Meg in Transit

24 April, 2024 (posted 70 days later…)

I am sitting in what feels like an airport but is actually a jury assembly holding area because I was summoned for jury duty today. It feels very official and important to be “summoned” for something, but it also feels like I might live here forever now. Could I be knighted today? Maybe. It has only been 1.5 hours.

A perk of jury duty is that my commute was only 5 minutes this morning, as opposed to the usual ~30 minutes. I also got to sleep in a little, since we were instructed to arrive at 8:30 am. A non-perk of jury duty, for me, at this moment, is that there are five televisions in the main room and kitchen area, all playing the same HGTV show loudly. There is no escape. These people are looking for homes on Lake Ozark, have boats, and are very much opposed to seashell sinks. I swear it has been the same couple looking for a home for the past 90 minutes, but surely that is not right. We, the potential jurors, all seem to feel similarly: we are trying to focus on our books/laptops/phones, but cannot help getting pulled in occasionally. We all know that popcorn ceilings are not “classic,” Steve.

I started writing this post on the 6th of February. It was practically finished, but I wanted to proofread and edit, add more pictures… and then, I just didn’t. Life took over, and, well, here we are. This isn’t for a grade, and it’s mostly just for me. Because of that, I am having trouble sticking to any sort of (completely made-up) deadline. However, because I like a certain amount of order and deadlines in general, imaginary or not, I’ve simultaneously become stressed about meeting my imaginary, made-up, non-existent deadlines. After writing very little while actually traveling, my intention was to spend the three months leading up to the anniversary of the day I arrived in Ireland (May 19, 2023) recounting my experience, with a strict deadline (May 19, 2024), because nobody will want to read a blog about events that occurred over a year ago.

Well, that is likely true. But if you’re reading this, you’re here. I appreciate that you have taken a moment to join me.

It has been a while since I promised (…and promised, and promised…) that I would go back and write about my summer. So, if you would be so kind as to go back and start at the beginning, I would very much appreciate it. As a brilliant author—I mean, blogger—I insist that you reread (or read, for the first time, welcome!) my first post, then go from there. I had this idea that I would compose my blog as a novelist would their novel; however, I’ve thrown in a few other posts along the way. If you’d like to read everything, you can simply go to the posts page and work your way through—that is very nice of you, thank you. I don’t not reference my summer activities in those bonus posts. But, if you are here for the summer content only, click the “Summer 2023” folder at the bottom of my first post and proceed from there.

When I planned my three-month-long travels, I thought that surely I would use that time to write thoughtfully and extensively, and to figure out what comes next.

I did none of those things.

In fact, that time away just made the planning and decision-making even more difficult. I wish I could figure out how to be in 2-3 places at once. What does one do when (almost) anything is possible AND ALSO everything costs one million dollars? I know that I am lucky to be in this situation. Perhaps sharing my tales here will lead to new discoveries. I do know this: since returning, I’ve spent much of the past ten months replaying and reliving the events of last summer in my head. It’s time to write it down and move forward.

Okay, here we go, back to 2023…

18 May: US –> Europe

I booked my round-trip flight to Ireland on Monday, January 16th at 11:02 pm. Over four months, I gathered supplies, many in miniature, for my trip. I kept them on a shelf, along with a small stack of clothes in a suitcase-sized pile on the floor of my room. I assumed that if everything fit there, it would fit in my medium-sized rolling suitcase and average-sized backpack. You can probably see where this is going. I didn’t pack anything early because, “I’ve been basically packing for months, it’s all here, and I’ve thought about everything, and it will definitely fit.” However, as I packed my bags the morning of my 6:50 pm flight, I discovered that it definitely would not.

I played a version of “take the last thing you put on, off” for each packing category. I kept the face wash, left the makeup removing wipes. I kept the grey cardigan, left the white flowy top that I have never worn in my life, but was convinced I would definitely wear all summer because ~summer travel me~ is completely different from normal every day me… Eventually, I got everything to fit, with some room to spare.

One of my favorite aspects of working in wardrobe at a theater, among my various theatrical roles, is receiving a last-minute call for a costume adjustment or wig for an actor swinging into a role for the first time. This isn’t sarcasm; I genuinely love it and thrive under pressure. When the message requesting a wig came through, I glanced at the time and thought, “I can do it, my flight isn’t until 6:50!” Through Washington, D.C., to Virginia, during rush hour. Coincidentally, or perhaps not so coincidentally, given the nature of theatre, the last two times I left for evening flights to other countries, I also styled last-minute wigs. It’s become a bit of a tradition now. Good luck, maybe. I’ve been fortunate to travel a few times in the past two years.

At 2:24 pm, I took a picture (okay, multiple pictures) of my angel baby dog, Rosie, sleeping on the bed, as one must, then headed to the theater to style my last wig of the season. Before I left, at 3:05 pm, I snapped a quick photo of the wig to send to the team.

