When last we left our caped crusaders....
We were still in Ireland.
Wow.
Let me ponder that a moment....
Okay, still pondering....
Back to the trip:
On Tuesday, we loaded up the cars and headed towards Dublin. Now, our flight was a late-ish one, so we figured that we had time to have a slow, easy start at the house.
We took into account that it obviously wouldn't take the amount of time that GoogleMaps says. We padded on some extra time for an odd delay here or there. We didn't count on Ireland being so Irelandy.
Three construction zones, four torrential everyone-going-30-km-on-the-highway rainstorms, and one large detour. "Yeah, welcome to Ireland" says the gentleman at the ticket desk-and at the rental car desk - and driving the shuttle. So instead of being quite comfortable on time, we instead had a RomCom-esque bolt to drop off the rental car, hurling bags everywhere, and running for the terminal. Only to be told that Karina's passport needed to be checked back at the desk. At least they spoke English. If I had been trying to do this conversation in any other language, I would have sat down and completely bawled.
They very nicely took care of everything - all in a cute Irish brogue - and sent us on our way. So back to our RomCom impersonation, making it through security, down the loooooong pathway to Ryan Air's gates, barely making it as they closed the gates and then on to the plane. Up the ladder. We're doin' it old school.
And then to Nice. Where it suddenly dawns on me that I speak not a word in French. Oh. Forgot about that.
Wow.
Let me ponder that a moment....
Okay, still pondering....
Back to the trip:
On Tuesday, we loaded up the cars and headed towards Dublin. Now, our flight was a late-ish one, so we figured that we had time to have a slow, easy start at the house.
We took into account that it obviously wouldn't take the amount of time that GoogleMaps says. We padded on some extra time for an odd delay here or there. We didn't count on Ireland being so Irelandy.
Three construction zones, four torrential everyone-going-30-km-on-the-highway rainstorms, and one large detour. "Yeah, welcome to Ireland" says the gentleman at the ticket desk-and at the rental car desk - and driving the shuttle. So instead of being quite comfortable on time, we instead had a RomCom-esque bolt to drop off the rental car, hurling bags everywhere, and running for the terminal. Only to be told that Karina's passport needed to be checked back at the desk. At least they spoke English. If I had been trying to do this conversation in any other language, I would have sat down and completely bawled.
They very nicely took care of everything - all in a cute Irish brogue - and sent us on our way. So back to our RomCom impersonation, making it through security, down the loooooong pathway to Ryan Air's gates, barely making it as they closed the gates and then on to the plane. Up the ladder. We're doin' it old school.
And then to Nice. Where it suddenly dawns on me that I speak not a word in French. Oh. Forgot about that.
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