One Flew Over: Part The Second

"While you were sleeping, we crossed the Atlantic." Funny, I think I've done that a lot, just never quite for real. Skipping the Pond was...well, I was asleep for a lot of it and couldn't see out the window for most of the rest (which is fine, really because I was able to get up whenever I needed...a lot).

Just in time for my body to remind me that I am indeed, yes, still lactose intolerant (and, of course, stroke of genius at 4am PST Sunday morning would have me pack the Lactaid on my checked bag) I noticed that they don't seem to be putting air sick bags in the Seat Pocket in Front of You anymore.

"Welcome to Dublin." Right. So, I'm in, like a WHOLE different country right now. Apparently, Dublin is really excited about you "sharing the adventure" since this, accompanied by less appropriate images, was splashed all along the jetway into Immigration.

My "adventure" began pretty much right away. I'm standing at Bag Claim Belt #8 when I realize that I left my Journal-Specifically-for-Scotland-at-the-end-of-this-trip and a book I'm borrowing from a friend on the plane. It takes me 20 minutes to figure out who to inform of this matter and another 20 standing in their line. (Bag Claim Belt #8 hasn't moved). I tell the guy-who-looks-young-enough-to-be-my-kid behind the desk and he writes down a bunch of numbers, and lyrical-Irish's back at me something about it all being ok. He tells me to wait, dons a bright yellow vest like he's Goin' In and disappears behind the wall plastered with different airlines' bumper stickers. Another man behind The Counter suggests I go get my bag and come back. Perfect timing: I drag my Stuff for the next Two and a Half Months off Bag Claim Belt #8 and come back just as Yellow Vest comes back to hand me my Almost Lost Items.

I wander around the airport and found a bus from Dublin to Belfast (14E*). I had looked at a map and thought that I'd be able to tell how far it was to Belfast. I think I was about half right. I got off at the first stop the bus made (which, in my defense WAS a long time AND a LOT of people got off here) and called Sally, the lady I'm staying with in Saintfield, County Down (outside of Belfast). Then, I call a friend's cell phone at wake him up at 1am to talk for a bit - I am SO people oriented it's amazing (this might be one reason I occassionally struggle with being overseas right now, much as I LOVE that I am). I'm still waiting to see how expensive that call was - especially since the conversion rate between pounds and US money is 2 to 1.

Anyway, I wait for about an hour before I decide to cal Sally again. Just as before, I had to use my card because all I had at the point were Euros and the UK is clinging fast to their Britishness so they do most everything a little differently (including not using Euros). Sally told me to call back in 5 minutes - she was driving. So, I wait maybe about 2 and a half since I'm really anxious, call back and get the international operator. I hang up, try again and get another international operator: my card is being declined. It's 1am in the US (and I don't have my bank's phone - or the right money - anyway) so I start to panic. Then I realize that all I really need to do is get the right kind of money and I'll be able to make the phone go again.

So, I walk over to the "Tickets and Enquiries" Desk, obtain information about currency exchange, gather all my stuff (jacket, Mr. Waffles, purse, Rhode Island-sized carry on backpack, Texas-sized black box suitcase, random plastic bag full of randomness) and waddle down the street - almost getting hit by a car because I'm looking the "wrong" way down streets I want to cross (yes, driving on the left side of the road really DOES make that much of a difference...), awkward right up to the counter and over-explain my situation to a mountain made out of woman behind the aging glass. She gives me pounds for my Euros, a print-out of exchange rates and shoos me away.

I stagger back to the bus stop, which I've now figured out is called "Newry" but am thinking - oh, maybe it's close enough that she'll come get me. (This is when I bump into the "I really need to be taken care of" crap that is pinning me under quite a heaping lack of Grow-Up). I put pence (a smaller denomination of pound) in the phone to make it go and it connects me just long enough to explain the money situation. It cuts out again and the coins I've got left go straight through the machine like butter. I decide it's time to play my Foreigner Card.

I go up to the "Coffee Shop" and explain that I have no idea how to make this phone work, these coins don't seem to do it and I've got these other ones - teenager behind counter takes "defective" coins out of my hand and gives me less but bigger coins in return, all the while allowing me to continue rambling in my less-wicked English. I feed the Bottomless Pit that is my lifeline at this point and Sally, on the other end, suggests that she'll ring me back. By now, a few locals are giving me the "Poor Lost Foreigner" look, but I'm actually ok. And I'l not self-conscious, either. If you need help, sometimes it's good for people to know that.

The pay phone rings and I finally figure out that I got off the bus an hour and a half too early, but my 14E ticket should still be good. I present it to the counter along with a look of Whiplash and the lady walks me out to the bus stop, assures me it will be ok to reuse and points at the bus wobbling toward us. "Get on this one, and don't get off until the driver makes you - the last stop is Belfast."

An hour half and a beautiful yet somewhat sad wind through the country of Northern Ireland later, I connect with Sally at the bus stop and get a tour of Belfast on the half-hour drive "home." Well, this is certainly one way to grow up, hey? It's also another way to find those Everlasting Arms.


*Side note: E - Euro, L - pound, p - pence, $ - normal money