leaving Dublin

We wake up to the rare blue Irish skies. They will make the Irish happy. For us -- it's a travel day and this time we're not aiming for a grand adventure: we just want to get home with as little fuss and bother as possible.

I'd been thinking about this day for a long time: how do you make it smooth and easy, given that a one-year-old is with us (and the four-year-old, as it turns out, still has the remains of whatever bug toyed with her for the past two days)... I'd struggled with getting good seats on the long flight: remember? I must have spent five hours on getting the bulkheads for at least two of us. The rest? We're at the mercy of passenger bargaining: would you be willing to trade seats so that the little girl can sit with her family? Same leg room, just two rows back... That kind of thing.

We have a flight that leaves for Chicago at 12:25. That's pretty good: enough time for a regular wake up and breakfast. Enough time to clean the AirBnB. No stress! That's the goal. (Well, at the very least -- low stress.)

Snowdrop bounds into my bedroom a tad too early. She can't sleep anymore. She and I do a pretend sleep for a while and then, with a sigh, allow ourselves to fold into the routines of a departure morning.

I do go out for breakfast breads. Down the Mew, onto the street with all those cafe bakeries, including the one I've been favoring, Voila.






The streets are full of people going about their daily business. I imagine they're rushing to get to work.





Each city looks different to me at this hour. The buses, the crazy cyclists weaving between cars, the cafes filling with people who want a grab a pastry on the run -- they all are country specific.






Back at the flat. Now it's a question of bathing the kids, eating our breakfast...






... and hoping that my online cab booking was successful.

One last photo from our little place above the stables...






Cabs are here! We're off.


At the airport now...






We're patting ourselves on the back on how smooth it all was: on time, easy check in, easy security clearance. The young family is hungry for something bigger than a baguette or croissant. We pause over a meal.

We pause too long.

What one has to remember is that each airport is different and it treats security issues for travelers going to America differently. I almost always fly out of Paris or Amsterdam and so I forget this. And, moreover, these procedures change over time. In Dublin, you're not done once you've cleared security. You have a second carry-on baggage screening and a line for a passport check. For all these steps, there are lines.

In the end, we run to get to the plane before boarding is closed. Now, I know that the flight would not have taken off without us. If you check bags and the passengers have not boarded, the airline has to first find then remove the bags. And in the end, we are not the very last ones to board. Still, it was a little tight. Note for the future: Dublin airport is more complicated than I remember it being.


The flight itself? Good. There is always work involved with kids, but in my view, the daytime trip is easier: we're not all sleep deprived. We can manage!

And now we are in Chicago.

I hitch a ride with the young couple to Madison. And I think back to the incredible adventure we have just been through. I think of the lowest points: Snowdrop's bug was like a three day see-saw: she's good, she's not good, she's good again. I tend to worry about health stuff, so I worried.  And here's another worry: it happened in Belfast, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt faint. I don't know why. I thought: damn! How reliable am I with the kids? It was the beginning of our trip and I did not know if this was going to cut things short for me, for everyone. Eventually, I did stop worrying. And all was fine! And another tough hurdle: when my son-in-law realized that he needed to see a dentist ASAP.

But in fact, these were not terrible worries: we are in Europe. There is help to be had and it's not even expensive help. Because, you know, back home, we are unique in our expensive approach to health care.

Here's one more sticky point (literally!): at least two of us really did not like the dirty carpet in Glasgow!

And another: the ferry crossing to Ireland. Ugh!

I can't think of any other low points. Oh, maybe when I realized I was a tad too bossy at a meal we all shared in Wales: Snowdrop should order this, because I know better. I didn't say those words, but I may as well have. I looked at my son-in-law's face and I saw that I overstepped.

The high points? Oh so many! So many! These are mine -- I'm sure the young family will have their own:

The artwork Snowdrop produced during all those meals in restaurants! All in blue, because these days, it's her favorite color.

Sparrow's newfound love of real food! His sharing of pizza with his sister that night I ate with just the two of them in Wales will always stay in my memory.

The rose garden in Belfast. Period.

The first dinner in Glasgow. Sparrow, poor guy,  was at his worst. We managed, but just barely. Then Snowdrop and I stepped out in the courtyard and I will never ever forget the sweetness of the couple who were having a drink and took note of her wistful craving for the rocking chair that some other diners were occupying. Snowdrop never made it to the rocking chair, but what she got was so much better: the kind attention of these sweet people who listened to her recount of her travels thus far with rapture and such heady smiles, fulfilling all my stereotypical feelings about Scottish people: they are genuinely lovely and kind.

The ship we explored on the rainy day in Glasgow. Snowdrop was in heaven, Sparrow was the captain.

Perhaps our favorite dinner: at the Ox and Finch in Glasgow. It was so perfect! Sparrow finally got the hang of eating out two meals every day. The small plates were memorable!

