Student Bloggers

I awoke at 4 a.m. London time to the clanking of dishes in the makeshift kitchen of the aircraft. I was irritated and exhausted, but looked at the digital map attached to my seat to find that we would be landing in approximately one and a half hours. The sound in the kitchen was breakfast being prepared. My legs were stiff and my arm twitched as it awoke from my poor sleeping position. About this time, my neighbor awoke and I used the opportunity to stretch my legs for a few minutes before sitting for the remainder of the flight. In the lavatory, I looked at my appearance to see the toll a lack of sleep has taken on my face. I likely only slept three or four hours tonight on the plane, and the night prior I slept two and a half hours. Dark bags sagged under my eyes, my eyes dropped, and my skin looked pale.

The flight was nearly over and I was anxious to get off the plane. The instant we landed I frivolously packed away my belongings into my carry-on and threw my backpack on my back. I only had one hour to get to my gate for Dublin and if Heathrow was anything like JFK, I was going to be lucky to find my gate in one hour. As soon as we were allowed to exit the plane, I rushed to my gate. But it was just my luck to have to go through a passport check line, fill out a landing card I didn’t realize I had to complete, and go through another round of security. Thank goodness I made it to my gate for Dublin huffing and puffing, but with fifteen minutes to spare. After a long day spent traveling, I was relieved that this would be the last plane I had to take until I reached Ireland.

The plane to Dublin was a new model, very nice, and I had my row to myself. I was delighted to be able to stretch my legs in the seat next to me and watch the sites through the window. Rain slowly fell and left drops on my window outside of London. I have never been so happy to see rain as I thought about the two-hour flight between Ireland and myself. I listened to Irish music, read Orphan Train and ate a light breakfast to occupy my time. The Irish flight attendant was a bundle of joy and extremely friendly and accommodating during my flight. “Would you like sweet or savory?” He asked me when offering breakfast. “Smashing!”, he said as he enthusiastically came by to collect my trash and gave me a friendly wink when I thanked him. I counted down the minutes as the televisions extending from the ceiling showed the time until landing on the map. Within five minutes before landing, the morning sunrise vanished, and a sea of clouds engulfed the plane. Then, in an instant, the green fields emerged. It was just like everything I had dreamed it would be: patches of green land divided by stonewalls, sheep grazing in the fields, and cottages placed distantly from one another. I smiled as I stared in admiration out my window. This has been my dream for as long as I can remember and it was unfolding before my very eyes. The flight attendant announced our arrival as the plane wheels hit the concrete, “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Dublin.”

The short and relaxing flight rejuvenated my tired body. I grabbed my carry-on and walked off the plane. I followed the signs, which guided me to the luggage belt. As I read the signposts showing which way each citizen was supposed to enter, a young guy close to my age paused and hesitated when I abruptly stopped to read each sign. Not noticing him, I apologized and smiled but he insisted I go ahead of him. In the “non EU” line, I followed closely behind him and he once again hesitated and paused to let me walk ahead of him. I laughed and insisted he go ahead of me. Because of my good mood, I casually asked where he was from. He replied with Saudi Arabia and we started talking about why I was in Dublin, why he was in Dublin, and small talked. Our conversation paused when we were each called to have our passports checked, but then picked back up when we were walking to the terminal. The time flew by waiting for the luggage as I learned about his life in Dublin as a medical student, where he was from, and his advice about where to go in Dublin. Once we both had our baggage, he advised that I take the bus from the airport to the Temple Bar area, where my hotel was located. It would be cheaper to pay 7 euros for the bus than at least 25 euros for a taxi. Eager to know more about my new friend, I bought a bus ticket and took a seat by him for the drive to Dublin. I barely looked at the city, rather than a few glances, as we both talked. He was very easy to talk to and we casually kept a flowing conversation throughout the bus ride. He asked if he could give me his number and I quickly realized I did not get his name. “Fahad,” he replied enthusiastically. “Fah-had?” I repeated questionably. He laughed and pronounced it clearly again and I repeated it back to ensure I pronounced it correctly. Fahad said he would be happy to take me around the city if I was interested.

