Ireland 2014

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LEAVING ON A JET PLANE



Our last day in Ireland did not mark the last day of the trip. My parents needed a break on the way back as well.

I brought all the bags down to the car myself rather than going through the rigamarole of getting the bell hop to help us. Despite the fact the bags now bulged with gifts, I managed to fit them in the car.

Because I am me, I mounted the GoPro to the dash and shot a time-lapse of the trip from the Strand Hotel to the Airport complete with gas station stops and the final destination at Alamo Car Rental.

Shannon airport doesn’t allow you to drive right up to the front of the airport, those lanes are reserved for buses and taxis. Instead, you drop your passengers and their mountain of luggage across the street in a sheltered drop-off zone. My mother and father got to wait with the bags while I returned the car.

I’m two for two now in returning cars without getting extra costs. I had scratched the bumper the previous night and thought for sure they would be asking for some euros to cover the cost of the damage. But no, I was given my leave without any drama. It probably helps that I now pay for the Collision Damage Waiver.

My mother had already made her way into the terminal. All I had to do was shepherd my father, our carry-ons, and the two carts full of luggage. The ticket line at the counter was quite long, but they kept adding agents at the front desks.

I’m sure there were a few people pissed in the line behind me when they saw me step to where I had placed the two carts full of luggage and moved to the counter. The single quick guy had just turned into a long delay.

It got longer when I mentioned that my father would of course be sitting next to the window with his oxygen concentrator. Everything stopped as the counter agent processed this information. What do you mean oxygen concentrator?

Now, I had started with a nice lady at the counter but she had been replaced by this women who I was getting the cranky vibe from. This curve ball of paper work wasn’t making her happy. And the fact she could barely see my parents sitting across the terminal didn’t make matters better.

Well, she had to leave and talk to her manager. Then I had to get the approval paper work from my father to show we had planned ahead to bring this equipment on board the plane. Now, we had had this equipment the entire time. This was the first time it had created any problems.

I could sense the people in line looking for torches and pitchforks as I continued to hog one of the ticket agents.

I also asked if there was any way my parents could sit in a row by themselves. Here is where I decided my ticket agent was the best person in the world. She typed on her keyboard to make the changes and then went down the line of all the other ticket agents and asked for a soft hold on the empty seat in my parents row. Awesome sauce.

My father was a bit cranky at the length of time it took to actually get the seats. Now, we had to get in line to wait for the wheel chairs. Shannon has a special area devoted entirely for the wheel chair bound travelers.

When Shannon used to be the first stop on any trip to Europe, it was widely known as the best place to shop Duty Free and had a huge selection of Duty Free stores. Although those times have changed and the Shannon shopping area isn’t what it once was, it is still pretty impressive.

And my mother can’t pass up any opportunity to shop. Especially if there is a young man pushing her around the store and getting things off the shelves for her to look at. I quickly grew tired of following my parents around, especially since I was carrying all of their carry-ons and the gifts they were purchasing. And didn’t we just go shopping on Monday at a store that had almost all of these same items?

We eventually dragged my mother from the store. I dropped her purchases in her lap. My mother turned to the man pushing her chair and said “This is how he punishes me”

We did not have a repeat of our outbound experience and were able to board before everyone else. I don’t think the First Class passengers like to see anyone board before them.

I get everything stowed. I unpack my father’s oxygen. I say another small prayer of thanks to the ticket agent for getting my parents their own row. I’m sitting in the aisle seat across from them, so there won’t be any bomb threat problems this time.

The best thing about Aer Lingus is that if all the ticketed passengers are on board, they close the door and leave, even it is before the scheduled departure time.

I said another small prayer of thanks to my ticket agent because when we departed I was in a row by myself. Good times. It was a great flight with free movies and free food.

The only hiccup was that I had to physically lift my mother from her seat in order for her to get to the bathroom. On other flights, I could assist her up. But because the aisle armrest didn’t lift, she couldn’t swing herself into position to stand in the aisle. I had to grab her under the arms and hoist her up.

The flight was long since we were flying against the jet stream rather than with it behind us. And I admit it, I got off the plane cranky. Very very cranky.

The first order of business on disembarking the plane is rounding up all the carry-ons. Since we are waiting for wheel chairs, my parents and I wait until everyone gets off the plane before we leave.

I’m figuring how to get all the bags on me as the parents walk to their waiting chairs. I must have a taken longer than usual, because by the time I get off the plane, my parents have already been wheeled away.

Now, I can make it down the aisle okay with all the bags, but once the parents get in their chairs, it is time for them to take a bag on their lap.

Except for the part where they are already gone and I have to catch up to them to relieve myself of some of this burden. I am almost upon them when they enter the elevator and descend. I’m forced to carry all the bags down the escalator.

I do finally catch up to them and order the wheel chair attendants to stop. At first, they don’t but I make them. I give some of the bags to them to hang off the wheel chairs.

At baggage claim, I grab the usual two carts and load them up with our bags.

