Ireland 2017; Day 4

Day 4, March 26^th, 2017

I wake up, pained and angry, to the smell of sausages cooking. I glance at my phone to get the time. Why the hell is she cooking breakfast an hour early? I try to go back to sleep, but somewhere in the lizard part of my brain, the only one that is working at all (the higher functions being ruined from alcohol and getting to bed at 4:45am), reminds me we went through European Daylight Savings time last night so I’m actually late for breakfast. I cuss for the full amount of time it gets me to get up and get dressed.

I try to put a good face on things down at breakfast, but it’s clear to Margaret, as well as the other guests, that I’m in a bad way. They quickly depart the dining room.  I eat, angry, and mostly skip the coffee in hopes that I can perhaps go back to sleep for a couple hours before I must check out.

But there’s too much to do.  I clean up the catastrophe of a room and pack up.  I get in touch with my friends, who had said they were heading to Galway today in their rental car and they’d be glad to give me a ride.

Unions can go to hell.  I’m a Southerner, so that position is no great surprise.  I doubly hate unions whilst traveling.  Years ago, the damn Italian museum workers struck while I was there.  I didn’t go to Italy for the gelato, dammit.

Two days ago, the damn Irish bus union struck.  My entire plan of not driving and figuring out movement was based on having access to all public transportation.  Still, if Rob and Kristina can get me to Galway, I can get myself to Shannon.  I had already looked to get an idea and even if I had to uber/rideshare the entire way from Westport, it would be 128 Euro.  That’s far worse than the 27 euro the buses cost, but so be it.

I arrive at their B&B and they are in a worse way.  Not that they drank more nor went to bed later. They’re reasonable people who don’t have experience with that level of next-morning misery.  I basically know the moment I lay eyes on them that they aren’t going anywhere.  I start looking up train information.

Sure enough, they can’t go to Galway in their condition. I unceremoniously leave them and start walking for the train station.  There’s no train direct from Westport to Shannon.  When I plugged it in the Irish Rail website, I go from Westport to Dublin to Carrick on Shannon. So, to go two hours south, I have to head three hours east and then three hours southwest.  The train alone to Dublin is 43 Euro.  Fine.

I try to nap in the station.  I finally get on board at 1pm.  This entire journey is supposed to take until 9pm.  This is going to be a long, unpleasant day.

I’d been told 100 school children were going to be in cars D and E, so I go to A.  I avoid the 100 school children but get the 30 month old boy in a porkpie hat whose parents allow him to scream and run up and down the aisle for several hours.  Had I any ability whatsoever, I may have committed infanticide.

At Dublin, I have to take the local tram to another train station to get to Carrick on Shannon.  I am irked that the Irish can’t just get on board with one damn name for things.  Everything’s labeled in English and Gaelga (Irish Gaelic).  I type in Shannon on the Irish Rail website and Carrick on Shannon comes up. Why can’t they just stick with the obvious one? No one flies into Carrick on Shannon airport. It’s Shannon. Sheesh.

I have a couple hour wait at the other station so, after I buy a 37 euro ticket to CoS, I go in the station pub and browse the internet and drink a couple of beers.  I have about an hour to go when I have a horrible realization.

I look up Carrick on Shannon, just to be sure.  In my beleaguered state, I accepted that it was the same thing as Shannon. Nope. Completely different part of the country.  The rail doesn’t go direct to Shannon, so the website filled in the closest thing to what I was searching for.  I’m now on the other side of the country from where I need to be.

I’d love to tell you I got mad or upset. I’ve been doing this a long time though, so being stupid isn’t a novel experience.  I resign myself and engage the new plan.  I go to refund the train ticket (we’ll see if they approve my request) and hop on the airport “express” (which stopped every forty feet in Dublin).  When I arrive, I head to Budget Car Rental. I pay for the extra insurance and then I’m hungover, exhausted, and driving a wrong-sided car in the dying light of day in damnable Ireland.

The buses from Westport to Shannon were 27 euro.  Taking an uber, which would have been ridiculous, would have been 128 euro The trains, tram, airport shuttle, car rental (with a 90 euro refundable fuel reserve fee), and then fuel top-off is about 250 euro.  You have to pay for real experiences.

Having destroyed any semblance of a budget, when I arrive at 10:30pm, I say hell with it and pay 85 euro to stay at the hotel across from the airport.   I don’t have an adapter and all my electronics die right before I go to sleep, blessed sleep.