Hiroshima Prefecture, Japan - 03-08 Aug 2012

Prologue: Why Japan?  Why Hiroshima?

In keeping with my goal of visiting all seven continents, an Asian destination made the most sense to me this time around - it's winter in the southern hemisphere, and I'm iffy about Africa.  I considered Seoul South Korea, Shanghai China, Taiwan, and of course Japan.  Visa issues made me decide to put China on the back burner (although I very much want to go there at some point), and I considered trying to cram Seoul, Taiwan, and perhaps Tokyo into one massive trip.  Then I realized that I could satiate my armchair-World War 2 historian buff in a major way by visiting Hiroshima on August 6th (or Nagasaki on the 9th).  The way my work schedule and optimal vacation time lined up, a trip from August 2nd through the 10th made the most sense.  To be safe (due to flying standby and whatnot), I knew I'd have to start heading home before the Nagasaki anniversary, so I focused on Hiroshima.

Unfortunately, my idea of traveling to Hiroshima on the 6th is not a very original one.  A search for hotels on Priceline and Travelocity quickly revealed that hotels in the city were booked solid.  The closest hotel I could find was nearly 50 miles away, in a small seaside town called Onomichi.  The wikitravel entry lists Onomichi's attractions, but I wouldn't exactly call it complimentary.  A quote: "Unless you have a keen interest in Pure Land Buddhism or Japanese literature, it's probably not worth your while to spend the night in Onomichi."  And here's me about to spend five nights there.  Still, experience has shown me that I prefer smaller towns to big cities when I travel, so I was confident I could find things to do in Onomichi and the surrounding areas.

One thing I found prior to leaving (and which turned out to be my salvation later) was the website of a Mr. Seiichi Matsuuras.  Matsuuras-san absolutely loves America and Americans, and since 1977 has been heavily involved with coordinating student exchanges, hosting American speakers, etc.  I emailed him before I left, asking him if any major events were going on in Onomichi between the 3rd and the 8th.  He replied enthusiastically, inviting me to an English-language karaoke meetup he was hosting on the 4th.  He went on to say that "any time any day please come and I am willing to take you to many places of interest."  Sounds good - I've got a ready-made tour guide in Onomichi!

So I felt prepared and confident when I left the house the morning of August 2nd.  Oh, and my friend Emily gave me another final forewarning: southern Japan is legendary for its extreme heat and humidity in summer.

2-3 August: The wonderful Japanese train system, and the kindness of strangers.

My itinerary was to fly from ORD to SFO, and from there to Kansai (KIX), just south of Osaka.  Not only is KIX closer to Onomichi, but my chances of getting first class were much greater than if I flew to Tokyo.  I was 4 for 4 on getting first class on international overseas trips, and my streak continued - I flew first class from SFO to KIX, and it was wonderful as always.  The good thing about flying to Asia is that jet lag is actually pretty minimal - we departed SFO at around 5pm, and landed in KIX at 3pm the next day, and I predicted I'd arrive at my hotel in Onomichi around 7 or 8pm.  However, between the airport and Onomichi, I got to experience the wonderful Japanese train system.

I had brought $500 in traveler's checks with me, and stopped at a currency exchange booth to cash them in.  The man said it would take about 20 minutes.  I decided to just wait until I got to Onomichi - I was eager to get on the train.  Oh, and yes, by this point the heat and humidity was smacking me in the face, so like everyone else, I was pretty much dripping with sweat as I made my way to the train station at KIX.  The people at the counter were Japanistically polite and accommodating of the fact that I had no clue what I needed to do.  When you buy a ticket, they print out all your connections as well (on a dot-matrix printer...hmm), so that's helpful.

I made my way to the train platform, and soon met a young Western guy by the name of Vin.  Vin had been to Japan before, but wasn't exactly sure which train he was supposed to hop on, and neither was I, so we bonded over our mutual apprehension.  We were both heading in a Hiroshima-ish direction, so we stuck together for a little while.  As trains would come and stop in the station, a small army of teenage boys dressed in funny black-and-white uniforms would converge on each car, give it a quick going-over (including dusting), and run back out again.  Those same boys would line up at the far end of the platform, and wave to the passengers as the train left the station.  And it wasn't a cynical, jaded, sarcastic performance either - they put on a damn good show and I admired them for their dedication.

It's important to note that the train I was on, while wonderfully air-conditioned, was not the legendary "bullet train" that Japan is famous for.  Japan has numerous train lines and I won't even attempt to explain them all here, but this was a "local" train with several stops between KIX and Osaka.  However, once I reached Osaka, I would transfer to the Shinkansen - the bullet train.  I was very much looking forward to this, and it didn't disappoint.  I even splurged on a "midori" seat - first class, and it was the most futuristic train ride I've ever been on.  There's talk of increasing the amount of rail travel in the U.S.; two things will prevent this from happening: one, lack of infrastructure that can support high-speed rail like in Japan, and two, the infestation of the TSA - they're already setting up shop in Chicago's Union Station where the Amtrak trains depart.  But, I digress.

