Ryan Air

I joked in one of my opening posts about the perils of flying Ryan Air and compaed it to landing in Normandy on D-Day.

Well, Sunday was the 66th anniversary of the Allied invasion, and like the Band of Brothers before me I boarded a plane bound for the continent unsure of what would come.

Ryan Air was a bit terrifying. The plane was late getting into Dublin, and to minimize delay we had a 20 minute turnaround; boarding the plane (which is open-seating) was like a high-stressed competition to avoid a middle seat, even for a 90 minute flight. The seats are small and uncomfortable with minimal leg room; six seats crammed in side to side with an aisle that seemed narrower than the seats themselves.

We got stuck over Eindhoven (where the men in Band of Brothers actually jumped into several months after Normandy) waiting for a storm to pass, and when it did we came in through heavy turbulence, flying faster than I ever recall having exprienced on an approach. When we landed, our three wheels came down individually several seconds apart, and the force of the brakes in against the high speed we came in on made everyone on board fly forward (I felt a nice solid burn in my quads as I held myself back; my workout for the month). When the plane finally reached a slow speed after a very extended 6-8 seconds, indicating that we would not crash into a fireball at the end of the runway, at least ten people in the front began clapping enthusiastically. I looked around and wondered if I had just come close to an early demise.

My somberness was broken by the playing of a bugle sounding a cavalry charge over the cabin speakers, just before a robotic British voice congratulated us on being part of yet another on-time Ryan Air flight. I turned my phone on to see we had been on time by about 40 seconds.

I'm glad I have two more flights with them. At least they're cheap, and though they're uncomfortable and slightly dangerous, they do their best to avoid delays.

Ireland Dids and Didn'ts

Sorry for the long delay in posts; it's been hard to get on a computer in Amsterdam.

Looking back on Ireland, I think I accomplished most of what I had hoped to when I landed there. There was a list of things I wanted to see/do. Here's the final tally and analysis.

Things achieved:

-Fish and chips in an Irish pub (had as my last dinner)

-Extended conversation with multiple native Irish

-Guinness tour (unbelievable experience)

-Get in touch with some of my roots (didn't get to Meath, but gained a much greater appreiation for the way Irish culture influenced my own)

-Get comfortable with being alone (more on that in another post to come)

-See a ton of the city (helped in part by a free 3 hour walking tour)

-Befriend fellow travelers (will be meeting up with some later in the trip) and strangers different from me (I had a blast every night, including with Canadians and frat bros)

-See Irish mountains, cliffs, and beach (done thanks to Howth and the gravity bar at the Storehouse)

-Book of Kells (saw before my flight on Sunday; everything it's cracked up to be but probably not worth the steep price of admission; the experience is pretty short)

-Learn more about the struggle for independence from the UK (done, thanks to the walking tour and a visit to Kilmainham Jail)

Things unachieved:

-Kilkenny, Cork, Galway, or any place beyond the Dublin suburbs (not enough time)

-Limited spending (pints are expensive)

-Avoidance of gingers (the place is like a post-apocalyptic dystopia in that regard)

-Showering on a daily basis

All in all, a very successful leg of the journey.

Seals and Guinness in a Single Afternoon

Today was undoubtedly the best day of the trip so far.

I woke up bright and early (i.e. 9) to check out of my hostel, which had no room for me tonight, and moved to a cheaper, grimier hostel down the street. Much as I had wanted to squeeze in a visit to Cork, Galway or Kilkenny, there was still much to see in Dublin itself and it would have been too much.

I did, however, manage to sneak out of the city on the DART (something in between a subway and a commuter train) to Howth, the last stop on the line. Howth is a small, historic fishing village that has gradually transformed into a suburb (it's less than 30 minutes from central Dublin). It's harbor is lined with small cliffs, and there are two large islands in the middle of the bay. It may not be the cliffs near Galway, but it was something special to take in. I walked through the central village and got a lunch of fresh crab spread, where an elderly Irish couple celebrating the Mrs.'s 82nd birthday sat next to me making fun of the crowd of tourists across the street who were seemingly taking pictures of the hill beyond the slip over and over again. When I finished my meal, I crossed the street to see it from their vantage point and saw their real object of affection: a pack of seals was literally just frollicking around the water directly beneat me. Just legit hanging there like a bunch of bros. (Which makes sense; they must have been drunk to be relaxing in the oil runoff from the fishing boats).

After the seal adventure, I walked up a nearby hill to Martello Tower, which turned out to be a "vintage radio museum" that charged €5 for entry. There was an old Irishman hanging out in a beach chair by the door intently reading a paper; he told me I could just walk around the outside for free. I could see all the way back into Dublin, and the cliffs, the water, the village, harbor, and islands. Literally one of the best views of my life.

