I like to go on adventures. I think that's the most concise way to put it.
Lately I've become slightly obsessed with wanting to go places; my own version of spring fever. I've been getting into Travel with Rick Steves and the Michael Palin documentaries to at least get my brain out into the world. As I wash into the turbulent waters of fiscal independence, particularly in this economy, my dreams of Trekking Nepal or spending several weeks on Indian trains are a farther off than I care to think about. To cure the itchy feet (and to try and resign to the very real trips I am going on soon -- a long camping holiday in the Canadian Rockies and hopefully (hopefully!) a very long road trip to the Yucatán peninsula), I have been unpacking my trip to Ireland last year.
Most of what will follow are things that were hastily jotted down in my notebooks, or emailed to Anthony when I could shark a wireless connection somewhere.
NOW THEN
Last summer (2008) Mom and I went to Ireland. It was our first real trip abroad aside from a four hour stint in Victoria, Canada -- pretty, but hardly foreign-feeling, just on duration alone.
Mom has joked that there is gypsy blood in the family from way back -- we have an almost insatiable thirst to see new places. From as early as I can remember I have been filled with WanderLust. While my brother would peck away at the buttons of his NES, Gameboy, (whatever game-platform was smallish and portable at the time, it changed through the years of course) I would sit with the Atlas open on my lap pouring over the city names coming up on our route. I would look up what the symbols meant in the key, add up the miles between key landmarks, check it with time of our arrival. My eyes would gobble up the landscape around me, whether it was the barren wheat fields of Kansas or the winding switchbacks on a precipice of the Sangre de Cristos.
As we got older our trips became a little more adventurous. A two-week campout in Yellowstone (in near-constant rain that tested the moral fiber of all members of the party). A similar trip through the Canyonlands in Utah (Brice, Zion) that featured a side trip to this gorgeous orchard in a different state park that I cannot for the life of me remember what it was called. (I know it featured the oldest, fattest cottonwood I have ever seen before or since. The four of us linking hands could scarcely make up half of the circumference.) Trips to actual cities (Pittsburgh, Seattle) and trips to landmarks (Disneyland, Mount Rushmore).
So when graduation presents were being talked about, a trip abroad seemed like the natural choice. Beginning as a huge affair with extended family members, the numbers eventually dwindled to just Mom and I, both green yet eager to give it a shot.
I recall the original bag I took was this enormous Jan Sport Euro Sak, which arrived in a care package from Mom along with "Ireland for Dummies". The bag looks manageable in those photos but when compared to a petite 5'2' woman it could be compared to trying to carry a giant barrel filled with water on your back. I neglected to walk around with my pack at home but instead packed in a whirlwind just before I hopped on the bus, which was a terrible mistake.
LESSON 1: let your excitement take over and pack early. It lets you rethink the amount of clothes you are taking and weed out the unnecessary things you aren't going to wear. And pack LESS. I would have been so much happier with a small backpack in hindsight.
As Mom was not settling down in a brand-new city at the time, she handled most of the pre-trip affairs: costs and planning. My part was to navigate public transit and make sure we got to the destinations once we were in the thick of things. Because of this I wasn't paying very close attention to our itinerary until we were just about underway.
Our plan was to tackle the Southern end of the country in a week. We would meet at DIA, fly to Atlanta, and then make the connection to Dublin. From there we would spend the night in a hotel, and then begin our lives as bus transients, making our way to Kilkenny, Cork, Dingle, Bunratty Castle, a quick day trip to the Cliffs of Moher, and then fly out of Shannon airport. One night in each place at a Bed and Breakfast. Doing all this in one week was probably not something I would have agreed to if I had been a little more involved, but as Mom put it we were going on a "scouting trip," to see what to spend more time at the next time around.
When the dates of our itinerary were finalized I made sure to fly out to Denver a bit early to catch PrideFest and spend some time with friends. I had only lived in Portland for three weeks at that point, and this would be my first time coming "home" to what already felt more like home than Northern Colorado ever had. Still, it was good to get a little taste of the old familiar before I headed out for adventure.
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