Ireland, Part 1: The Day That Went Not As It Should Have

According to Stefani, we should have known it was going to be a bad day when Stef got groped by a drunk man while we were waiting at the bus stop. And really, she’s right. I mean, there we were, at 3:30 in the morning, freezing, and waiting or a night bus that may or may not actually get us to the Victoria station bus stop on time, and suddenly there is this man. He was creepy, and definitely sleazy, and so intoxicated that when he appeared suddenly between us, I thought I was going to get drunk off the fumes. And then Stefani is glaring and stepping back and saying “Excuse me, no.” And the creepy drunk guy is laughing and apologizing and walking away, but…

Yes, that should have been our first clue.

But then our bus miraculously got us to our stop with 3 minutes to spare. And we managed to (run fast enough to) catch our airport bus on time at the stop down the road. And then we made it to the airport by 6:00, with just enough time to make it through security. So it was looking like our day was turning around. Only no. It wasn’t.

Because England has issues. Instead of putting the visa/passport check at the gate or near security, as everyone else in the world does, they put it at the check-in gate. Which is literally a 15 minute walk (minus the wait to get through security) from the gate where our plane took off. Only we didn’t know that. And the board said those on our flight were to “proceed to the gate.” So we assumed the passport check was ahead of us.

Wrong!

“I’m sorry,” said the lady checking boarding passes for passport stamps. “We only have 20 minutes left until take off, that’s not enough time for you to go get you boarding passes stamped.”

What does that mean? we wondered.

Apparently it meant that we would have to go back to arrivals and book another flight to Ireland. We were escorted (why? Who knows.) back to the arrival part (through a shortcut that cut our fifteen minute walk down to three) and left at arrivals. Why they couldn’t escort us to get our boarding passes stamped, and then escort us back, I will never know. We still would have had plenty of time to make the plane had they done so. But apparently “it’s Ryanair policy” and that’s that.

So Tracey, Tyler and Hannah went to Ireland, and Stefani and I set about figuring out a way to join them.

There was another flight leaving at 9:15, but from another airport in a different part of London. The rebooking costs were already going to bankrupt us, a taxi ride wasn’t really an option. And the bus booking offices weren’t open yet. So we booked ourselves a 1:10 flight leaving from the airport we were already at. Which left us with 7 hours to kill.

Mostly we read or napped. For awhile we chatted. We made plans to eat brunch once we got through security a second time (silver lining anyone?), but we would be unable to do that until they opened the check-in for our flight at 11:10. Which still left us with 5 hours. Eventually, after time crept by slowly slowly, the board showed our check-in gate number, and we lined up with several hundred other people to get our boarding passes stamped. Only they only opened one gate. For everyone on our flight. Half of whom were also checking bags as part of this process. We were in the first 3rd, and it took an hour to get through the line.

Obviously brunch was right out. We got through security, trekked to our gate with half an hour to spare, and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. Our flight, of course, was late, and an hour after take-off was scheduled, we were finally boarded and ready to go. Alright!

But the plane wasn’t moving. What…? Eventually, the captain kindly informed us that about the time they were ready to close the doors, they discovered that a “small but critical part” on one wing was broken. “We’re in communication with a storage place nearby,” said the captain, “and we’re trying to get a spare part so we can fix it as soon as possible. I’ll let you know as soon as I know more.” Only the storage place didn’t have the part. So they decided to send a plane from Dublin to come get us, and made us leave the plane. “We’ll board again at 3:50,” they told us.

At this point I was exhausted. Stefani was exhausted. We were supposed to have been in Ireland either 5 or 1 hours ago, and we were still sitting in an airport in London. So we did what any girl would do in this situation: we called our moms.

Which made me feel a bit better, for all that international calls use up a lot of my cell’s minute allotment, so the call was short. Then it was back to the gate, with the intention to board a plane…that didn’t show up for another half an hour. By this time, obviously, our whole flight was frustrated. When the plane finally did arrive, minutes before they started boarding, the airline changed our gate number, and this seemed to be the end of everyone’s patience. The nice orderly queue that once existed was abolished in favor of hoard mentality, and the airline employees were hard pressed to keep order while checking our tickets.

Four hours after our flight was supposed to leave—10 ½ hours after Stef’s and my original flight—we finally got into the air. The flight itself is a little blurry, I think because Stefani was sick and I was getting a headache, and we kinda napped through it, but eventually we landed in Ireland. Our potential troubles weren’t over yet though. Stefani still had a three hour bus ride to the other side of the island to meet a friend, and I still had to figure out where in Dublin Hanna, Tracey and Tyler were at, and how to get to them. Worse, Stefani’s bus was scheduled to leave 15 minutes after we got off the plane, and we still had to get through customs. So we ran. And ran. And ran some more. I swear, I will never complain about an American plane terminal again! None of them are so badly spaced out as European airports, and for no apparent reason, either. I mean, I understand Phoenix or Honolulu being huge and maybe requiring a tram to get from one end to the other, but let’s be honest, there’s just not that many flights in and out of Dublin. There’s no reason for that layout!

Fortunately, customs wasn’t busy, and there was no line at all. A quick stamp in the passport (my favorite one so far; it’s green!), and we were racing through the airport to the bus terminal. And then running to the far end of the bus terminal to Stefani’s bus stop. And, just as they were closing things up, we arrived. For the first time all day, something went right. I waved at Stefani once the bus driver checked her ticket, and took myself off to find a local bus to the city center.

I met my three friends at a pub near our hostel (where the waiter took ou picture behind the bar), carting my back pack and looking more like the walking dead than a weary traveler, at nearly 8 in the evening, more than 12 hours after my original arrive in Ireland time. But though I was exhausted, hungry, and nearly dying of a migraine…I was doing those things in Ireland!!! And let me tell you, Ireland is beautiful. Even Dublin, which feels more like a less crowded London with wider streets, was just lovely. There’s this river running through the middle of it, and bridges crossing it all over the place, and I just love it there!

(Pub photo courtesy of Tyler Fouche)

So, excited about the rest of my trip (especially for the bus tour scheduled for the next day) I snagged a quick sandwich (Subway! Like McDonald’s, you have settled yourself all over the world, and the yummy familiarity of my favorite turkey on wheat—my first time in an American restaurant since leaving home—was a marvel to me in that moment) and took myself off to bed.