I don't like to travel or really do anything alone, so I chose to be in Ireland for only 2 days, since that's about my limit before I start hugging random people and feeling sorry for myself for being alone.
But I found a tool to fix my loneliness: bus tours are the way to go.
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| Yes, this is the best picture of the bus that I got. |
Also, because I'm apparently so insecure, I was texting friends reminding them of how I was in Ireland ALONE. So my dear friend Jenny who understands my misery and also knows how my brain works, gave me a challenge. When your mind is fixed on a challenge, you can't focus on being alone.
Her challenge? Find the greenest thing I could:
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| Success! |
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| From my window at the BnB |
Wednesday was the big day of the tour. We were traveling to the Wicklow Cliffs, and we'd be stopping at the "PS I Love You" bridge! I was super excited. I ate my awesome cooked Irish breakfast,
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| Minus the toast and coffee |
and then headed out to meet my bus, a brisk two minute walk from my new little home.
I was in Ireland! I was on my way to see the countryside, to see cattle and sheep grazing on the green hills while historic landmarks fill the scenery! The sun was kind of shining, the wind was really blowing (necessary for the perfect "my hair is blowing because I'm in Ireland" pictures), it wasn't raining (yet)! I was going to be on a bus full of people where my options of talking to people were endless! I was unstoppable!
And then the bus didn't come. 25 minutes. 35 minutes. 45 minutes. I didn't know what the acceptable amount of time was to wait for a bus before you accept the fact that you've been forgotten. So I tumbled on home, so disappointed, to call the tour company and tell them that the bus never came.
Operator: Yeah, there was a lot of traffic in the city, but it looks like they arrived at the bus stop about 5 minutes ago.
Me: WHAT? Are they still there? Stop the bus!
Hang up.
I ran the 2 minutes (turned 1 minute) to the bus stop, and there it was, shining bright red in all its glory. The bus driver was relieved to see me, and quite apologetic. He asked me where I was from, and was disappointed to hear it was the USA because he thought I was French with a last name like "Meloney." "It's Italian," I told him. He turned the microphone on and announced to the bus that here's Andrea Meloney, and she's not French as they all thought (implying they had been discussing me and my name as a group), but American with Italian roots, and has anyone been to Italy?
Then he received a phone call, and we could all hear his side of the conversation because he left his microphone on, and it was the man I had spoken with on the phone to inform him that the bus never came, and Ritchie the bus driver confirmed that yes, Andrea Meloney did make it to the bus, and we weren't sure if we had missed her, but she's on the bus now and we've got everybody, and we're just glad that she made it to the bus because we didn't want to leave her behind.
I was slouching as low in my seat as I could.
Turns out probably only half the bus could really understand everything that he was saying, because as he was giving the tour and asking questions and creating friendly banter, I was the only one responding. The only one who laughed out loud at his jokes, the only one who cried aloud, "YES!" when he asked us if we had watched "PS I Love You," the only one who shouted loudly, "15!" when he asked us to guess how many people he had for tomorrow's tour (I knew that answer because he told me at lunch).
Ritchie and I chatted at every stop, and when I told him my story, he asked if I was a nun. And he wasn't joking with that one either, which was a shame, because he was a good jokester. He had me laughing out loud most of the time.
At one of our stops (where I took these green pictures for Jenny),
Ritchie talked with another (slightly older) American woman, Ann. Ann had a great new phone, and she had no idea how it worked, because she had her wifi on, and location services, Ritchie told me. She only had 7% battery left, so Ritchie snapped a few quick pictures of her with her phone before it died. "Somebody help that poor woman with her phone!" he told me, to which I replied with a good chortle.
At one point on the bus when Ritchie was playing some Irish music for us, I smelled tuna fish. It was coming from the people next to me, and I noticed that they had rolls that they were dipping into their can of tuna. I told myself that they had to be Czech, because Czechs are the only ones who wouldn't be embarrassed to open up a can of tuna on a bus full of strangers and use rolls as spoons Not only were they Czech, they also happened to be from Pardubice, and from the same neighborhood as me. I felt quite accomplished as I translated the menu for them at the restaurant: they wanted to know what a tuna melt was. I wanted to ask if they didn't think they'd had enough tuna already that day.
After eating lunch with Ritchie and Ann (Ritchie got sauce all over his chin and never realized it until I kindly told him), we headed back to Dublin. It started raining unfortunately as I was dropped off, so I decided to go grab a cup of tea at a local coffee shop before heading home. I ducked into a cute place and sat myself down. I realized as I removed my huge, sopping wet coat, that all the waiters were staring at me. "Table for 2?" one asked me.
But I was too happy to let him get me down. "Just me," I shouted across the room to him. He asked if I'd move to the table on my left because the one I was at was reserved. It was then that my eyes were opened to how fancy that place was, and that I was in a fancy shmancy cafe which was not to be confused with a coffee shop. I got my cup of tea and got out of there, stopping at the corner store to buy several bags of salt and vinegar crisps and a big box of black tea, which I then ravished in my room.
Thursday showed its face, and after a second day of delicious breakfast (see above picture), I made my way to the embassy without getting lost. I rewarded myself for my new passport sticker with another cup of tea from a coffee shop, which I made sure was not a cafe. Then I chatted with my taxi driver all the way to the airport.