So after a couple of changes and three hours later, I arrived at Onomichi at around 7pm.  I was happy and excited to be there, even though it's a fairly quiet little town.  There was certainly no lack of activity - I think Onomichi Station is pretty much the cultural as well as geographical center of the town, and there were a lot of shops and people milling around.  However, this is also where I ran into my first major snag.  There was a line of taxis outside the station, and I approached one hoping to get a ride to my hotel.  Only problem: they only accepted cash.  No credit card.  And there I was, having foolishly foregone the currency exchange booth at KIX, and yet waited for a train for more than the time it would've taken to cash in my traveler's checks.  There was a bank nearby by it was closed, of course, and even if there had been an ATM in the area, I'm not sure I would've felt safe putting one of my precious debit or credit cards into it.

(It was during this time that I realized how un-original my Hiroshima idea was: while contemplating my next move, I came upon a couple from Holland wandering around the area.  They told me that they too couldn't find a hotel in Hiroshima, and had to come all the way out to Onomichi.  Small world.)

It was also during this time that I met my first savior in Onomichi.  I went back into the train station and asked if they could call my hotel.  The staff in this small-town train station was not quite as fluent in English as the staff at the KIX train station had been, but we managed to communicate somehow.  One of the employees there was a young girl who knew that the hotel's phone number was listed on the map that they hand out to tourists.  She called the hotel, and they sent a van within a few minutes to pick me up.  I saw that girl a couple more times throughout my trip, but I never did catch her name or properly thank her for her help that night.  My only other recourse would've been to walk the 1-2 miles to the hotel, in stifling heat and humidity, dragging my suitcase along, and not knowing *precisely* where the hotel even was!

So, I got to my room, and I didn't care that it was the size of a shoebox, I was grateful for a place to call "home."  It even had air conditioning - not the most powerful system in the world, but it did the trick and I slept comfortably.

4 Aug - Time to Sing!

I started my first full day in Onomichi with a wonderful buffet breakfast at my hotel - which I found had been overrun by a truckload of middle-school age Korean kids who were touring Japan.  I found this out after I had sat down to eat my breakfast - they all rushed in like a tornado, spent five minutes eating their breakfasts, and were gone almost as soon as they arrived.  They were very orderly and quiet, but they still reminded me of a small Asian tornado.

The hotel I stayed at rented bicycles, and I had brought along my bike helmet with the intention of riding the Shimanami Kaido, a path that winds along several islands between Onomichi and Imabari (on the main island of Shikoku).  Welllllll...turns out that the bikes they rented were not exactly the high-performance 24-speed bikes I was kinda hoping for.  They were pretty cheap three-speed jobs with a damn wire basket on the front.  I could barely raise the seat up high enough to ride comfortably.  So much for the Shimanami Kaido - that would have to wait until next time.

I lazed around my hotel for a little while before heading out - Matsuuras-san's karaoke meetup started at 2 and I didn't want to get there too early.  I left the hotel at around 12:30, and made a stop at Onomichi Station where I was determined to cash in my traveler's checks.  The hotel staff had told me that any post office could cash them, and there was a post office near the station...which closed at 12:30.  I got there just a few minutes too late.  Crap.  Well, at least I had a three-speed bicycle.

I made my way over to Matsuuras-san's - he's a tall, polite, passionate elderly man who is still very spry for 75.  He was very happy to meet me, and I met several friends of his as well - Saito-san who was a HAM radio enthusiast; Fuka-san, a woman in her late 40s or early 50s who enjoyed hula hooping or hula dancing, I wasn't quite sure which; and Tetsuji-san who was only just beginning to learn English, so I didn't learn too much about him, but he was very happy to meet me as well.  We sang a few songs on Matsuuras-san's impressive karaoke setup and chatted a bit.  Fuka-san and Tetsuji-san left after a couple of hours, and Matsuuras-san made dinner for Saito-san and me.  He told me that his wife had passed away last year, and that he has a girlfriend now - she came over for dinner as well, and I don't recall her name and she spoke no English, but she was incredibly sweet.  Matsuuras-san, in keeping with Buddhist tradition, keeps a shrine to his wife in his house.  When his girlfriend arrived at the house, she took her shoes off, knelt at the altar, and said a prayer to the soul of Matsuuras-san's late wife.  I think she's a keeper.

It was around 7pm when I decided that I was ready to head back to my hotel for the evening.  Matsuuras-san and Saito-san asked me what my schedule was for the next couple of days - they wanted to take me to an "onsen" - a Japanese bath house!  I was a little intimidated, but hey, when in Onomichi...  I told them that Tuesday would be a good day to do that.  I hopped on my bike and rode back to my hotel and crashed.  (In bed, I mean...not on my bike.)

5 Aug - Miyajima and Hiroshima

This is where Matsuuras-san and Saito-san became my saviors in Onomichi.  Matsuuras-san invited me to have breakfast with them, and I accepted since I wasn't going to leave for Hiroshima until noon or so.  I told them of my problems cashing my traveler's checks, and Saito-san made a phone call...he apparently has connections.  After chatting with someone on the phone, he said "Let's go to the 7-11."  (Yes, 7-11 is huge in Japan.)  The 7-11 had an ATM, and the diagram showed the card going in with the stripe up and to the right.  I tried it with my debit card, and it was rejected.  Then I tried it again with my two credit cards, and they were both rejected.  There was a phone on the ATM for support, and Saito-san picked it up and talked to the operator at the other end.  He then had me try my debit card again, this time with the stripe down and to the right.  Lo and behold, it worked, and I was able to withdraw about 20,000 yen.  Hallelujah.  I was thrilled to finally have cash in my pocket as I headed to Hiroshima.

