And I'm off.
Five hours of work and it's off to spend three plus hours eating a cornicopia of delicious fast food and other trash at Reagan International Airport.
Let's see - what'd I hit? We got the Sante Fe Chicken sandwhich. We got the trailmix (with yogurt). We got the Double Bacon Cheeseburger (combo) Large from A&W. Also, the Snickers Bar (almond) and 20 oz. Coke. I am severely loaded up.
I hop on the plane and just 39 minutes later we're in Newark for another three hours of furious airport eating... or not. My stomach is officially fucked up. Better wait for that delicious plane meal.
The flight to Ireland (Shannon, direct) is eased by two tiny anxiety pills, compliments of a co-worker. As I fly off into the sunset - literally - a wave of calm falls/climbs over me and I spend the rest of the trip smiling slightly and wondering where my food is.
Let me tell you. Continental sucks. I'm a well-fed American boy. I demand a little TV built into my seat, a free open bar (the British get it), and obviously a choice between chicken or beef. That choice is made for me when they run out of the latter before arriving at my seat at the back of the plane.
Nevertheless, I'm in chemically-induced good spirits and halfway to Ireland before I know it.
When I get into Shannon, I am greeted by the U.S. Army. Two dozen dazed soldiers in desert gear stare at their feet or pace around an empty gate. We're separated by a rope and a sign that tells me "NO ENTRY - DEPARTURES ONLY". By the looks of them they'll be departing soon, alright. Crap.
When I get in, it is ugly in a beautiful Irish way. Totally fogged, overcast, grey, pouring - it's awesome. I breathe some fresh air and think about all the breakfast I'm going to be eating these next two weeks.
I make a split decision based on the dozens of tourists crowded around the bus stop to Galway , and that decision is - go forth Matt, travel another eight hours and get drunk at Bound For Boston.
I hop on the bus and an hour and a half later I'm in Galway. I basically wait at the bus station because I'm starting to feel shot. I know the night was only three hours long but this has been a pretty long day...
The bus ride to Derry is an interesting one, but even a foreigner can tell that this might not be the most reasonable route to Derry. The coach seems to follow the twisted coast of the island, weaving from town to town for hours and hours. In between quick naps I'm able to see a lot of the ground I've never covereed in the west before. Of not is Sligo, with its huge plateued mountains and remote villages.
Anyone need a development assistant to return their license plates around here? I'm trained!
I also catch site of a few familiar places. Donegal mountains, schwag-ass Letterkenney bus station (maybe a detour to Dunfanaghy?)
and a weird church & stone fort on the border of County Derry. I am pretty damn excited to get in and pass the hell out.
When I get back to Derry, I know that that's not gonna happen. I check into Steve's Hostel and drop off my bags. It's already 5 PM Irish Time though, so by the time I get out into the streets to try and find a phone card, most everywhere is shuttered. I thought I remembered Derry staying open a little later, but I was guess I was just wrong. Kind of strange that it still stays light out till 9:30 though.
I get back to the hostel and meet Ines and Dani, two chicks from Germany. Ines is from between Frankfurt and some other place, and it is revealed that in apparent stark contrast to my own homeland, the German middle of nowhere breeds hot well-dressed foreigners. Dani is from Berlin. They're both cool.
We decide that at 10 PM we'll hook up and hit up the Bound For Boston, and being unable to find their number anywhere, I decide to walk up the street and "call on" the Lyttles.
Bridine is pretty surprised to see me needless to say. Since I was her host sudent she hasn't heard much from me, just sporadic gifts & letters, the last over a year ago. She brings me in and forces me to eat some really good soup and bread and crackers. I still remember my way around the kitchen and get me some tea and chocolate ("Yorkies - NOT for girls"). She asks me to make tea but I don't remember how to do it right the Irish way, so she makes fun of me. I tell her I still know how to make a crisp sandwhich so I can still fit in in Northern Ireland.
I see Matthew and Maria who are approximately one sixth older and significatnly pubescent these days. Maria's hair is dyed black and she looks like she is certainly well on her way to being a pain in Eugene & Bridine's asses.
I barge into Matt's room: "Wah tha fook?!" e He's hunched over his desk trying to turn his expired Irish passport to say he's 18. He proudly shows it off and we chat for a few. We exchange numbers and I bounce back to the hostel.
BFB is different now, but certainly still sufficient to throw a couple of girls of a fairer nationality out of their element. I get me a Guiness, accidentally try to pay in Euro's, and soak in the Derryness of the situation. Some crazy accents, t-shirts and jeans, and of course lots of Irish haircuts. I gotta admit I love the bangs on those girls. On the guys though... There are two guys playing accoustic guitars - 60's rock - at the front. They've closed off the booths and back rooms so it's a little smaller but effectively the same.
I make it three beers and two hours before God tells me "Go home - Got home and sleep NOW!" I listen because I'm a good Jew.
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