He asked me if I was a nun.
Goodness. 2 times in 2 days. Being a missionary is a good avenue for sharing the gospel, but apparently not good for picking up the young single males. I actually began a conversation with a good-looking young Irishman with a red beard by proclaiming that I'm not a nun. Good pick-up line? Apparently not.
So, what do you think? Which picture is most green?
I was in Ireland! I was on my way to see the countryside, to see cattle and sheep grazing on the green hills while historic landmarks fill the scenery! The sun was kind of shining, the wind was really blowing (necessary for the perfect "my hair is blowing because I'm in Ireland" pictures), it wasn't raining (yet)! I was going to be on a bus full of people where my options of talking to people were endless! I was unstoppable!
And then the bus didn't come. 25 minutes. 35 minutes. 45 minutes. I didn't know what the acceptable amount of time was to wait for a bus before you accept the fact that you've been forgotten. So I tumbled on home, so disappointed, to call the tour company and tell them that the bus never came.
Operator: Yeah, there was a lot of traffic in the city, but it looks like they arrived at the bus stop about 5 minutes ago.
Me: WHAT? Are they still there? Stop the bus!
Hang up.
I ran the 2 minutes (turned 1 minute) to the bus stop, and there it was, shining bright red in all its glory. The bus driver was relieved to see me, and quite apologetic. He asked me where I was from, and was disappointed to hear it was the USA because he thought I was French with a last name like "Meloney." "It's Italian," I told him. He turned the microphone on and announced to the bus that here's Andrea Meloney, and she's not French as they all thought (implying they had been discussing me and my name as a group), but American with Italian roots, and has anyone been to Italy?
Then he received a phone call, and we could all hear his side of the conversation because he left his microphone on, and it was the man I had spoken with on the phone to inform him that the bus never came, and Ritchie the bus driver confirmed that yes, Andrea Meloney did make it to the bus, and we weren't sure if we had missed her, but she's on the bus now and we've got everybody, and we're just glad that she made it to the bus because we didn't want to leave her behind.
I was slouching as low in my seat as I could.
Turns out probably only half the bus could really understand everything that he was saying, because as he was giving the tour and asking questions and creating friendly banter, I was the only one responding. The only one who laughed out loud at his jokes, the only one who cried aloud, "YES!" when he asked us if we had watched "PS I Love You," the only one who shouted loudly, "15!" when he asked us to guess how many people he had for tomorrow's tour (I knew that answer because he told me at lunch).
Ritchie and I chatted at every stop, and when I told him my story, he asked if I was a nun. And he wasn't joking with that one either, which was a shame, because he was a good jokester. He had me laughing out loud most of the time.
At one of our stops (where I took these green pictures for Jenny),
Ritchie talked with another (slightly older) American woman, Ann. Ann had a great new phone, and she had no idea how it worked, because she had her wifi on, and location services, Ritchie told me. She only had 7% battery left, so Ritchie snapped a few quick pictures of her with her phone before it died. "Somebody help that poor woman with her phone!" he told me, to which I replied with a good chortle.
At one point on the bus when Ritchie was playing some Irish music for us, I smelled tuna fish. It was coming from the people next to me, and I noticed that they had rolls that they were dipping into their can of tuna. I told myself that they had to be Czech, because Czechs are the only ones who wouldn't be embarrassed to open up a can of tuna on a bus full of strangers and use rolls as spoons Not only were they Czech, they also happened to be from Pardubice, and from the same neighborhood as me. I felt quite accomplished as I translated the menu for them at the restaurant: they wanted to know what a tuna melt was. I wanted to ask if they didn't think they'd had enough tuna already that day.
After eating lunch with Ritchie and Ann (Ritchie got sauce all over his chin and never realized it until I kindly told him), we headed back to Dublin. It started raining unfortunately as I was dropped off, so I decided to go grab a cup of tea at a local coffee shop before heading home. I ducked into a cute place and sat myself down. I realized as I removed my huge, sopping wet coat, that all the waiters were staring at me. "Table for 2?" one asked me.
But I was too happy to let him get me down. "Just me," I shouted across the room to him. He asked if I'd move to the table on my left because the one I was at was reserved. It was then that my eyes were opened to how fancy that place was, and that I was in a fancy shmancy cafe which was not to be confused with a coffee shop. I got my cup of tea and got out of there, stopping at the corner store to buy several bags of salt and vinegar crisps and a big box of black tea, which I then ravished in my room.
Thursday showed its face, and after a second day of delicious breakfast (see above picture), I made my way to the embassy without getting lost. I rewarded myself for my new passport sticker with another cup of tea from a coffee shop, which I made sure was not a cafe. Then I chatted with my taxi driver all the way to the airport.
He asked me if I was a nun.
Goodness. 2 times in 2 days. Being a missionary is a good avenue for sharing the gospel, but apparently not good for picking up the young single males. I actually began a conversation with a good-looking young Irishman with a red beard by proclaiming that I'm not a nun. Good pick-up line? Apparently not.
So, what do you think? Which picture is most green?