Before he got off at his stop, he made sure I knew to get off at the next stop and said he hoped to see me soon. I waved goodbye to him with a smile and watched the city go by from my window.

The bus stopped by Trinity College to let passengers off for the Temple Bar district. I exited and the bus driver grabbed my green polka doted suitcase from the storage area while I asked him where the Harding Hotel was located. He was not sure, but asked to see the address and gave me directions from that. Filled with excitement, I rolled my suitcase, carried my backpack and bag, and walked through the city following the bus driver’s directions. I came to a busy intersection and tried to read the signs and figure out which direction I needed to go. Confused, I walked into a small coffee shop/mini mart to ask the cashier where my hotel was. She wasn’t certain based on the name or the street name, but looked it up online for me and told me which way to go. Though her directions got me going in the right direction, I was soon completely confused. Great, I am in the middle of Dublin, Ireland’s largest city, with every piece of luggage I have for the next 5 months. I have no phone, no way to use a map app to guide me in the right direction, and I know absolutely no one. As I rolled my suitcase down cobble stone roads, through skinny sidewalks, and past skeptic locals, my anger arose. I asked at least three other people walking past me where the Harding Hotel was located. Each one tried to help me and a very friendly Irish guy stopped and made sure I knew which direction to start going and wished me luck. He also had never heard of the hotel. Does this hotel even exist? 20 minutes later, my arms were exhausted, my foot was cramping, and my face was dripping in sweat. I was livid. I had officially walked as much as I could. I tirelessly pulled my suitcase up a set of steps, picked it up when it fell half way down, and walked into a random hotel to have the receptionist call me a taxi.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” she asked with a smile.

I took a moment to catch my breath and replied, “Could you call me a taxi please?”

“A taxi? Sure! Where are you going?”

“The Harding Hotel”

“The Harding Hotel? Oh! It is right down the right and around the corner. It really is just a few minutes away, you probably could not get a taxi to take you there it is so close.”

“It is right down the road?” I asked with uncertainty.

“Yes, you walk right onto the sidewalk and it is around the corner across from Christchurch Cathedral. You should not have a problem finding it.”

With as much as a smile I could offer, I thanked the receptionist and yanked my suitcase out the door and down the steps. She better be right.

Thank goodness the receptionist’s directions were accurate. I have never been so relieved to find a hotel and so tired in my life. Huffing and puffing, I took a moment to pause as someone in front of me checked in and then another friendly receptionist greeted me. “Hello! What can I do for you?” He asked. I took another moment to catch my breath and pull back my sweaty hair from my face, and then gave him my name. A few minutes later he brought me my keys, showed me my breakfast stubs, and made sure I knew how to access the wifi from the code he supplied for me. Relieved, I found my room and threw my bags on the ground with force. After a shower, fresh clothes, and a hotel room to myself, I was completely content. Eager to see the city and wanting to stay awake throughout the day, I grabbed my keys, phone, wallet, and walked out of the hotel. I walked across the road to Christchurch Cathedral, and walked down the road towards the River Liffey. The city was beautiful and to my surprise, it was a sunny and fairly warm day of about 50 degrees. I walked across the Ha’Penny Bridge to view the city from across the river, down the street of the North side of Dublin closest to the river, and looped around to cross another bridge and make my way back to the Temple Bar district. Exhausted, I walked back to the hotel to allow myself to take an hour nap. I fell asleep as quick as the hour went by. When my alarm buzzed, I fought to pull myself out of bed. But Fahad had Facebook messaged me during my nap, asking if I still wanted a tour of the city, and I was not about to turn down the opportunity.