This is probably a good time to introduce Tara.  Tara is a fellow redditor who I had been in touch with for several months.  She teaches English at a couple of schools in the Hiroshima area, and she volunteered to be my tour guide once I arrived in Hiroshima.  She really really really wanted to take me to Miyajima - I had never heard of Miyajima, but I said sure, why not.  Turns out Miyajima is an island south of Hiroshima, and it is considered one of the most holy places in Japan for both the Shinto and Buddhist traditions.  Tara is involved with Taiko drumming, and has performed there on several occasions.  Historically, women and the elderly were not allowed on the island - the monks wanted to ensure that no births or deaths would ever take place on the island.  Since then they've kind of relaxed about that.

We took the ferry over and rented a couple of bikes (again...cheap bikes, in fact I think mine was a fixed-gear bike), although riding around was a bit difficult given the amount of tourists in the area.  (Tara in particular had a tendency to plow into little kids, but I think they were so impressed with her fluency in Japanese that they immediately forgave her.)  We wandered around the huge open-air temples, and ended up having lunch at a very good restaurant there.  I was pretty stuffed, but Tara then took me to a strip where vendors served all sorts of wares - and treats.  We had a deliciously simple concoction which consisted of hand-shaved ice and a strawberry topping (like you'd put on ice cream), and later I had a tiny star-shaped cake with a chocolate filling.

Following that, we took the ferry back to the mainland, and hopped on the Hiroshima trolley for a while.  We eventually went to an Okinawan restaurant for dinner - I don't recall the name of the place, but it included the word "turtle" or "tortoise," and sure enough, there was a gigantic live tortoise that wandered freely around the restaurant.  While we were there it was asleep underneath a table, but it was hard to miss.  We had delicious Okinawan food and I got more than a little smashed on what Tara described as "Okinawan moonshine."  I stumbled my way back to my hotel in Onomichi, very nearly sleeping through my stop on the Shinkansen, and accidentally leaving my bike helmet behind.

6 Aug - Hiroshima

Okay, we'll just call it what it is: I was hung over.  I did not make it to the morning commemoration ceremonies in Hiroshima, and in fact didn't really get out of bed until well after noon.  I did head to Hiroshima around 3pm or so, and I wandered around the Peace Park and watched them launching the floating lanterns in the river.  But I didn't stay very long - I wasn't really in the mood to deal with crowds and heat and humidity.  That and there were tons of Americans around...tons and tons.  I honestly prefer to avoid other Americans when I'm traveling.  It takes me out of my "mood."  I headed back to the Hiroshima train station and had a delicious meal at a cheap restaurant (only cost around $5 and hit the spot in a major way).  I went back to my hotel and had a drink at the fancy-pants lounge which happened to be right across the hall from my room - the bartender didn't know how to make a white russian (I think this has to be my new global crusade...first the Irish, now the Japanese), but I had some *excellent* sake and a pizza.

7 Aug - Onomichi Onsen and More Karaoke

So Matsuuras-san and Saito-san picked me up at my hotel at 9:30am on the 7th, and we drove far up into the mountains to an onsen (public bath house) that they go to from time to time.  Honestly, I don't see the appeal, but then again, I didn't grow up with this as a cultural practice.  It's essentially "let's all get naked and hop into a jacuzzi with all of our same-sex friends."  Yeah, good times.  I think at this point I was tired of being hot all the time - so the thought of going to an onsen in the dead of summer just seemed highly illogical to me.  We sat in the bath for maybe an hour or so, then had lunch while wearing the traditional green post-bath robes they give you when you check in.  Afterwards, we went to a state park at the top of a different mountain in Onomich - I got some decent pics of the town from there.

Thennnnnn it was back to Matsuuras-san's for more karaoke, this time in Japanese!  Yay!  Different crowd this time, there were two other guys there who did speak very good English, although I don't recall their names.  They sang mostly in Japanese, but then they decided to sing a round of "My Old Kentucky Home," and that was when I realized - I was homesick!  I just wanted to go back to my hotel, sleep for about 12 hours, get up, get on the train, get to the airport, and get home.

Don't get me wrong - I love Japan.  Everyone there was so nice and helpful.  I would go back in a heartbeat, although I would stick to Hokkaido in the summer!!  Every day when I returned to my hotel, I was essentially a bag of sweat.  I was thanking my past self for packing so many spare t-shirts.

So, I said my goodbyes to everyone, but especially Matsuuras-san and Saito-san, who were excellent hosts and very good friends to have in Onomichi.  I biked back to my hotel, but I made two stops along the way: first at the train station where I bought my tickets to KIX for the next day, and a second stop at a local grocery store where I bought a carton of grape juice.  (I dunno, it sounded good at the time.)  Oddly enough, I ran into a rather beautiful western woman in the checkout line - I introduced myself, and I learned that she was teaching English through the JET program, just like Tara.  Her name was Gillian, and she was from Ireland.  Small world indeed.