At 3:33 pm, I hugged and kissed Rosie goodbye, holding on a little longer than usual, while she struggled to break free. Most airlines recommend arriving at the airport three hours before the departure time for international flights. I was… leaving for the airport three hours before my flight. My flight, scheduled to start boarding at 6:00 pm with doors closing at 6:35 pm. Oops. And, there was traffic. Thriving under pressure. From 5:06 to 5:07 pm, my mom took approximately 200 photos of me as I walked into the airport.

Finally, at 5:08 pm, I quickly took a photo of my passport as I got in line. I promise I won’t narrate my minute-by-minute actions for the entire trip, just the first day. Unless you want me to. I kept detailed notes. Let me know in the comments ;). Less than twenty minutes later, at 5:26 pm to be exact, by some miracle, I was through security. I had time to fill my water bottle, pick up some mediocre tomato & mozz bites, then walk onto the plane. I had a window seat, 5A, in case you were wondering.

The Flights: DC –> Iceland, Iceland –> Ireland

[based on notes from my phone with little to no editing, in list form]

• My favorite passenger is the man who brought a box of half a dozen Dunkin’ doughnuts with him. A wise man.
• Sitting next to some male ~sports youths~
• They are loud.
• Waiting for the crew. Getting a little nervous since I have to catch another flight but it’s prob fine, right?
• The sport youths and I are discussing the probability of missing connecting flights in Iceland.
• They are flying for a ~sport~ tournament.
• One of their phones is already almost dead, the one with the digital boarding passes.
• The other is trying to quickly download episodes of Succession for them to watch, on an also-dying phone.
• Still waiting……..
• 7:50 pm – Flight is taking off. One hour late with only one-hour layover…
• 9:03 pm – Broke down and ordered $18 wine, don’t tell my budget. Or my sister. She is quite strict as a self-appointed financial advisor.
• It’s two whole (small, but larger than you’d think) bottles though. [A very specific measurement]
• Sport youths were like “lol” at my two whole bottles. It was a wine deal. I am saving money by spending more.
• 12:00 am – Slowly losing mind?
• I started and finished my book already. (The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros)
• 5:35 am – Keflavík time – in Iceland for approximately five seconds. SPRINTED to the bathroom then immediately walked back onto a plane. THRIVING.
• 6:10 am – On the new plane, seat 5A again.
• May 19th, 9:10 am, Dublin time – Made it.

*It should be noted that I was flying with “PLAY” airlines, which ~budget~ aka no food, drinks- not even water!- movies, etc. I was not entirely convinced it was a real airline because for the weeks leading up to the flight they just sporadically sent emails with lil cartoons in them and really no other information. I do still think it’s worth it to fly with PLAY, and the employees were very nice.

19 May: Dublin –> Monkstown

I took the 10:00 am bus to the city and by 11:00, I was sitting at a table with a coffee in my favorite restaurant in Dublin, Cornucopia, a cozy vegetarian spot that my sister and I discovered during a less than two day trip to Dublin in 2022. At this point, I hadn’t really slept since the night of the 17th, there was a five-hour time difference, and time had no meaning. And yet, I know that at 1:00 pm, I took the train to Monkstown, a coastal village about 30 minutes from the city centre, where I’d be staying for the next two nights. When I arrived, I walked up to the main road, found a table outside at Café du Journal, a café filled with two floors of books, and ordered another coffee. I know you’re wondering: it is 2:00 pm at this point. I watched people (and dogs!) cycle in and out until 4:00, when I could finally check into my room.

Throughout the summer, I stayed in the homes of many wonderful people. Rhoda was one of my favorites. An older (I am terrible at guessing ages, so I am going with “older”) Irish woman, she was warmly matter-of-fact. As soon as I stepped through her door, she said, “Oh, you’re American,” eyeing my suitcase. A few times during my stay, she’d say things like, “I’m worried that you are going to have a difficult time with that luggage. Are you sure you don’t want to go find a backpack?”

Shortly after I arrived, she asked if I would like some tea. She showed me to my room, then a few minutes later, knocked on the door and set a tea tray beside the bed. I sent a message to my family saying, “I live with Rhoda now, it’s been nice knowing you.” She warned that the tea might be too strong for me, but I confidently responded with, “I like strong tea,” and she gave me a little smile, as if to say, “Do you?” while I thought to myself, “Did I just make a grave mistake trying to impress Rhoda?” Turns out, I could handle the tea, and this became a source of great pride for me as I was consistently warned of “strong tea” throughout my summer. This was the first of several meaningful moments that reassured me I had made the right choice in embarking on this journey. Reminding you that I tend to dramatize and romanticize, etc…

It was around 5:00. I considered going back out, but realizing I hadn’t really slept since the night of the 17th, I decided to organize my belongings and get settled. Accidentally/ on purpose, I fell asleep for a few hours. I woke up briefly to take a quick shower around 10:30 pm, then returned to sleep.

