it's really enjoyable to read.
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