8 Aug - One Last Surprise

I got up the morning of the 8th and headed down to the restaurant for breakfast.  There weren't too many people there, so I sat down at one of the great big round tables.  Across the table were two girls who took an immediate interest in me - one of them, Aiko, wasn't exactly fluent in English, but she was chatty as heck, and they decided to come around and sit on either side of me.  Aiko asked me all sorts of things...what I do, where I live, etc.  She told me that she and her friend were both from Tokyo, and showed me all of the mosquito bites she's gotten in Tokyo recently - which makes me think that Tokyo might also be a place to avoid in the summer.  She then told me that she and her friend were both 19 years old, and then asked me, "What did you do when you were 19?"  I laughed and told her about my awkward years at Central Michigan, and changing my major every semester...she empathized with not being sure what she wants to major in.  Aiko was heading back to Tokyo that morning, and her friend was heading on to Hiroshima.  I wished them both well and went back to my hotel room to finish packing, but I enjoyed our little chat and Aiko's enthusiasm for meeting an American.

The train ride to KIX was uneventful, and I loved going through Japanese security...they were polite, non-invasive (aside from taking a closer look at the array of electronica I carry with me), there were no nudie booths, no power trips...we could learn a lot from this culture.  I was a couple hours early for my flight, so there was a bit of nervous waiting, but then they called my name from the standby list, and gave me seat 1A - first class.  Six for six!  (Upon reaching SFO, I was given a middle seat in coach between two other men my size.  Ah well.)

Epilogue: Lessons Learned

Like I said, I would go back to Japan in a heartbeat.  I would do several things differently: get cash sooner than later, stick to areas with milder climates depending on time of year, and bring my own bike.  I had placed an order for a folding bike from a company in the UK, but I did it too late and won't receive it until next week.  Ah well.  Other than that, Japan is a fascinating, fun country, and not nearly as "weird" as I expected it to be.  I think a lot of the weirdness we perceive is just the extremes that bubble up to the surface and make their way over the ocean.  Japanese people have their quirks, of course, but the ones I encountered were extremely pleasant and down-to-earth.

For those of you who have made it to the end, here are some pics. :-)

Oh, right...the backstory.

I know what you're asking: who is The Reluctant Traveler?  And...is he seeing anyone?

I've never been a big traveler.  My family went on one big trip to Disney World when I was a little kid, during which I lost a stuffed Donald Duck, and then I took another trip with my cousins to New Hampshire and Washington D.C. which was an awesome week-long lobster feast.  Other than that, I spent my teens and early 20s relatively home-bound.

It wasn't that other places or other cultures didn't interest me - far from it.  I studied German in high school, and Russian and Japanese in college.  I think what it comes down to is...I was a cheapskate.  Traveling seemed like a very large financial expenditure for very little return.

I thought that I might want to *live* somewhere else for a while...like, if I ever went to Germany or Japan or Australia, that I'd want to get a job there and really immerse myself in the place.  Yeah, good luck getting a work visa, and even if you do, are you sure you're going to enjoy living and working where you've ended up?

I did take one fairly big, enjoyable trip when I was in my late 20s: I received an offer to come down to Bermuda in the summer of 2000 for a job interview.  The company flew me down there and put me up in a hotel for four days.  I spent a good amount of time with the boss and the crew - we sat and chatted in their office, went and played 18 holes of golf at St. George's, went out and drank...a lot...and then I had one day to myself, during which I rented a scooter and drove all over the island.  It was a really enjoyable time.

But...it wasn't really a *vacation* in the strictest sense.  It was business, and I was "interviewing" the majority of the time I was there - not exactly a relaxing week in Bermuda.  Then the reality of actually moving to another country started to sink in...if I got the job and accepted it, would I be happy there?  For many people, the answer would be a quick and resounding "YES."  For me...I wasn't so sure.  I grew up snow-skiing in Michigan, and beach life just didn't sound appealing to me.

So, I turned down the job, and my traveling days ended...or so I thought.  I started teaching router/switch classes all up and down the eastern seaboard, most often in the NYC and DC areas.  That counts as traveling, right?  Well, yes, if I had gotten out and actually visited the cities I was in when I wasn't teaching.  The problem was, I was on my feet all freakin' day, and the last thing I wanted to do at night was go walk around anywhere.  I could've (and should've) hopped on one of those tour buses, but I honestly didn't even think to do it.

Traveling just wasn't in my blood.

So fast-forward to 2009, and here I am working for a major airline as a network engineer.  The fact that I receive free flight benefits didn't even sink in until I had been here for about three months.  After acclimating to my new job and settling in, I just sort of realized one day - oh yeah, I can go anywhere I want to now.  I started surfing wikitravel.org and making a mental list of places and things I'd like to see, but more importantly, do.  That's really the key for me.  I'm not one to go browse around a museum all afternoon - that sounds kind of boring to me.  But, if I can go skiing, or take scuba lessons, or go windsurfing...ahh, now we're talking.  The most enjoyable part of my Bermuda trip was the day I rented that scooter and just drove around aimlessly, exploring the nooks and crannies of the tiny island.