Eager to see the city, I planned to meet him outside Christchurch Cathedral. He greeted me with a warm smile and proceeded to guide me towards the city. We went back and forth asking one another questions on our walk. When we would come across an important or significant sight, he would point it out and tell me the basic history or reason of significance such as the River Liffey and the Temple Bar district. We passed the River Liffey first, walked by lively pubs in the Temple Bar district, and joined a mob of people walking down Grafton Street. The street was lined with high-end shopping centers and filled with excited tourist. Fahad gleamed as we walked through the street past performers and claimed he loved the energy tourist give to Grafton Street. Intrigued by the street performers playing Russian or Polish music, he stopped at the large mob of people encircling the performers. “I’m cold,” He turned to me and smiled. The next thing I knew, he jumped into the center of the circle and danced to the beat of the music. I smiled and laughed while urging him on.

Our tour continued as the sun began to set and the temperature was dropped, but I could not resist Fahad’s suggestion to try “the best gelato in Dublin” from Gino’s. The strawberry cream melted in my mouth and was just the treat I wanted, despite the irony of eating cold gelato on a winter day. We continued to walk and he pointed out Trinity College, St. Stephen’s green, which we walked the perimeter of since the park was closed, and looped our way around back to Grafton Street. Past Grafton Street, we walked straight to O’Connell Street to see the Spire of Dublin. The odd needle monument was peculiar and strange. Why would Dublin choose to place a giant needle in the middle of the city? Fahad was not sure about the Spire either, but claimed it will make a great marker if I ever got lost.

We crossed the white pedestrian bridge, the Ha’Penny (which sounds like the “half penny” when the Irish pronounce it) and back to Temple Bar. Curious about the pubs, Fahad asked if I wanted to walk inside one. I chose the iconic “Temple Bar” which was packed with people everywhere and a musician playing up front. We took a seat and listened to the musician playing a mix of contemporary American music and Trad (traditional Irish). I sang along and taught Fahad the clapping rhythms to the “Wild Rover”, which is by far one of my favorite interactive traditional Irish songs. Before the next song the musicians called out, “This is an American song. Is anyone here from the States?” I raised my hand slyly with a smile surprised I was the only American sitting close to the musician. He was thrilled to see my hand raised and replied with, “Are ye? Where are you from?”, then proceeded to sing “Galway Girl” which made my heart soar with delight.

Fahad suggested that we eat dinner before the Irish Step dancing Show he planned to take me to later tonight, so we left the pub and walked through Temple Bar to a row of restaurants and shops. A restaurant called “Crackbird” was his selection and close to the show we would be seeing later on. I felt like we were back in Nashville when we entered the hipster atmosphere of the dark restaurant. I read through food names that I did not understand such as “rolled croquettes,” which are apparently fried mash potatoes rolled in a breading shell. Fahad and I didn’t miss a beat throughout conversations and easily transitioned from one to the next. He has more questions for me about American life and culture than I did for him, which is a rare occasion – it is often the other way around for me.

Our dinner arrived shortly and was absolutely delicious. I ordered the soy garlic chicken with a side of carrot and cranberry salad. Even though Fahad and I split a full order of the chicken, we each stared at the remaining pieces unable to eat them. Full and happy, we walked to where the Irish step dancing would be starting in the next few minutes and sat down at the bar. When the dancers appeared, Fahad and I watched in amazement as the step dancers moved their feet incredibly quick while keeping their upper bodies impossibly still. We stayed and watched for at least two hours until the step dancers finished their performances. By 10 p.m. my eyes were quickly growing tired from my long day and Fahad walked me back to my hotel. We continued to casually talk on the walk back and I felt a pinch of sadness that my time with him was ending. I gave him a friendly hug and thanked him multiple times for showing me around the city of Dublin. How lucky am I to have met such a friendly guy during my first few minutes within Dublin? I insisted that we meet up again during the semester whether it was in Dublin or Galway and waved him good-bye. It may have been a rocky road to Dublin, but it ended with a memorable evening.