When hatching our evacuation plan we’d decided on getting a cab to take us to the bus depot where we’d continue on to Beauvais. We’d learned that it was very important not to be late to the bus stop and a taxi ride seemed like the most civilized way to be punctual and stress free. We ate as much yogurt and stinky cheese as we could and headed down to the lobby, where a courteous taxi driver greeted us an whisked us away. We arrived at the bus depot and waited. We were among a lot of confused tourists. None of us knew what we were doing, but we all just paid attention and in time we purchased our tickets and boarded our bus. One soothing nap later and we were out in the country side, which to be honest seemed preferable to the urban landscape that we’d just left.
The airline’s policy on weight limits seemed to be more strictly enforced than on our flight into France so we went about rearranging our possessions to get in under the limit. I made a trip to the toilet which wasn’t very fun, quite a different experience from my trip the day before. It was a small, hot little room with a few ladies waiting interminably for the changeover of stalls to occur. We were all dreading what awaited the unfortunate patron who was to follow up the person who was taking so damn long in there. Then there was the matter of no toilet paper. We had a break when one person mercifully distributed tissue to the rest of us from the open stall. We all stood ready and eventually I was out of there. In that case anticipation had worked to my advantage and the departure left me thinking that it wasn’t all that bad after all.
Sunday was a day of waiting, at the bus depot, then outside security, then at the gate. Threatened by the very unpleasant notion of missing our bus or plane, we tourists had diligently gotten ourselves there on time, which by the way, means a minimum of 2 hours early. Now we had to wait. If only the airline were so concerned about its own punctuality! But then again, they have the whole airplane component to deal with, so I’ll keep my complaints to myself. Best to be a little late and safe! While we were waiting we struck up a conversation with a couple returning home to Dublin. The husband was a great lover of politics, especially in the US and the wife was a great lover of touring in the US. Together they had lots of interesting stories and insights. He’s the one who pretty aptly said, “Every Irish person wants to fight for a free Ireland, but nobody wants to live there.” This was in the context of discussing the confused government policies and general folly of implementation that seems to continually stymie the mechanics of governance. They also gave us a bit of advice about the ways of the Irish: when you ask someone for directions and they end with “yah cahn’t miss it” you know that they don’t know what they’re talking about and it’s best to ask somebody else. Apparently an Irish person will never confess ignorance, so it’s best to keep asking until you get concrete facts about the topic of your inquiry. That’s when you’re guaranteed accurate information. The more vague, the less informed the source. Those Irish sure do have sensible advice!
Eventually we boarded and had an uneventful trip back. Armed with more knowledge about the ways of the Irish than our first time, we approached the rental car company’s representative a little differently. When we inquired about the M50 we finally got the real story: Hertz had been through a lengthy process of negotiation with the government to register its few thousand cars with the toll system. The deal was nearly closed when the government dropped it and since then nothing has developed. We hadn’t been charged a single euro and wouldn’t be on account of the Irish government’s lack of follow through. Good for us, not so for the Irish. Here’s hoping for their sake that they eventually “get it right.”
We had a good plan for our last evening, a trip to the Guiness storehouse on Jason’s fervent recommendation. Unfortunately I think part of the magic was lost on us since neither David nor I is a big fan of the famous brew. For nearly the whole day I’d been imagining a delicious meal atop the storehouse. Our plan was to take the tour and have one last tasty Irish meal. I had my heart set on a pot pie and some sort of apple dessert. At this point in the story, you’re probably thinking, there goes Faye with those expectations unfounded in reality, setting herself up for disappointment yet again! Well, you’re right, in the short term at least. The storehouse was open until 7p (we’d had the good sense to confirm that before showing up), but the restaurant that, in my mind, was meant to serve me my perfect last meal closed 2 hours earlier. And yes, astute reader, you guessed it, it had closed just before we arrived. Oh the devastation! We had a snack at the informal cafe since I was hungry (little wonder I was so worked up about the restaurant being closed) and continued on with the tour. With every step I took, the old feeling of being a sucker of a tourist was mounting within me. Here we’d paid this company 26 euro to provide us with a self-guided, seven story walking advertisement for a beverage neither of us loved! I developed a theory that there are two kinds of attractions, the kind that educate a person to be more informed about the surrounding world and culture and the kind that sucker a person into being a more prodigious consumer of whatever the attraction is selling. By my estimation, Guiness Storehouse falls into the latter category. Being the ultimate 20th century consumer that my mom reared me to be, I found the most interesting part of the tour to be the numerous displays of Guiness paraphernalia. I particularly liked the idea that “Guiness is good for you” and recommended by doctors. I was beginning to wonder if it was indeed true, yes I am a major sucker. We arrived at the top, where the real party was going full swing. Unfortunately we found out from Jason afterward that it’s best to request the room temperature brew which is how the Irish enjoy their Guiness. I’m not sure it would have increased my enjoyment too much, but it would have been nice to at least have the authentic experience. We know for next time. We didn’t drink too much and it seemed a shame to waste the ‘healthy’ elixir, but the party was winding down and we had to rustle ourselves up some dinner in the town of Dublin.
We headed to the city center for one last hurrah, found a parking spot on the street, checked the signs thoroughly, and asked a local walking along if it was okay to park there. Her answer had enough specificity to convince us she was accurately informed and we set out to hunt down a good restaurant. I can’t exactly remember how we found the restaurant, I think that they had something about local or organic produce that caught David’s eye. What luck! It was fabulous, one of the top meals of our trip, and not too expensive! Here’s the best part, I had a chicken pot pie that was delicious and apple pie with ice cream for dessert! Just as I had imagined. Silly me, I’d just gotten the location wrong. David enjoyed his meal equally, it was a really yummy steak sandwich to use his words. There was something particularly tasty in it but we couldn’t figure out what it was, perhaps a beet? We asked one of the people helping us and she said she didn’t have any idea. When we suggested that she ask in the kitchen, she gave us an incredulous look with a self-deprecating shrug that made it clear we’d never know what exactly made David’s sandwich so tasty. Another thing we came to realize about Ireland: they make a mean apple pie. If it’s up to David’s standards, it’s got to be good!
What luck, we’d finished off with a perfectly delicious meal in a place that we’d grown fond of in just a few days’ time. We’d had a wonderful trip. I can’t imagine anyone else that I’d have wanted to spend those days with even when moods were less then amiable. To have shared so many good times with David was really fun, but just being together for an extended amount of time was truly a gift. Thank you David, for the most perfect engagement present. It bodes well for a long and happy life together. Love, Faye
Leave a Reply