So I started traveling a bit...I flew home to Detroit from time to time, but I also went out west and skied in the Rockies finally (a far, far cry from skiing in Michigan...there really are no similarities between the two, aside from snow and gravity), visited a friend in Hawaii (Oahu), spent a few days in Munich (my German isn't as good as I thought it was, but I got my first taste of international first class), New Hampshire, New York (got on a tour bus finally!), San Diego, San Francisco, and Puerto Rico (love love love the Caribbean Sea).

My goal right now is to visit all seven continents.  (Yes, all seven - I can fly down to Ushuaia Argentina, then hop on a boat down to Antarctica.  It'd soak up all my vacation time for the year, but I think it'd be worth it.)  I've also thought about doing a round-the-world trip: Chicago to Moscow, Moscow to Vladivostok via the Trans-Siberian Railroad (9 days), boat from Vladivostok to Toyama Japan (2 days), train from Toyama to Narita, Narita to Chicago.  Again, I'd burn a year's worth of vacation time, but it'd be an interesting trip and would certainly give me a chance to bone up on my Russian!!

My recent trip to Ireland was supposed to be a trip to Japan, but I learned at almost the last minute that the week I had off work (April 26th through May 4th) coincided with "Golden Week" in Japan, during which there are four major national holidays.  Forget about finding a hotel room anywhere, much less a plane or train ticket anywhere.  I figured I didn't want to deal with that hassle, and altered my plans.  Ireland was on my list, and I had been researching my family history - I have distant ancestors who hailed from the Armagh and Waterford areas of Ireland, so I figured I'd go check it out.  I'm planning on visiting Japan in August, and want to be in Hiroshima on the 6th for the anniversary of the atomic attack.  My friend Emily, who holds a Masters degree in Asian Studies from the University of Hawaii, has cautioned me to expect more than a few evil eyes if I'm there on that day.

Also on the itinerary for later this year: New Zealand.  We're slated to start flying the new Boeing 787 Dreamliner between Houston and Auckland...when we do so, hopefully I can kill two birds with one stone: visit New Zealand, and fly on the new plane.  First class might be asking for too much, but I'm 4 for 4 on flying first class to overseas international destinations (Ireland and Munich round-trip), so maybe I'll continue to live a charmed life.

...And find fun things to do.

IRELAND: April 27 - May 3, 2012

This'll be lengthy...hit the bathroom first.

Part I: On How Airlines Do and Don't Work

First, I have to start with the tale of the aborted departure.  I had originally booked myself on the flight from Newark to Belfast on Thursday the 26th.  The flight departs daily at 9:30pm, so I booked myself on a flight from Chicago to Newark at around 2 in the afternoon, giving myself plenty of time.  I went to the airport, checked my bag, and unfortunately, all the flights from Chicago to Newark were overbooked - I don't know if an earlier flight got cancelled or what.  In a situation like that, the airline will put your checked bag on the flight, assuming that you'll eventually get on a later flight.  However, they won't put a bag on an international flight unless they *know* you're on it.  So I figured my bag would be in Newark the next day.  I didn't get a seat on the plane, so I came home disappointed.

On Friday, I made sure to guarantee that I'd make it to Newark, and I got on the 6am flight.  Remember when I said that the Belfast flight departed daily at 9:30pm?  Yeah, 12-hour layover in Newark.  However, the semi-posh Club offers daily memberships for about 50 bucks, and I figured that would be worth it and help the day go by quicker.  I made it to Newark without incident, and even had a bit of luck when a sympathetic co-worker let me into the Club for free, and I could come and go as I pleased that day.  So, score.

Now, if there's one issue I have with my company, it's how we handle baggage.  I've had more lost bags than I care to think about, and it's incredibly difficult to get detailed, accurate information about where one's bag is at any given time.  I was in Newark but did not know for a fact that my bag was there, or that it would get loaded on the flight to Belfast with me.  I tried calling the baggage office from one of the office-ish cubicles in the Club, but of course, did not get through.  My only recourse was to leave the "sterile area" of the airport, go down to the baggage office, confirm where my bag was and where it was headed, then make my way back through the damn TSA and back to the Club.

(I hate the TSA.  Just want to throw that out there.  HATE them.)

I girded my loins and left the sterile area.  After a very brief but educational chat with one of the baggage agents, I learned that my checked bag was actually waiting for me in Belfast - not what is supposed to happen, but that's what happened.  So, peace of mind regarding my bag achieved, I headed back up to get groped by the boys in blue.  However, one of my perks is that I'm able to use the "employees only" line at the TSA checkpoint.  This doesn't always guarantee that I won't get groped, but it lets me bypass the line for the general public and saves a bit of time.  And in this instance, they were only using a metal detector on the employee line rather than the nudie booth, which I always opt out of.

(I don't shy away from showing my penis to anyone, but I draw the line at government employees.  I once tried to date a girl who worked for the IRS, but it didn't get past second base.)

So having successfully tracked down my bag, and successfully avoided an intimate encounter with our friends at the Department of Homeland Sexurity, I waited out the day in the Club and scored a first-class seat to Belfast that evening.

