Let's play "assumptions and stereotypes" and see which ones actually played out for us: O'Hare airport in Chicago? Avoid it at all cost! Traveling overseas with two kids under five? Nightmare! Cold, rainy days n the Emerald Isle? But of course. Surly, sullen cabbie in Dublin? Typical! Frequent family travel means frequent hotel stays? Inevitably!
You'll have guessed perhaps that none were true on the first leg of our journey to Ireland and the UK.
I met up with the young family -- my older daughter, her husband, Snowdrop and Sparrow -- at the Chicago airport. We were flying United -- an airline that has received some criticism in recent years from unhappy travelers. I rarely stray from Delta, but as I said, this trip was the young family's trip and I was curious how this routing would feel as compared to my usual connections in Detroit or Minneapolis.
Perhaps we were lucky, but getting through the airport hurdles was a breeze. No lines anywhere. All smooth, despite the fact that we had luggage that was necessarily copious because of the presence of young ones. Yes, you can buy diapers, mushy foods, and rubber duckies elsewhere, but our time is precious. No one wants to spend it on shopping for essentials.
There, checked in and past security!
Sparrow is in pj's. The flight takes off after 9pm: the goal is to get him to sleep. Quickly.
A thrown together dinner at the airport. Snowdrop chooses cheesy pizza.
B14! That's our gate!
I had mentioned in an earlier post that getting bulkhead seats was horribly difficult and time consuming. But it was well worth it. The young family has three seats together and once in flight, Sparrow gets his own little bassinette. Shall we say that he is a tad tall for it, but it's a godsend: he spends some 70% of his time off lap, sleeping or playing in his little bed. That's a lot of time when you dont have to distract him from destroying the plane's interior. (Not that it doesn't look like it's been through a lot already... United does not appear to fuss about aesthetics.)
I am a few seats removed from the young family and I am immobilized by virtue of the fact that I have two passengers that are nearly impossible to pass. So I sleep, right? Wrongo bongo.
I keep waiting for the kids to fall apart, thinking that perhaps I could leap over everyone and spring to helpful action should that happen. In fact, though, the kids were 99% magnificent and the parents were 100% capable of managing all the tricky situations that travel presents.
Seven and a half hours later, we are on our final approach into Dublin. Snowdrop's excitement elicits many smiles as she pipes up from her window seat. "Oh my God! Look, mommy! Beaches! And the ocean! Oh my God!"
And wouldn't you know it! There will be some sunshine, at least for this part of the day! (I well remember that weather on these islands hardly ever holds steady for a full day.)
I commented on these magnificent partly blue skies to the cab driver (a very chatty fellow!). He retorted -- don't jinx it! It has been raining constantly here! Rain? I am no stranger to it!
Our hotel faces this street.
It is very unusual for us to stay in a hotel. Indeed, Snowdrop has only once in her life overnighted in one. Otherwise, the young family stays with friends or at AirBnBs. But for the first three nights here, we're doing hotels. It has to do with conferences and convenience and incredible deals. (We're at the Westbury in Dublin.)
As is often the case, your overseas flight comes in before rooms are ready. So we go to lunch, just downstairs, because no one feels like walking anywhere just yet.
(Someone's tired...)
(Someone's hungry and Irish smoked salmon is special!)
And finally, the rooms are set. I'm with Snowdrop, here:
It's a simple but very spacious room. For me, it's such luxury! One night of indulgence for her, too -- she has a choice of sleeping in a bed or in a tent.
I have a moment of deja vu -- I only once stayed in a Westbury. Snowdrop's mom was then three and we were spending a summer in Cambridge, England, where her dad was doing research. We came in to London to sight-see and there was then, too, a super special rate at this British/Irish hotel chain. We were so poor -- I was still a student, my then husband was just recently employed to teach at a state university, but we splurged. And my daughter began her own childhood story telling exactly then, chanting stories, all under the title of "Snowdrop's mom, everywhere!" (Insert her name, instead of Snowdrop's mom.) I am so shocked to hear Snowdrop tell a story now under the title "Dark Blue, everywhere!" (Dark Blue is her favorite girl's name now. Snowdrop is not conventional in her naming choices!) Is it genetic??
The little girl's brother is napping with mom and dad in their own room, but Snowdrop is going strong.
I sit back, sip a coffee, look out the window. We are in Ireland, alright.
The goals for this day are modest: rest, get acclimated to Europe's clocks and habits. We're doing that. And sucking in every last minute of a lovely space where a little girl's stories unfold.
But very late in the afternoon, I decide a trip to a grocery store is in order. We need fruits and snacks. Snowdrop is game! Does that girl ever exhaust her batteries??
(At Marks and Spencer Food Halls...)
Toward evening we walk to the train station. Some of the grownups have to catch a train to Belfast to do some work there. But first, we all grab a dinner at the Brew Dock, just by the station.
In so many ways, it's an exhausting time. No one has eaten or slept according to any discernible pattern. But the kids hold it together so very well and the evening is lovely.
(a Snowdrop sketch and my fish and chips)
And here are a couple of true, predictable statements: the Irish are so incredibly friendly, especially toward young children that it makes your heart sing. "That one's a smiler and a half!" -- the bar tender will say about Sparrow. "Do your little ones want a licker?" (aka a lollipop) "What a big lad! Must be at least two and a half!" --on and on and on.
The other predictable event -- it rains on the walk back to the hotel. Big fat splatters of wetness. All umbrellas and panchos are back in the room. Of course.