But not even the best of the day. I got back to the city early enough to finally check out the Guinness Storehouse, probably the first super-touristy thing I've done. It was completely worth it; the tour was interesting, and a nice followup to my last post. Two interesting facts stuck out: 1) the Guinness family was part of the Irish Protestant aristocracy and opposed home rule, but all the decades of sectarian strife never broke the island's attachment to their beer, and 2) 2/3 of all the barley grown in Ireland is purchased by Guinness for their brewery at St. James' Gate; a Guinness bankruptcy really would devastate the local economy.

But the best part of the storehouse is the gravity bar at its top. It offers a complimentary pint of the black stuff and - far better - a 360 degree panoramic view of the city and its surroundings, with no buildings close by to block any of it off. Not only could I see the entire city, but I could also see the Wicklow Mountains, rolling green fields, and the Irish Channel. At various points on the glass are quotes from James Joyce's work that allude to sections of the city (which was nice since I've been reading Dubliners since I got here).

I topped the day off with a plate of fish and chips and a pint of Guinness (the tour made me come around) before calling it a night. There's a long month ahead of me and Amsterdam beckons tomorrow; people tell me I should conserve my energy for that city. I'm going to try to see the Book of Kells before the airport tomorrow, where I'll be flying Ryan Air for the very first time. Should be interesting.

P.S. My hostel has two toilets for about 100 people on my floor, and the water supply is messed up. Many of the girls here are displeased.

P.P.S. I saw some Irish kids playing basketball today. There are hoops everywhere and on the surface the game seems popular enough here, but there is no mention anywhere of the Finals, and judging by the game I saw today the Irish won't be watching one of their own vie for a title for some time to come.

Bros Icing Tourists

So I spent last night with some of the frattiest guys I've ever come across. Two of them were frat brothers at the College of Charleston, and the third was one of their twin brothers from real life.

Upon noticing my American accent, they immediately invited me to drink with them in the hostel kitchen, where they had a copious amount of alcohol for three people. I told them I had to finish up some emailing but would be up shortly.

Boston College doesn't have any frats, so I worried about how I could ingratiate myself into this foreign and strange social group. But I've studied the ways of the frat bro from a distance since I was a teenager; I've observed their ways, their strengths and weaknesses. And I knew there was one single action that would automatically win me their permanent favor.

I had to ice one of them. For those of you not familiar with the process; it involves surprising a "bro" with a Smirnoff Ice (a notoriously girly drink), after which their honor necessitates getting on one knee and chugging the entire drink down. My strategy worked to perfection. I knocked on their door to find them chewing tobacco and alternating spitting with drinks of beer. Upon the icing, tears of joy were let loose, and I was firmly hugged by all three before my target descended into icing position.

I did, of course, get iced in return later, but it was a small price to pay. They paid for all my drinks for the rest of the night, at every bar we went to (no small expense in Dublin), refusing to take my money. And we engaged in interesting conversation.

One of them, the only one actually from South Carolina, launched into a long conversation with me about the differences between the south and the north, before eventually telling me, "Look, I say this as a pretty conservative person racially speaking, but most people in my state are just ignorant." (He soon after told me how it took them 15 minutes to get served a beer in JFK, possibly because of the darker complexion of the bartender's skin). He was a nice enough kid - very nice actually, although I am white - but it definitely does seem like the Civil War is still raging.

In any case, it seems as though the phenomenon of bros icing bros has crossed the Atlantic. It's unknown and unlikely if I'm the first to ice a bro in Europe, but if I am...I'm almost as ashamed as I am proud.

Company Town

I'd heard jokes all my life about how much the Irish love to drink, and every St. Patrick's Day at Boston College drove home the attachment of Guinness to national identity. But I never appreciated, prior to my arrival here, the strength of that attachment. The way GE is for Schenectady and GM once was for Flint is how Guiness is for Dublin.

Personally, I've always thought Guinness to be a nice accompaniment to a meal or a nice quickstart to St. Patty's day, but as a drink of choice it is thick, black, expensive and filling (and extremely high in calories). The Irish, though, often drink it the way American college students down Busch Light. They drink it with meals, at pregames, ingames, and postgames, at pubs and night clubs alike. The brand name is plastered on almost every single pub window and sign in the city, on busses and tourist maps and even on a bridge over the River Liffey. I took a bus past the brewery today and found an extremely massive, walled complex; from a distance I thought it was a medieval castle plopped into the middle of the city. The biggest tourist attraction in all of Dublin - bigger than Dublin Castle, Kilmainham Jail (where many of Ireland's leading freedom fighters were imprisoned or executed, not to mention many thousands of petty criminals), the Book of Kells or literally anything else - is the Guinness storehouse, a museum of the old brewery and the highest point of the city, offering the best views. Many of the statues around the city were commissioned by the Guinness family at some point over the past two centuries.

I don't know how big their economic footprint is on Dublin these days. But if they ever closed down, I think Roger and Me would seem like a prequel to the anger and sadness that would fall upon this city.

By the way: I've always been told that you can never appreciate a Guinness until tasting it in Dublin, on draft, served by a bartender who knows how to give the perfect pour for its unique consistency. I can now say from experience: Guinness, when done right and fresh, is delicious.