Part II: The Road to Armagh

The flight from Newark to Belfast was turbulent as all get-out - I'd say mild to moderate chop the whole way.  I'm not a nervous flyer anymore, though, and I was able to sleep through most of it.  The meals were delicious, and I was sitting next to a young woman named Shawna.  Shawna, a woman from Derry, had a countenance best described "merry."  We talked and we dined, and drank too much wine, and her most favorite film is Glengarry! 

(Okay that was lame...stick 'n' move, stick 'n' move.)

I arrived at Belfast at 9am, retrieved my bag which had been tucked away in some office deep in the bowels of the airport, bought a bus pass, and headed out the door.  I should note at this point that I had forgotten one small detail: Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom, and as such does not participate in the European economic union - in other words, they don't use the Euro, they use pounds.  I had cashed one of my travelers checks in Newark and gotten Euros, which were pretty much worthless in Ulster.  Oops.  Still, credit cards worked pretty much everywhere, so it was sort of a non-issue.  I took the bus from the airport to the downtown Belfast bus terminal, and from there to Armagh.

(My impressions of Ireland so far: people talk very fast and drive on the left, but otherwise not too much culture shock to speak of yet.  Oh, and I noticed that all the men were clean-shaven, and I'd been letting my beard grow out for the last couple of weeks.  So, between my accent, my Michigan hoodie, my beard, and my general look of cluelessness, I definitely stood out in a crowd.)

(Oh, and let's address the Irish Curse for a moment: on the bus from the airport to downtown Belfast, a man was sitting in a seat and drinking from one of those small bottles of wine.  A woman sitting near him was quietly chastising him for doing so, and his reply was: "It's what we do.  It's what we do."  I promised myself not to allow him to speak for all Irish.)

The road to Armagh passes through a couple of noteworthy towns: Craigavon and Portadown.  In Craigavon, a new bus passenger had the guts to sit down next to this gringo: a rather old man, perhaps in his early 80s, who didn't hesitate to strike up a conversation.  Turns out his name was Torl, and he was on his way to Armagh to visit his brother Tommy, who had traveled there from Wales.  Torl turned out to be a treasure-trove of information and was more than happy to share as we rode together to Armagh.

The most interesting thing he told me was about Portadown - and when he came to this subject, his voice dropped to little more than a whisper.  He told me how Portadown was the powderkeg where "The Troubles" started back in the late 60s.  Of course, Ireland's inter-faith violence starts much further back than that, but Portadown represents to many the most recent locus of violence.  As we rode along, Torl pointed out several spots where this event happened, or that commemorative plaque was installed - again, never speaking in more than a whisper.  It didn't make me feel nervous at all, but sad.

As we left Portadown, Torl decided he wanted to sing a song to me about Armagh.  I've been hunting for it on YouTube and can't seem to find it, but he definitely got a kick out of singing it to me - something about "The Sons of Armagh."  It turned out that Torl's brother Tommy was staying at the same hotel I was - the Charlemont Arms.  This made it super easy to find the place, which was just a few steps away from the Armagh bus terminal.  I let Torl greet his brother (and his sister-in-law) on his own and made my way to the hotel, but I did spy them all together later in the hotel's dining room.  My room wasn't quite ready yet, so I sat in the dining room and had my first major experience with culture shock in Northern Ireland: those people are clueless when it comes to making white russians, since they don't keep kahlua on hand.  Declan, the bartender, ended up making what was basically an Irish coffee with vodka in it.  Ah well - it'll work in a pinch.

When I first arrived at the dining room, it was empty, and I parked myself at one of the larger tables.  The place started to fill up a bit, though, and after a while a very outgoing woman asked if she could join me at my table.  I said yes of course, feeling like a typical American - taking up more space than I really should've been.  But she was friendly enough and didn't seem at all angry, and chatted me up a bit.  Her name was Niamh, which is pronounced "naif," and she was Declan the bartender's cousin.  Niamh was chatty as heck.  I learned that she was a musician and music teacher, focusing mainly on fiddle and harp - traditional Irish instruments, so that was cool.  However, Niamh didn't tell me about her music career as much as she told me about the "roll" she was on - she apparently had won a lot of money at Bingo the night before, and a similar sum on a scratch card earlier that day, even going so far as to show me the roll of cash in her purse.  That's great, Niamh, congrats.  Check please!

I dragged my jet-lagged and white-russian-Irish-coffee'd ass up to my room and passed out for several hours.  When I woke up, I discovered that the lights in my room wouldn't turn on.  Hmm.  No biggie, it was still light out, so I headed out to wander around.  I asked a couple of locals where the best pub in Armagh was, and they pointed me in the general direction.  I got there and discovered that they had no kitchen, and once again, they could not make me a white russian.  SOD THIS BLOODY COUNTRY...sorry, I overreacted there a bit.  Actually, the bartenders were really nice - one of them, Patricia, was super friendly and told me how she was studying accounting at the local "univarsity."  I sang Monty Python's Accountancy Shanty to her, which she appreciated I'm sure.

(I got in the habit of saying "Can a guy with a funny accent get a drink here?" as an ice-breaker with the locals - they seemed to get a kick out of it and forewarned them that the voice they were about to hear was definitely not from there.)

