Overnight in Chicago, prior to flying to Dublin. As we shuttle into the airport, the entrances to I190 are blocked. Some major Pooh-Bah is flying in or out, so top security measures are in effect and outgoing traffic is at a standstill. It’s our shuttle driver’s last run of the day. Supper may be delayed.
The hotel desk asks, “I see you prefer a lower floor, but can I put you in an upper floor with a view of the airport?”
8th floor view:
Hoping to keep up with the blog better this time. Usually I’m gung-ho for a few days, and then life gets too busy and naps too attractive.
A little excitement as fire trucks and equipment with lights and sirens pull up to the upper and lower levels of Terminal 2. Even Chicago Fire ladder truck arrives. Although firefighters deploy and start opening up the equipment bays on the ORD trucks, they soon stand down. On scene for about 45 minutes, then depart.
Hotel allowed us a late checkout. Even so, we have to check out at 2 PM, and our flight is at 9:30 PM. 7 hours at O’Hare–ho-hum. How long will our devices and power banks last? Hope there are power outlets on board the aircraft.
On the other hand, Hilton scores some points for spontaneous customer service. Instead of describing how to get across to Terminal 2 and navigate to the airport shuttle that takes us to Terminal 5, the bellman says, I’ll drive you. We get a private ride in the hotel shuttle right to Aer Lingus check-in door. The inter-terminal rail is out of service untill fall this year after renovations and equipment upgrades.
In order to get to Ireland from Chicago in March, you really have to want to get there. Aer Lingus airport gates are at the far ends of the international terminal’s concourse. There are a couple of lonely moving walkways, but the money must have run out. Knees and hips protest in vain.
What to say about the flight? At least sardines are slathered in oil to reduce friction. Airline passengers are not.
Dublin
After the flight, we slog through about a kilometer of walkways to the airport. It’s Sunday, and later in the morning. Queues are therefore short or non-existent. A short wait at passport control, a few questions at the window, and we are feet dry in the Republic. Luggage collected, customs passed, and we emerge to find the ATM’s completely queueless. A brief ramble out to the taxi rank and an unpleasant surprise: 2 degrees C, 36 degrees F. Never mind the temperature, we’re in feckin’ Ireland! Nevertheless, the taxi driver, the hotel desk clerk, the wait staffers, etc…all say, “You missed it last week. Tropical temperatures.
Even so, our hotel window provides great anticipation: Heuston station for our train trip tomorrow, and Guinness Storehouse for our ongoing sustenance.
travelntrouble 