Never USE your phone, Mr. World Traveler Guy

My recent trip to the US went really well, even though I certainly missed my family. While in California, I used my mobile phone to happily talk to people there in the States and also folks back here at home. It was a sum total of about 68 minutes, including calls both sent and received.

Thanks to the incredible rates from Vodafone, I got a bill today showing that cost me a nice €96. For about an hour. Fuck that.

On the plus side, if I'd not used Skype for most of my longer chats with home, I'd be in really deep doo-doo. Lesson learned, Mr Vodafone Man.

Next time, I'll use MAXroam.

Views of a family packing

Well, travelling. We leave on the 9:30 ferry, for a 2:30 flight, then a 7:30 flight. Phew. We have our limit of baggage, that's for sure!!



See that on top of the car? That's two more duffel bags.




My stepfather, who lives up the road, has a habit of stripping our place clean of any sweets once we leave. So Atreus left this message on the board of the kitchen...about 2 steps from the cookie jar.

Quiet now

It's quiet here now (well, aside from the baby babbling and the 5 year old asking me questions about everything under the sun). It's the first time the house hasn't had a visitor here since we left, basically. It's a different feeling in the house, like it's a bit empty. Odd that.

3 weeks, and we're off back home ourselves. MW had two massive bags (I swear, her kids are going to think it's Christmas early!), and we're going to be having that much ourselves: two massive bags per passenger (so 8 big bags total!). I still have some bits that need to come home with me that will be ordered online...we're on an island, it's hard to get this stuff sometimes! We also have to get our new driver's licences here (sssshhhh, don't tell the Gardai! We still drive on our US lic, need to get our tests this year-ish). That's the one big thing that *has* to happen. All other stuff can fall behind. I'm going to start to pack boxes/bags this week, so that we know what we have to deal with, and if we have to leave anything behind.

So our efforts are going to ramp up now, finishing things, as well as trying to hit the local county fair in a week or two. Phew. Oh no! I forgot to do Christmas presents!!!! AArgh! Must run!

The true cause for natural events

Since yesterday it's been a complete downpour here in Canada. The reason, however, became clear last night.

I went to the hotel bar and asked the bartender for a pint of Guinness. He grabbed a glass, tried to pour---and remembered that their Guinness tap is broken and hadn't yet been serviced, but should be in the morning.

Now I know what caused the rain.

:)

You're not one of us!

I'm away on a work trip to Canada until the weekend. Really, really hard to be away from the family, but I always end up learning a lot when I do it to the benefit of my work, so we deal with the hassle.

Right now I'm in the lounge at the hotel eating dinner. The floor I'm on is on their "special" floor where everybody acts like they're rich, even if they're not. In the lounge there's a free buffet of appetizers...I eat ample amounts to skip buying dinner out. (A good friend of mine and I have been coming to this same place for the same meetings for about 5 years; unfortunately he's unable to come this year, which is a bit of a bummer. Long-term friendships are still susceptible to disappointment when you're not able to see each other when you otherwise would.)

So here I sit, having my ample glass of Balvenie 15yr single malt scotch whiskey for CAN$10.00, and the room is slowly growing with snobby people. Case in point: hubby and wifey walk up to the honor-system bar cabinet, glance it over carefully, and with a dramatic sigh wifey announces to the room, "Well, that might do..."

Gag.

The cabinet is an old wooden case with display shelves on either side holding the various kinds of glasses, and the middle is a pair of shelves with lots of liquor, open red and white wines (acceptable years---cough),
and other bits: ice, tobasco sauce, lemon slices, et al. Under the shelves are two small (college-style) refridgerators holding a range of beers, sodas, juices, water, etc. And two small bottles of champagne for that clever lover who proposes out of the blue on vacation and couldn't find a more appealing setting than in a hotel.