Since I couldn't get dinner at that pub, I headed back to my hotel and sat in the "fancy" part of the restaurant.  Still couldn't get a white russian to save my life, but for extra humor value, the restaurant featured "live music" that night - which basically consisted of a one-man karaoke act, crooning such hits as Tina Turner's "We Don't Need Another Hero," the Golden Globe-nominated song from the 1985 film "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome."  It felt so...so...so *Irish*.  Brought a tear to my eye and made my shamrock-shaped heart grow three sizes that day.

Oh, so about the food.  Remember how I said at the outset that Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom?  The stereotypes about British food are pretty much true.  Dry, bland, and small portions are pretty much the norm.

By this time I was ready for bed again, so I headed up to my room - where the lights still wouldn't turn on.  There was a bright street lamp right outside my window, by which I was able to read the guest services book.  Another bit of culture shock: apparently in Ireland, in order to activate the power to the lights and outlets in your room, you have to insert your room keycard into this little device on the wall.  (This is obviously a tradition going back centuries.)  I located the wall-mounted device, put in my keycard, and viola, the TV coming on was music to my ears.  I was able to charge up my iPad at last, which has become my invaluable tool for booking flights and hotel rooms.  This paragraph brought to you by Apple.  Think Different.

The next morning (Sunday the 29th), I had breakfast at the hotel (waited on by Janny, another friendly young woman who was studying "narsing" at the local "univarsity").  I caught the bus back to Portadown, and by the skin of my teeth caught the train down to Dublin.  The train was packed to the gills, but I managed to find a "seat" of sorts in the dining car.  It wasn't so much a seat as this metal...thing...that you parked 1/3rd of your butt on while standing on this raised...edge...okay we'll skip that part.  One cool little moment for me was at a later stop when this punk-ish looking guy got on, and he was listening to an iPod which was loud enough for others to hear.  He was listening to "Strangeways, Here We Come," which was The Smiths' last album before their breakup in 1988.  I could hear it from clear across the train car and couldn't help but sing along.  I would've chatted with the guy if the train hadn't been so packed.

Part III: Dublin and Overt Racism

I arrived at Connelly station in Dublin, and realized that I had absolutely no clue where to go from there.  I had booked myself for three nights at a Best Western in Dublin, but I hadn't adequately researched which bus to take to get from Connelly station to the hotel.  Also, remember how I said that Northern Ireland uses British pounds, but Ireland proper uses the Euro?  All I had were pounds and US dollars in my wallet.  I flagged down a cab and asked if he'd accept either a credit card or pounds, and he said to hop in.  We drove to the hotel, and along the way he asked me how my trip was going.  I told him about flying into Belfast and the bus to Armagh, etc., and he scoffed.  He said "There are places in Belfast you do *not* go."  I said "Well, that's kind of true anywhere, isn't it?  I mean, are you saying that there's nowhere you can't go in Dublin?"

He said, "Yeah...Hell."

Yikers.

I handed him my 10-pound note and checked into my hotel - having learned in Armagh to stick my keycard into the little thingy on the wall!  I laid down for a quick nap, which...turned out to be a lot longer than I had expected.  I woke up around 6pm or so, and headed across the street to a very swank restaurant for a delicious meal.  The waitress, Andrea, was extremely friendly and the meal was perfect.  It was just a burger and baked potato, but it hit the spot after lackluster Ulster fare.

Monday and Tuesday (April the 30th and May the 1st) are kind of a blur, honestly.  I never quite got over the jet lag and spent much of those days asleep!  I did get out a bit, though.  I rode a couple of buses around, checked out a couple of pubs, and generally enjoyed the people-watching.  I'll be honest, though - Dublin wasn't the most inspiring city.  Again, aside from the accents and the left-hand driving, it was pretty much just like Chicago.  If I had to do it all over again, I would make two changes: one, I would be more disciplined about the jet lag issue on Day One, and two, I would've scheduled less time in Dublin.

(Oh, part of why I scheduled so much time in Dublin was because I wanted to take a day trip to the Isle of Man.  Once again, lack of foreplanning on my part led to disappointment: the ferries between Dublin and the Isle aren't running until June.)

Part IV: The Challenging Fun Enjoyable Happy-Time Death-Defying Wednesday

My airline flies into three cities in Ireland: Belfast (Northern), Dublin (Eastern), and Shannon (Western).  Since I fly standby everywhere, I sometimes have to get creative about how/when/where I depart and arrive.  In this case, two factors motivated me: one, which location would guarantee me a seat (since I have to work on Saturday), and which location would offer the best chance of getting a first-class seat back to Newark?  The answer to both questions, for a Thursday morning flight, was indubitably Shannon.

Next question: how best to get there?  Train's an option, or...if I really felt like a challenge...I could rent a car.  This I *had* researched before I left Newark: car rental is relatively inexpensive, provided that you 1) stay within Ireland proper and don't cross the border to Ulster, and 2) rent a manual transmission.  I can drive a stick, but it's been a while, and I've driven on the left, but again, it's been a while, and that was on a scooter in Bermuda.  So while it was an option, it was a dangerous one.