Now, it is time for me to go get the rental car. I need the bags and one person to stand at the curb so I don’t have to leave the car unattended when I return. Anyone who travels knows you can’t leave an unattended car at the curb.

Well, the wheel chair attendants want to place my parents inside with the bags far from the door. I can feel the anger bubbling inside me. I calmly try, probably not as calmly I intend, to get them to wheel my parents to the curb.

It is raining outside. My mother complains about the cold. One of the attendants says “I tried to leave you inside” I bark at the women, demanding an explanation of how I am to leave the car at the curb and get them if they are inside? She shuts up and avoids eye contact with me.

I get on the bus for the car rental place.

I do like the plaza for Car Rentals they have at Logan Airport. It just seems the longest lines for car rentals is always at the Alamo Counter. I was tempted to use the computer kiosk, but I wanted to upgrade my rental and add CDW so I waited it out in line.

I knew I wanted a big car but I couldn’t get the van. If I got the roomy van that had plenty of room for our luggage, I would hear complaints from my mother for the rest of our stay in Boston about how it was difficult for her to get into that car. I did get the premium full size which they upgraded Luxury. I figured I would get some big piece of American Steel for that grade of rental.

Nope. The luxury full size rental was a Chevy Malibu, not much bigger than the car we had in Ireland. The attendant tried to help by offering an SUV. Anger and more Anger. I was tempted by the Vans that were right next to my lone Chevy Malibu. But I settled for the Malibu. Big mistake.

Since I had been out of sight of my father for more than ten minutes, he had to call and find out what was taking so long. He also told me he had a porter and they had arranged for me to park right where they were. I just wanted to know if they were in the same spot where I left them.

As I pull up next to them, the first thing the porter says is “You can’t park here” I then point to the people in the wheel chairs behind him and say I am with them. He motions for me to park. Which is illegal, since this is a bus only lane.

I pop the trunk and look at our mountain of bags. Our less than helpful porter looks disbelievingly at the trunk and says “Are you going to get all of those in there?” Not really an option. All the bags have to go in this car.

I start packing. I pile some in the back seat. I squash some in the trunk. Amazingly, they all fit at the expense of room in the back seat.

The back seat is a torture chamber for my father. He sits behind me since I can pull the seat forward more than my mother can. It still isn’t very much room. He sighs and wheezes almost as much as my mother does trying to get in. Ultimately, I have to lift his foot in since he doesn’t have the strength to do it himself.

In my head, I’m raging, just looking for an excuse to bleed my valves. My father offers the opportunity.

As soon as I am settled in the car and looking at the disgruntled bus driver in my rear view who is wondering why their is a civilian parked in front of him, my father says “I don’t want to tell you how to drive, but you should take the 93 to the Wadzinski’s”

The time between not telling me what to do and telling me what to do lasted about a heartbeat. I wasn’t pleasant. I pointed out the fact there was only one way to go and that was the 93. My father back pedaled by saying I hadn’t been driving here that long and might be unsure of myself. My mother cackled as she heard us fighting. My mother takes great pleasure in any friction between my father and I.

During the drive to Reading, my mother talked to my cousin Michelle Dickson. Michelle is the cousin who wanted us to do the six hour drive to Stowe, Vermont to visit her. Well, she was back in the area talking to people about a scholarship fund done in her mother’s name, a fund my mother and grandfather set up.

They were supposed to get together for dinner to go over the arrangements, but Michelle was now calling to see if I could drive over to her place and drop her off. Excuse me? Did we not just fly 3000 miles to get here and you want us to drive her to your place? I don’t think so.

Which was bad. I was hoping my father and I would go by ourselves to see my cousin Christopher and his eight girls. Now my mother was making plans to join us.

Seeing the eight daughters would be a bit of coup since the girls hadn’t been all in the same room for quite some time with one of the daughters Siobhan currently living in Wyoming while she does her air force training.

I had given Chris a lot of grief about blowing us off during the last visit. I also bash him for being in Pasadena for three weeks and not calling me.

We go to the lovely Waxy O’Donnells, Irish Pub for dinner, good food not included. Chris and family used to come here a lot dinner when it was under different ownership.

The previous owners had a kids eat free on Tuesday program. Chris and his eight daughters often availed themselves of this largesse. I wonder if that’s why they went broke?

Right up until I walked through the doors, I was unsure if I would get to see all eight girls. Something always seems to come up. But for the first surprise of the night, there they all were: Patricia, Shannon, Devin, Siobhan, Bridget, Fallon, Seadna, and Sinead. Part of the reason for the gathering was that it was also Seadna’s birthday.

I was happy to see my cousins even though I couldn’t keep their names straight.

And that would have been a fine evening, but then my cousin, Linda, Chris’s sister, showed up with her two kids, Liam and Grace. Linda even had a wedding gift for me and Cindi. I didn’t think Linda showing up was even a possibility.

To top if off, eldest cousin, Jay came, too. Since there were so many people, I didn’t get to spend much time with any of them. But it was great to see the fruitful members of the Lynch clan.

There were a lot of people in the family picture.