Ireland!

It was very good to touch down in Dublin.  5am Thursday was when I left Montreal, and it is now 8pm Friday.  Train, bus, plane, taxi, train stations and airports.  This is the part of travelling that you gotta love.  The eight hour flight from Toronto to Frankfurt was enhanced by the odour of the shed joggers of the 14 year old boy sitting next to me.  On the other hand, the eight hours at Frankfurt airport passed surprisingly quickly.  It is a microcosm, ticking over with admirable German efficiency.  People coming from and going to all parts of the world.  One only need sit and watch the parade.

But Ireland! At the airport, the customs line for “goods to declare” – red markings on floor and red office etc – was simply closed.  No-one there.  The line for those with nothing to declare was open, staffed by a weary looking chap who glanced at the passport and waved us all through.  This after the US, where even when just in transit at LA, one was photographed and had all fingerprints taken (three years ago it was only the right thumb).

 The driver of the taxi to the hotel apologised that he had to drive on past the hotel and do a U-turn at the next intersection, as he could not turn across the traffic into the entrance.  I asked what signified that, - I have to pick up the car and drive tomorrow, so was interested – as there was no double line on the road.  Well, he said, there would be if the paint had not worn off.  Reassuring, that.

Mine host at the hotel is, I am sure, Dylan Moran’s older brother.  He looks like him and acts like him and the place is the accommodation equivalent of the Black Books bookstore. He knew nothing of the facial expression called smiling.  Half way through checking me in he took a phone call, and took off announcing he was off to the airport but would be back. Some time later, ( half an hour), a side-kick appeared, who finished checking me into my room.  He had been finishing a repair job on my room, which reeked of glue, so I had to sleep with all windows wide open. (6 degrees overnight). The mattress had one thin layer of ticking stretched thinly across the springs.  Sleep did not come easy, even after thirty hours of travel. I awoke with circular imprints all over me.  Irish radio, in my earbuds to pass the night hours, did not help at all!  How do I find these places?  One thing – it is more interesting than the Comfort Inn at Toronto – we have them at home.