(no subject)
I'm a very lazy man when it comes to LJ updates and pretty much everything else. I'm finally getting around to the story of our Labor Day vacation to Dublin, Ireland, so buckle your seatbelts and prepare yourselves...
There's a lot. You should read it, though, 'cause it happened to me and Lizz, and therefore it's important.
1 SEP 2006: Our flight to Dublin was on Ryanair, Europe's most ghetto airline. It was very, very cheap, which was good, but unfortunately for us, it departed from Treviso, which is possibly the smallest airport in the world. Look at your computer monitor. That's about the size of the Treviso airport. In order to get checked in for your flight, you have to make it to the check-in desk 40 minutes prior to departure, and despite the fact that we got to Treviso 2 hours early, we still made it with only ten minutes to spare. The Italians have no concept of "line," preferring instead to swarm the teller in a giant gaggle. Despite this, we eventually made it onto the aircraft and I racked out. Two hours later, we started our descent into Dublin. The previous day, I had been on two airborne ops (read: parachute jumps) and my hearing was kinda screwed up from all the sudden altitude changes. The descent into Dublin was rapid, to say the least, and along the way I essentially lost all of my remaining hearing. Sounds were suddenly distant echos. No matter. I came to Dublin to walk around and drink, not hear things.
We got off the plane and I posted the previous entry. We got a cab with a crazy Irishman named Seamus O'Reilley, and off we set for the hotel. 45 minutes and E44 later, we arrived. The cabbie informed us that a nearby pub, The Deadman's Inn, was "fookin' wonderful," so we headed off to lunch. Lunch in Ireland is not cheap, but it certainly is plentiful. We stuffed ourselves and I drank my first Guinness in Ireland, followed up by my second. Then disaster struck:
We left the Deadman's and I climbed up a little embankment to look for the bus stop where we could catch the city bus. It was raining, and as I came back down, I fell and hit my knee on a rock. It was excruciating. I hobbled back to the hotel. Seriously, I could barely walk. Lizz helped me out, got me to the room, and put me to bed. Bear in mind, by this point I am 1.) almost completely deaf and 2.) not able to walk. Ouch. I went to sleep, exhausted by the previous day's jumps and the current day's falls. We got up for dinner, hobbled to a nearby mall, and ate Pizza Hut, the only thing open at 2100.
That's day one! More in the next entry. Will I recover? Will Lizz enjoy Dublin? Can I Ride the Plunge with a screwed up knee? Wait and find out!
There's a lot. You should read it, though, 'cause it happened to me and Lizz, and therefore it's important.
1 SEP 2006: Our flight to Dublin was on Ryanair, Europe's most ghetto airline. It was very, very cheap, which was good, but unfortunately for us, it departed from Treviso, which is possibly the smallest airport in the world. Look at your computer monitor. That's about the size of the Treviso airport. In order to get checked in for your flight, you have to make it to the check-in desk 40 minutes prior to departure, and despite the fact that we got to Treviso 2 hours early, we still made it with only ten minutes to spare. The Italians have no concept of "line," preferring instead to swarm the teller in a giant gaggle. Despite this, we eventually made it onto the aircraft and I racked out. Two hours later, we started our descent into Dublin. The previous day, I had been on two airborne ops (read: parachute jumps) and my hearing was kinda screwed up from all the sudden altitude changes. The descent into Dublin was rapid, to say the least, and along the way I essentially lost all of my remaining hearing. Sounds were suddenly distant echos. No matter. I came to Dublin to walk around and drink, not hear things.
We got off the plane and I posted the previous entry. We got a cab with a crazy Irishman named Seamus O'Reilley, and off we set for the hotel. 45 minutes and E44 later, we arrived. The cabbie informed us that a nearby pub, The Deadman's Inn, was "fookin' wonderful," so we headed off to lunch. Lunch in Ireland is not cheap, but it certainly is plentiful. We stuffed ourselves and I drank my first Guinness in Ireland, followed up by my second. Then disaster struck:
We left the Deadman's and I climbed up a little embankment to look for the bus stop where we could catch the city bus. It was raining, and as I came back down, I fell and hit my knee on a rock. It was excruciating. I hobbled back to the hotel. Seriously, I could barely walk. Lizz helped me out, got me to the room, and put me to bed. Bear in mind, by this point I am 1.) almost completely deaf and 2.) not able to walk. Ouch. I went to sleep, exhausted by the previous day's jumps and the current day's falls. We got up for dinner, hobbled to a nearby mall, and ate Pizza Hut, the only thing open at 2100.
That's day one! More in the next entry. Will I recover? Will Lizz enjoy Dublin? Can I Ride the Plunge with a screwed up knee? Wait and find out!