And what's lovely now? Retiring for the night, to get some much needed rest!
(a milk and cookie goodnight snack...)
You'll have guessed perhaps that none were true on the first leg of our journey to Ireland and the UK.
I met up with the young family -- my older daughter, her husband, Snowdrop and Sparrow -- at the Chicago airport. We were flying United -- an airline that has received some criticism in recent years from unhappy travelers. I rarely stray from Delta, but as I said, this trip was the young family's trip and I was curious how this routing would feel as compared to my usual connections in Detroit or Minneapolis.
Perhaps we were lucky, but getting through the airport hurdles was a breeze. No lines anywhere. All smooth, despite the fact that we had luggage that was necessarily copious because of the presence of young ones. Yes, you can buy diapers, mushy foods, and rubber duckies elsewhere, but our time is precious. No one wants to spend it on shopping for essentials.
There, checked in and past security!
Sparrow is in pj's. The flight takes off after 9pm: the goal is to get him to sleep. Quickly.
A thrown together dinner at the airport. Snowdrop chooses cheesy pizza.
B14! That's our gate!
I had mentioned in an earlier post that getting bulkhead seats was horribly difficult and time consuming. But it was well worth it. The young family has three seats together and once in flight, Sparrow gets his own little bassinette. Shall we say that he is a tad tall for it, but it's a godsend: he spends some 70% of his time off lap, sleeping or playing in his little bed. That's a lot of time when you dont have to distract him from destroying the plane's interior. (Not that it doesn't look like it's been through a lot already... United does not appear to fuss about aesthetics.)
I am a few seats removed from the young family and I am immobilized by virtue of the fact that I have two passengers that are nearly impossible to pass. So I sleep, right? Wrongo bongo.
I keep waiting for the kids to fall apart, thinking that perhaps I could leap over everyone and spring to helpful action should that happen. In fact, though, the kids were 99% magnificent and the parents were 100% capable of managing all the tricky situations that travel presents.
Seven and a half hours later, we are on our final approach into Dublin. Snowdrop's excitement elicits many smiles as she pipes up from her window seat. "Oh my God! Look, mommy! Beaches! And the ocean! Oh my God!"
And wouldn't you know it! There will be some sunshine, at least for this part of the day! (I well remember that weather on these islands hardly ever holds steady for a full day.)
I commented on these magnificent partly blue skies to the cab driver (a very chatty fellow!). He retorted -- don't jinx it! It has been raining constantly here! Rain? I am no stranger to it!
Our hotel faces this street.
It is very unusual for us to stay in a hotel. Indeed, Snowdrop has only once in her life overnighted in one. Otherwise, the young family stays with friends or at AirBnBs. But for the first three nights here, we're doing hotels. It has to do with conferences and convenience and incredible deals. (We're at the Westbury in Dublin.)
As is often the case, your overseas flight comes in before rooms are ready. So we go to lunch, just downstairs, because no one feels like walking anywhere just yet.
(Someone's tired...)
(Someone's hungry and Irish smoked salmon is special!)
And finally, the rooms are set. I'm with Snowdrop, here:
It's a simple but very spacious room. For me, it's such luxury! One night of indulgence for her, too -- she has a choice of sleeping in a bed or in a tent.
I have a moment of deja vu -- I only once stayed in a Westbury. Snowdrop's mom was then three and we were spending a summer in Cambridge, England, where her dad was doing research. We came in to London to sight-see and there was then, too, a super special rate at this British/Irish hotel chain. We were so poor -- I was still a student, my then husband was just recently employed to teach at a state university, but we splurged. And my daughter began her own childhood story telling exactly then, chanting stories, all under the title of "Snowdrop's mom, everywhere!" (Insert her name, instead of Snowdrop's mom.) I am so shocked to hear Snowdrop tell a story now under the title "Dark Blue, everywhere!" (Dark Blue is her favorite girl's name now. Snowdrop is not conventional in her naming choices!) Is it genetic??
The little girl's brother is napping with mom and dad in their own room, but Snowdrop is going strong.
I sit back, sip a coffee, look out the window. We are in Ireland, alright.
The goals for this day are modest: rest, get acclimated to Europe's clocks and habits. We're doing that. And sucking in every last minute of a lovely space where a little girl's stories unfold.
But very late in the afternoon, I decide a trip to a grocery store is in order. We need fruits and snacks. Snowdrop is game! Does that girl ever exhaust her batteries??
(At Marks and Spencer Food Halls...)
Toward evening we walk to the train station. Some of the grownups have to catch a train to Belfast to do some work there. But first, we all grab a dinner at the Brew Dock, just by the station.
In so many ways, it's an exhausting time. No one has eaten or slept according to any discernible pattern. But the kids hold it together so very well and the evening is lovely.
(a Snowdrop sketch and my fish and chips)
And here are a couple of true, predictable statements: the Irish are so incredibly friendly, especially toward young children that it makes your heart sing. "That one's a smiler and a half!" -- the bar tender will say about Sparrow. "Do your little ones want a licker?" (aka a lollipop) "What a big lad! Must be at least two and a half!" --on and on and on.
The other predictable event -- it rains on the walk back to the hotel. Big fat splatters of wetness. All umbrellas and panchos are back in the room. Of course.
And what's lovely now? Retiring for the night, to get some much needed rest!
(a milk and cookie goodnight snack...)
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