Next to the wines is a small box with sheets of paper in it: this is the honor part. You fill in your name, room number, and list out what you had: ITEM, QUANTITY, COST. I'm sure plenty of people fudge their own honesty when it comes to this little sheet of guilt. But the concierge staff who work the desk for the floor are pretty good at recognizing everyone. Like, everyone. So go ahead, if you're staying only one night and don't come here much, have what you want. But if you're here for more than one night, or have repeat visits, they'll know not only your name, but little idiocyncracies you didn't think anyone ever noticed. Case in point: I walk in here this morning for breakfast, and the same lady who was here last year walks up to me and says, "Welcome back! Would you like a latte this morning?" (Last year I asked her for the same, but apparently it's not something they document as an option to the guests---just a detail that's ready to happen if someone should ask. )

There are now three couples, none of them under the age of 50. All of the women have blindingly shiny bits of light dancing on their fingers as they gesture around telling a witty story to their husbands. I'm at a table by a window, plates of food around my laptop, my whiskey doing little trembles as I type. (Cut to a clip
from Jurassic Park as they tremble to the footsteps of the T-Rex, the water in their glass rippling.)

I think what makes me not belong is my jeans and these great Teva sandals with no socks to hide my bare feet. Then it could be the three small plates of food distributed around my laptop on this fine black marble table-for-two.

I'll finish my food then go in a bit to hang out with folks from the meeting I'm attending. I wonder if Mr Receding and Mrs Rocks will look at each other with relief when they see the rules of good society and order are finally back in place?

Furthering a thought

Frank's post reminded me of a comment made on the flight to the US. Well, it was after we had landed, and everyone was standing, awkwardly, waiting for the doors to open (which took inordinately long). Now, remember that we flew Aer Lingus, direct from Dublin to Boston.

Discussion in the row behind us (and we're all standing up now...)

Woman 1: "I wanted to exercise more, but there was just no time."

Woman 2: "Oh I know what you mean. And the food! Irish women just don't care about how they look, do they? They eat all this fatty food!"

W1: "I can't wait to get back and have some salads, you know?"

W2: "And the drinking! I mean, Irish women just drink like crazy, don't they. They drink so much! They eat tons of food and drink a huge amount."

I was, literally gobsmacked. I wanted to turn to her, put on my thickest (Southside) accent and say something like "You really should watch what you say on an IRISH airline, especially when you're returning to the fattest country in the world."

And the second woman? Who the heck forced the fish and chips down her gob?! If I remember right, every freaking menu has a salad on it! And the salads in Ireland are much better than the ones here, let me tell you...

No, I was a chicken, I didn't want to start anything, but jjjjjjjjjjeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Road Trip: A Few Side Glances

On the road for a bit ... at the airport, waiting outside, there's a group of two girls in their mid-20s, both gorgeous...until they pulled out their packs of smokes and lit up. Ten years ago I wouldn't have come close to thinking this.

In the same scene, a guy stands there talking to his friend while taking a drag. He then talks after exhaling in a puff, but somehow there's still more. He does two long, full sentences and wafts of smoke come out from between his lips.

Guy gets onto the plane and reaches down, massages his genitals for more than a moment, and then does a weird cycle of unzipping and rezipping his trousers. While walking down the aisle to his seat. shudder don't wanna sit too far back near him...

Kids behind us are the worst little shits, kicking seats, whining, fighting, the works. And their New York-accent parents could give a shit.

The plane lands and a group of four or five, each about 20 years of age, applaud when the first cries out, "Hooray, we're back in America!" "Whoop, whoop!" joins the clapping which actually spreads over other parts of the plane. What the fuck, were these people held hostage? I didn't realize Ireland was such a downer of a place to use for a trip...cough...

Doors at the airport open, and we're hit by the sweltering heat (30 Celsius?) and humidity enough to make us stop moving for a moment, convinced we'll not be getting enough oxygen. But then we all grin at the warmth we've been longing for at home in Ireland for the last month or longer. The people walking next to us are convinced we're all fucking nuts.

Quickly adjusting to the time difference. Yay!