In search of...

As we flew into the Irish dawn all I could think was “I’d kill for a cuppa coffee.”

Totally.

Sleep in my ultra tiny, upright plane seat was, unsurprisingly, elusive. All except for the part of the flight where the waitresses brought ‘round the boxed brekkie which, generally, accompanies that OH so necessary brew. It mattered not one infinitesimal whit that I missed out on the baked goods and/or fruits, it was the damn java I wanted...NO, needed.

And I’d missed my shot. GODDAMMIT!

There was a long-ass walk from plane to customs (and no coffee stands en route – 'the fuck?) and then, ooo baby, customs was a trip. There wasn’t a long wait AND the official was very nice but I was in for a thousand and one half questions. They needed absolute proof that I had a ticket home. I’ve never, ever been asked this and had to show stone, solid proof before.

Wut?  Is there some fear that I’ll just dig in here versus return to the ruination that is Trump/Republican America? Yeah babies, I’d be all suspish of my return intentions too.

Je comprends tout, and shit.

In any case, once my week-from-now leaving was shown, I went off into the main terminal and GLORY HALLELUJAH, I smelled the bean and it was the most exquisite, dark, rich scent at that. The café noir man was brilliantly handsome, warm and fast (clearly he sensed my advanced state of withdrawal). And this song played in my head.

Brenda, wonderfully, picked me up and then we were off. Like I mentioned when Jen and I landed in Iceland, airports the world over all show the same vista – flat fields for miles. I could’ve been at Pittsburgh International, Tempelhof or Fiumicino – it all looks just the same. How did I know I was really. truly in Ireland? All signs are in English and Gaelic AND, when we got to Brenda’s car, the wheel was on the left. Awesome!

I’m thrilled that, amongst other bits, I’ll be hearing how the Taoiseach (pronounced Tee-shock), Leo Varadkar, is dealing with the hard Border after Brexit issues as opposed to being inundated with news of the criminal in the White House and his laughing partners in plutocratic destruction of the U.S.

Yup, I’m gonna avoid U.S. news as much as I can. Still, I’ll likely look to hear the Irish perspective on our sinking ship of state.

Anyway, we motored smoothly (NO rush hour traffic!) up to Brenda’s home in magical Slane where I got MORE coffee and a nap.

I feel much better now, thenkyew.

Next up is lunchie and a tour of the local distillery, Slane Irish Whiskey. Oh my, I do believe I’m bound for heaven.