Forays

Hawk and Trouble’s Excellent 2013 Irish Adventure

April 5

Went to see the Book of Kells at Trinity College. Stood in line outside in the cold, where the guard said that the weeks around St. Patrick’s day til the week after Easter are busy, approaching tourist throughput during summer months. The exhibit approaching the books on display is extremely interesting. One could even say illuminating, if one chose to attempt cleverity. And the books (There are several on display besides the Book of Kells) themselves are fascinating to see, although illegible without the aid of 20X magnification aids.

We rode a circuit on the hop on, hop off bus, which eventually brought us back to Ormond Quay (pronounced key) and near the hotel. Driver does the commentary, while threading the double decker bus along streets and turns that seem not broad, but mostly narrow. Molly Malone’s statue at the bottom of Grafton Street is a feature on the tour, but is always crowded with tourists and street entertainers such as oversized leprechauns hawking a photo-op for a small fee, not unlike the superheroes on Hollywood Blvd featured on Jimmy Kimmel. We’ll hold off in hopes of encountering the real McCoy.

April 3, 2013

We’re at O”Hare airport, past security in the international terminal, and seated in the departure area. Some might call it a lounge, but it’s less a lounge, and more like the Spartanly appointed majority of US air terminals. Virgin vinyl seating, looking the worse for wear, gray speckled industrial carpet, big windows with nothing to see, AND NO RESTAURANTS — OR BARS! A sad state of affairs. The white walls across the corridor are plastered with posters for coming attractions, including “Chicago’s Best Kept Secret,” a restaurant by the name of Tocco. They are keeping it a secret by concealing it behind a white plywood screen, along with other establishments yet to come, and the only exceptions are fold up joints purveying magazines and duty-free stuff.

When we checked in at the Aer Lingus desk, the woman at the desk advised us that there were no restaurants in the terminal on either side of security, and that if we wanted to eat, we would do best to board the inter-terminal tram, ride two stops to the Hilton hotel, and eat there. We had arrived around 3 PM for an 8 PM flight, so she was doubtless concerned that we might waste away before boarding time came around, so the advice was volunteered, no prompting from us.

It’s an adventure, Barnaby! riding the inter-terminal tram for the first time in our many transits through O’Hare. O, rapture! But of course it’s just a garden variety electric, pilotless set of aluminum pods shuttling people and baggage hither and yon. O, modified rapture! Not even worth the bits and bytes involved in taking its digital picture.

Sandwiches at the Hilton were remarkably good, if you can overlook the $15 price — each. And the $15 drinks. They say there’s the money you spend at home, and the money you spend on vacation. Add to that the money you spend in transit.

So we’re back at the terminal and checked in, examined and compared to our documentation, and found worthy to fly. The waiting area was deserted when we walked in, so we got excellent seats by the window and the gate door so as not to miss any of the activity or the building excitement. With plenty of time to spare, Paula has taken out her iPad, plugged in a set of earphones, and is dutifully reviewing her music for Centerstage and singing in her tiniest sotto voce as she looks at her photocopied music. Didn’t want to risk losing the originals in Ireland, or having it confiscated for not being Celtic. And if the luggage is overweight on the return trip, the copies can be jettisoned.

I, in the meantime, occupy myself with this, with an eye to developing the habit as we travel. A virtuous beginning, and excellent intentions. Wish me godspeed.