jakorte's blog

It’s 3:00 AM my time; 8:00 AM Dublin time. A cappuccino is cooling for me as I write these notes, munching a naturally Irish “Flapjack” bar comprised of oats and milk chocolate.

My luggage and I found our way to Terminal 2, where I ran into a CIE Tour group gathering. The greeters/tour guides spotted my CIE luggage strap and tried to coral me toward the waiting area, but I explained it wasn’t my week. It would be nice if I had the same guides for my tour. They were very helpful, directing me to Terminal One and the phone kiosk.

Of course, the phone spot was closed despite the sign that declared they opened at 8:00 AM. To be sure they were still in business I asked at the information desk and was told they were just running late. So I waited about twenty minutes, sipped my coffee, and people watched until the shutter rolled up… only to discover that my phone was useless. It’s official. I hate my phone carrier. Well, maybe not. Hate is such a weak word for the wide berth of emotional scarring I can now attribute to this shipwreck of a company. Loath, despise, even fervent dislike are more appropriately descriptive than hate. Whether they flat out lied to me or were just horribly unknowledgeable does not matter at this point. My high tech, document friendly, internet savvy phone is now nothing more than an expensive camera and timepiece.

Although it has since been pointed out to me that car salesmen don’t necessarily know how to fix cars, at the time, finding myself cellularly stranded in Ireland wasn’t making me happy. For lack of some other ideal solution popping into my pooped out brain, I trekked back to Terminal Two and purchased a $5.00 calling card. It hadn’t yet been decided how I would get from Dublin to Longford. It pretty much depended on the readiness of the festival t-shirts. If they were finished and packed for pick-up, someone would drive into the city to retrieve them and me. If not, I would need to take a bus. I called and felt quite badly that I woke my friend up. I know how rare pre-festival sleep is, so I felt badly about that as well. I explained my phone fiasco and learned that she had a spare phone I could use. Termed a “throw-away” phone supplied by a company named Voda, its capabilities are limited to call and text, but, of course, way better than nothing. It would merely require the purchase of a sim card. I trudged back to Terminal One, all these trips with luggage in tow, wishing I’d thought to bring along my pedometer for curiosity’s sake. I paid for the necessary sim card, and at the same time, purchased another $5.00 phone card.

After a few more calls, and an unsuccessful search for a fellow named George and his wife who are also headed to Longford, it is determined I will take the 11:20 bus. In another hour I will head out again to catch the route # 22 bus by crossing the street, going under a building, crossing another street, and waiting at the Aerobus # 7 vestibule on Atrium Road. I have no idea how much that will cost, but at least I have Euros. And, yes, all of these problems have momentarily taken my mind off of the ones I’ve unintentionally brought with me on my so-called escape.