(Im)perfection

Interesting news from the homeland today: an unknown young Venezuelan pitcher from the Tigers had a perfect game robbed from him on an errant call, on the same day that Ken Griffey Jr. called it quits.

Nobody over here knows shit about baseball, but I take meaning from both stories. According to ESPN and Tyler Keppner of the New York Times, Armando Galaragga had the absolute perfect response in the game's aftermath, especially after umpire Jim Joyce tearfully approached him to apologize once he saw the replay. He talked about how he threw a perfect game and will always know he did, regardless of what the record book says, and that's enough for him. Regarding Joyce, he said with a smile, "Nobody's perfect."

Griffey, batting below the Mendoza line and hardly playing, retired after one of the most remarkable careers in sporting history. He was so young when he started dominating the game that he once hit back-to-back home runs with his father. When I was a kid, I hated "the kid." But as I've gotten older, I've come to hold him in high esteem; he left many millions on the table by skipping free agency to play for his hometown, boyhood favorite, small market Cincinnati Reds. Injuries derailed his career once he got there, but he still finished with 630 career home runs, while never once being mentioned in conversations regarding PED's. In an era when nearly every major star sold their steroid-enhanced services to the highest bidder, his career stood out as something nobler than what we find in everyday life.

Beyond that, his retirement is the last of my childhood villains. Jordan, Miller, Mourning, Marino, Elway, Garciaparra and now Griffey have all been felled by age, and I feel as old upon that realization as I did when I graduated college last week.

What's all this have to do with Ireland? Not too much. For me, it's just a reminder of two basic facts. 1) I'm a college graduate traveling across Europe with nothing but a backpack; I've come a long way since Griffey reduced me to tears with his mad dash to beat the Yankees in the 1995 ALDS. 2) For the duration of this trip, and through my adult life, I will find that perfection is unattainable. But if I perform to my absolute best, then I'll be good enough to be proud of myself. I've been worried about missing something on this trip, about seeing the wrong things. I think from now on, I'm just going to enjoy myself instead. There's no way to complete a trip perfectly....

Made some friends in the hostel last night and saw much of Dublin on a free walking tour today. And I've spent a couple of hours in St. Stephen's Green being cliche reading Dubliners. Trips going great so far.

Alive in Dublin

I landed in Dublin earlier today, making it through my first two flights without being strip searched. A few initial impressions:

1) About 150 years ago, some ancestors of mine and a few dozen million other Americans left Ireland because they were dirt poor and starving to death. All this time later, I can see why: Dublin is very, very expensive. Mcdonald's value meal french fries may end up being a steady source of nutrition for me, and in the event of a potato famine I may not be able to survive here.

2) All those movies I saw growing up with rolling green fields, constant drizzle, pious Catholics and miserable people don't seem to have been set in Dublin. The people here do seem to enjoy drinking, but aside from that they seem prosperous and happy; the city (at least near my hostel) doesn't have very much greenery; and in light of recent events, the Church isn't overly popular or visibly present at the moment.

3) Traveling alone (as I am for this first leg) is fun. It would be nice to be exploring this city with my friends, as I will do for most of the trip, but there's a certain freedom and excitement to setting out by yourself. The first place I went here (after walking through Trinity College, across the street from my hostel) was the first place I saw offering a meal for under 5 euros: an actual Irish pub, where I was the youngest person by at least 10 years (25 if you don't count the bartender), could count all the other patrons on one hand, and couldn't understand a word any of them said (it might be harder to communicate with the English-speaking Irish than any other people I come across this month). I ordered a 3 euro roast beef sandwich with "stuffing" on white bread - I'm still not exactly sure what stuffing consists of - and a pint of guiness and struck up a conversation with the bartender, James, about where I should be visiting in Dublin. I spent probably 45 minutes talking with a complete stranger, and at the end he told me the coffee was on the house and to enjoy myself in the city. While it's possible he was simply stricken by my boyish good looks or American charm, I think he was just being kind to a solitary traveler in a strange place who was polite to him. Talking with him in the bar for 45 minutes might be the most authentic immersion I get on my entire trip.

Among other interesting tidbits I picked up from James: the EU is great for Ireland, but it expanded too much (in his words: "what the fuck do we have in common with Bulgaria besides we're both white? The fuck's the point?") and is facing the consequences; Dublin's fun but most of the stuff worth seeing can be done in 1-2 days, and much of the rest are tourist traps; and most intriguingly, there's a great Irish comedy festival in Kilkenny this week that's absolutely worth seeing.

Personally, I don't know what to go see. James told me the Book of Kells (which is literally across the street from my hostel) isn't that exciting and is a waste of money. I had been interested in Cork and Galway based on what some friends had said back in the U.S., but so far most Irish people I've spoken with heavily recommend Kilkenny instead. I had thought about seeing the countryside, but James said that cows are mostly the same in America and Ireland so I shouldn't waste my time looking at them.

What are your thoughts? If you've been to this island before, tell me what I should go see and do.

(Thanks to Allposters.com for the photo.)