Without question, up there on the list is our Snowdon ascent (train plus a wee climb) in Wales. So crazy windy! So remarkably beautiful. We went nuts in the gift shop after, probably because no one wanted to forget any bit of that day.

The beach: in Llandudno. Snowdrop's laughter as she "jumped" the wee waves and watched the jellyfish roll to shore.

The beach redoux: that same day in the evening, after dinner, on the sandy shores of the Irish Sea.

Entering the Merrion Square in Dublin with Snowdrop: she had been so out of it with her climbing fever, but upon entering the gardens she insisted on abandoning the stroller. She wanted to be out there, among the flowers.

And the last evening, when the young family brought home a bottle of champagne for me and we stayed up finishing it off and finding humor in just about everything.


The car pulls into the farmette driveway, Ed is there. So, how is everything? -- I ask.
Quiet. 
I smile as we go inside.

(My last photo of the trip? At O'Hare airport.)

Dublin, one more time

 Good morning!


 


We wake up to our last full day in Ireland. We're balancing a lot of desires: to see some more of Dublin, of course. To rest a little, especially since Snowdrop wakes up feverish once again. To make it fun for the kids, to give parents one last taste of Irish food and drink, to take in memories, but not to the point where we're overloaded and just plain tired.

Since the flat is small, we all are up when Sparrow wakes up -- in other words, way too early. We're watching Snowdrop to see if she bounces back or continues to slide into whatever bug grips her. Experience tells us it can go either way. So, it is an easy going morning.

I offer to go out and get breakfast foods. That's not hard at all: Voila, the cafe bakery is a two minute walk down the Mew. Perhaps you know that mews are back alleys, where the stables were once positioned. These days, they're gardens, or garages, or sometimes small commercial venues. Our stable house opens up to Fitzwilliam Mew.

(Stables on the bottom, flat on top.)





(Inside the old stables...)





By the way, Voila is not the only neighborhood cafe, not by a long shot. Across the street, I counted four more, just in a half a block.






I pick up breakfast essentials.






We gather around the kitchen table to eat this first light meal of the day. No high chair. Mommy's lap will do.












It's clear that Tylenol has done it's work. The girl is happy to go out with me in search of a playground while the parents put Sparrow down for his morning nap.

Before we get to our playground goal, I steer her to Merrion Square, a Georgian garden square that is as pretty today as it would have been back in the days when it was first laid out (in the 18th century). These days, the buildings here are used mostly for office space, but back in the days, the square was home to Oscar Wilde and Yeats. This, too, was where the British Embassy was once based -- until it was burned to the ground following the Bloody Sunday shootings in the 1970s.






The park at the center of the square was once private -- you could only enter it if you were a resident at the square and had a key, but it was opened to the public in the 1970s. It's a tranquil and lovely green space, for those seeking a respite from the chaos of the city...






... with plenty of flowers that add splendid summer colors.











I like it all, but as we walk through it, I muse about which parks I like even better. I tell Snowdrop -- I think the Luxembourg Gardens remain are my favorite city park. She responds -- my favorite is Bernie's Beach! (That's the tiny park and playground we so often go to after school! Loyal girl!)

From here, we turn to St. Stephen's Green. This is the park we came to on our first full day in Europe, now two weeks ago. Remember this flower border with the foxgloves?






How this girl and her brother have grown in our travels!






Snowdrop seems her perky self again and we play a spirited game of restaurant.






But as we slowly make our way back to the Mews, I can tell that the bug still has its grip on her. She grows tired.

At lunch (at the Goose on the Loose -- a crepe/pancake/blini place), she snuggles in her mommy's lap. (There are no high chairs: Sparrow is content munching mush and then crepes from the stroller seat.)






It's a little cooler now, but still, we have to be grateful for two weeks of beautiful weather. I never used rain gear. Remarkable!

We do a small walking tour of the major sights. The kids remain in the stroller: Snowdrop is worn out, Sparrow dangles his bare feet and looks on with interest. No use putting socks on him -- he just pulls them off.

(There are some sights in Dublin that seem a bit... contrived. Viking duck boats??)






(The city has its serious visuals too: man in a suit next to ivy covered building.)






Here's a classic: Dublin Castle (founded in the 13th century), as viewed from the gardens:






(True lilium in the garden remind me of flowers awaiting me back home. I can't tell what's blooming there now: when I ask Ed, he'll say -- the pink stuff. Which pink stuff??)


 



We return home. Sparrow attempts a nap and this time I stay with him...






... while the young parents take Snowdrop to listen to some Irish music. And finally, in the early evening, we head out for our last dinner of the trip -- at Lemon and Duke (I will miss these compound names of eateries here and in the U.K.!)