And as all of you know, "Danger" is my middle name.

I picked up a car on Wednesday morning from Budget in Dublin.  I made sure to get a GPS as well, which was both a blessing and a curse.  My plan was to drive to Shannon, stay at a hotel there, then fly out on their 9am flight to Newark.  I booked a night at the Carrygerry Country House which is within sight of the Shannon airport, so all of my bases were covered before I left Dublin.

Leaving the Budget office in Dublin, there were two ways I could've gone.  If I had turned left, I would've had to go through downtown Dublin to make my way to the highway to Shannon.  If I had turned right, it would've been a short jaunt up to the highway that rings Dublin - slightly farther mileage-wise, but much easier than driving through downtown Dublin.  On the left.  In a manual-transmission vehicle.

I got in the car (on the passenger side, of course, where the steering wheel was), and after a few minutes of familiarizing myself with the controls, I punched in the address for the Carrygerry Country House into the GPS.  It did all of its little calculations, and I pulled out.  The first thing the nice woman inside the GPS said was, "Turn left."  Umm...but wait...I want to go right...it's easier...if I go right...

The scene from "The Office" where Michael and Dwight are being led around by the GPS suddenly flashed in my head.  Michael, you're about to drive straight into a lake!  THE COMPUTER KNOWS, DWIGHT!!

So left I went.

I think right off the bat I ran a red light - I'm still not sure about that.  What I do know is that driving on the left was immediately the least of my concerns.  I've always had trouble not stalling in first gear, and I think that happened about 20 times between the Budget office and the entrance to the highway to Shannon.  I learned that day that the Irish don't hesitate to use their horns like Americans do.  I'm not sure what hand gestures they use, though - I was too busy getting my car re-started.  I got pretty good at that, at least.  The ten thousand Dubliners I inconvenienced would probably disagree.

I eventually made it to the highway, and from there it was smooth sailing, and I enjoyed that drive quite a bit.  Had to remember that the left was the "slow lane," and a couple of times I looked into my rear-view mirror to see a speedier car riding my ass, but in all it was a great drive.  Roundabouts were no problem for me (thank you Boston!), and about two hours later I was pulling into the driveway of the Carrygerry Country House.  (The GPS wanted me to make a right when the sign clearly indicated a left to get to the House - fool me once, GPS.  Neil Peart has his own great little alternative meaning for GPS - "Get a Pen, Stupid.")

One interesting driving-related problem I encountered was when I was driving through the farmland surrounding the Carrygerry House.  The farmers there build these five foot-high stone walls on the edges of their property, butting right up against the edges of the fairly narrow roads.  It's impossible to see around corners, and there's not a lot of room to maneuver when you see a tractor suddenly coming the other way.

The GPS failed me again when I attempted to find a decent lunch place in nearby Limerick.  The House's wifi was iffi at best, so I just punched in "RESTAURANT" into the GPS and let it pick a place for me.  I chose the first one that came up, and went out for what amounted to a 45-minute drive, ending up at...someone's house.  Um...stupid GPS.  I turned around and backtracked, stopping at a roadside place along the way, in nearly-nonexistent Ferrybridge, Ireland.  I don't remember the name of the place, but it was perfect - small, good food, nice people.  The young woman behind the counter, Tracy, was excited about the fact that I was from Chicago, since she had recently returned from a six-month trip to San Francisco.  (And the two cities are, of course, exactly the same.)  Tracy has a degree in childcare but, like many young educated Irish people, is having a hard time finding meaningful work.  She's hoping to find work in another commonwealth country - Canada, Australia, anywhere.  Apparently her pending exodus is nothing new among her generation.

(What I noticed about her accent and the accents of the other patrons in the restaurant is that it's more of a drawl - they spoke noticeably slower than their Ulster/Dublin counterparts.  Very interesting to me and I wish I'd gotten an audio recording of it.)

Oh, the other thing about accents: people in Ireland speak English, but they also speak Irish Gaelic - Tracy told me that they all receive an education in Irish Gaelic as well as English, along with math and reading and whatnot.  So when you meet someone or overhear them speaking, you first have to determine if they're speaking English or Irish, and it's not always easy to tell right off the bat.  I even watched a bit of a TV show where an interviewer was asking questions in Irish, and the interviewee was responding in English.  The show provided subtitles when the Irish-speaking interviewer was speaking.

So anyway, I headed back to the House, slept the night, got up in the morning, got a first-class seat back to Newark, connected there back to Chicago, and here I am.

Part V: Final Thoughts

I enjoyed Ireland, but I wasn't as *wowed* as I had hoped to be.  Like I said, Ireland is very similar to the U.S. - people are friendly but not to a ridiculous degree (I'm looking at you, Canada), there's litter here and there, Dublin was very similar to Chicago, and while the accents are present, they're not impenetrably thick for the most part.  Ireland wasn't a very *challenging* country - the bus system in Dublin is a little confusing, but it's relatively easy to get around, and even driving wasn't that big of a deal.  It's an easy country to visit (I'm looking at you, fans of all-incLewisive resorts), so I'd definitely recommend it for a first-time traveler to Europe.

So yeah, that's Ireland in a nutshell.  Next stop: Japan in August!