In the course of our travels, Sparrow has developed a love of sharing our dinner foods -- everything from oxtail to halibut -- and today he discovered the extra joy of having his sister feed him bits of her own dish (some form of chicken nuggets).
















We walk back past crowded pubs -- meeting places for women and men, but especially men.





The Irish have been good to us, and especially to the kids. There's always a smile waiting. A question, a word of praise (in the park, an older man tells Snowdrop how strong she is after she helps me lift and carry the stroller up the steps... there's always the acknowledgement of common humanity -- I have a wee granddaughter just her age...)

Night time, with light still pouring in through the windows. Time to sleep, but instead I just close my eyes and think how beautiful life can be.

across the Irish Sea

 On this first of July, I wake up once again to a brilliant view of Conwy Castle.





Take a deep breath and get moving!

This morning is a challenge! To get us out of the house in Conwy, bathed and packed and breakfasted, to clean up the place to a decent standard, to walk with our bags, kids and stroller to the train station (admittedly not far but there are stairs!) in time for the 8:18 morning train to Holyhead -- that takes chutzpah. Cheekiness actually. A few minutes into the turmoil, Snowdrop says "I'm feeling a little sad, worried and shy." She is very in touch with her feelings. In a few minutes she adds "and my head hurts." Indeed. She feels a tad warm. Sparrow is a little less frazzled. "You want a biscuit, wee laddie?" "Yeth!"

Breakfast, of sorts.







One final walk through Conwy, though briskly and with a purpose.






Remarkably, we are at the station ten minutes before the train pulls in.






(Looks like the school term is still in full swing for some students...)






Get ready to load our stuff, here comes the train!






It's a calm and wonderful ride: a mere hour ...






... and there are interesting station stops along the way. Have I not convinced you that the Welsh language is a total pronunciation quagmire? Here's a town we pulled into:





I mean, where do you even begin! (I read later that the town has the second longest name in the world. Translated, it means: Saint Mary's Church in the hollow of the white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of St. Tysilio of the red cave.)

We disembark in Holyhead and walk over to the ferry.

There is a lot of waiting at this stage: wait for them to start the boarding process. Wait to get on the bus to take you to the ferry. Wait for the ferry to leave port. Finally, we're off.

Initially, at least some of us are excited.





But, as the captain had forewarned, there is, in the first half of the 2.5 hour trip, a lot of rolling.

I dislike boats. Rolling means that when you look out the window, the horizon goes up and down a lot. Of the five of us, only one seemed to be unaffected by it.






As I write this, many hours later, I still feel the sway of that boat. We talked about how much would we have to be paid to take a job serving passengers on that ferry. My own view? An awful lot.

Finally! The Irish shoreline!






And even better -- getting off the boat.






One final leg of the journey: cab to our AirBnB. The cabs at the ferry are small and so we must take two. No matter. It's a short trip.

My driver is a West Coaster, an Irishman to the core. With a wife who was one of eleven girls. Can you imagine -- eleven girls. Better yet, he tells me: his three children have given him eleven grandkids, ages 2 to 20. And again, all girls!

Well that's good, no?
Sure. But oh, they can fight over a toy! We just came back from a family vacation and now the parents aren't speaking to each other and we all need a vacation!

Ha! One better over here: we're definitely speaking to each other, though perhaps we, too, will need a vacation after we return...

In Dublin, we're staying in an AirBnB flat that is owned by the Irish Landmark Trust. It's in an 18th century building that once housed the stables for the stately homes. And actually, on the ground floor, there are still stables, used as a pit stop for horses used by Ireland's police. Upstairs, there is a three bedroom rental, somewhat old fashioned, in fitting with the historic nature of the place.

(the kitchen...)





(my bedroom...)






(with a view to the garden of the stately homes...)






(Snowdrop's room... You'd never know the girl has developed a fever, would you...)






The sitting room is a little gloomy, but hey, we're here for just a short while. Passing through...






Lunch? Around the corner, at Voila, where the smoked salmon, as everywhere in Ireland, is delicious.






We rest afterwards. The kids need downtime. Truthfully, we all need downtime. And my son-in-law needs a dentist. And the boat inside my head needs to stop rocking!

By evening we set out to get something to eat. We go to the Fade Street Social Gastro Bar. We've learned something about restaurant choices: tapas style eating is perfect for us. Seven small plates for three adults and Snowdrop allows us to sample many things and it allows her to (occasionally) discover something new and wonderful. Just a few photos, not of the food (which was in fact very very good) but of the people who of course make this complicated journey so very rewarding.











These kids managed a very long day under trying conditions...






Looking out my window one last time: no castle, no sheep, but the light is exquisite and there is a gull, soaring, diving, playing with the wind and the evening wonders of Dublin.