20 May: Monkstown & the Forty Foot

It’s Saturday now. In the morning, I found Rhoda in the kitchen doing laundry. She offered me a cup of coffee, remarking, “I was worried about you. You were in all night!” Apparently, as a ~young person~, I should’ve been out on the town. We chatted for a bit; she told me about her grandchildren and her travels, and then she pointed me in the direction of the bike rentals in town.

I decided to stay in Monkstown for two reasons:

1. I thought it would be nice to stay outside of Dublin, both for a change of pace and to save money.
2. I wanted to visit the Forty Foot.

When my sister and I briefly visited Dublin in November 2022, she quickly prepared a list of Sharon Horgan’s favorite places, including the famous swimming spot on the southern tip of Dublin Bay at Sandycove, which is featured on Horgan’s show, Bad Sisters. While we were sitting in a café in Bratislava, as one does, we found a very last-minute, mostly inexpensive flight to Ireland and left the next morning. It was a whirlwind 24-hour visit to the city. Since Sandycove isn’t exactly in Dublin, and we didn’t have much time, we didn’t make it to the Forty Foot. After watching the show myself, I knew I had to get there this time. Apologies to my sister, who has not yet been.

After chatting with Rhoda, I changed into my swimsuit, threw on a sweater and rain jacket, packed my child-sized Fjallraven Kanken backpack, and rented a bike from the train station. Now, about the backpack… my family teased me for it, but hear me out. I did extensive research because I knew I wanted a small, lightweight backpack that could easily fit into my other bags. This one came highly recommended for its space, size, durability, water resistance, and style. I have no regrets and would absolutely recommend it for travel, even if it made me look like I was trying to be ~cool~ in the late 2010s. It held my entire water bottle, towel, change of clothes, and more. So there.

I cycled along the coastal road, which was beautiful and only a little intimidating since I wasn’t used to commuting via bicycle. I arrived at the Forty Foot around 12:30.

A Little History ~ The Forty Foot

There’s a lot of discussion about the actual facts* surrounding the FF. I did my best.

• The origin of the name “Forty Foot” is not definitively known. Some suggest it refers to the depth of the water (forty feet deep), while others believe it might be linked to a military unit, the Forty Foot regiment, stationed nearby in the 18th century.
• People have been swimming there, year-round, even in the cold winter months, for ~250 years.
• The location on a rocky promontory means swimmers can dive directly into deep water from the rocks. This feature adds an ~element of adventure~, distinguishing it from typical sandy beaches.
• Historically, the Forty Foot was a male-only swimming area. This exclusivity lasted until the latter half of the 20th century.
• Historically, men swam naked.
• In 1974, a group of women protested by swimming and sitting with signs.
• In 1989, a much smaller group protested by swimming nude.
• Today, it is open to all swimmers.
• Close by is the James Joyce Tower and Museum.
• James Joyce and Oliver St. John Gogarty once lived in the Martello, now James Joyce, tower together.
• Famously mentioned in Joyce’s novel Ulysses.
• Parts of Ulysses are inspired by their living situation and the location.
• A cherished tradition is the Christmas Day swim.
• Other special events throughout the year include New Year’s Day swims and various charity swims.
• Temperatures can be quite cold, averaging around 10-12°C (50-54°F) in winter and reaching up to 15-17°C (59-63°F) in summer.
• The Forty Foot has a strong sense of camaraderie among regular swimmers. Many form lifelong friendships and social groups, making the spot not just a swimming location but a vibrant social hub.

*Facts courtesy of ~Wikipedia~

It was between 10°C and 15°C (50°F and 59°F) around 12:00 pm on the 20th. The temperature of the water was approximately 11.6°C (52.88°F) at its warmest that day… Is this too much detail? It was definitely cold. I wore my swimsuit under my leggings, sweater, and t-shirt, but you can actually change there. I quickly shed my layers, carefully made my way into the water, and truly only lasted a few minutes before climbing out and grabbing my towel. Yes, there was the cold, but I was more intimidated by the number of strangers, seemingly mostly locals, who knew what they were doing. I tried to be braver as the weeks went on, but this was a first step. I’m not sure the me from a few years ago would’ve hopped on a bike to a new place, then jumped in the Irish Sea, all by herself.

After returning my bicycle, I grabbed a latte and a toastie at Café du Journal, then headed back to Rhoda’s. She seemed relieved, less concerned about my youth, when I mentioned I planned to head back into Dublin for the evening. Thus began an evening of Dublin beverages.

By 5:00, I was sitting with a glass of wine at my second favorite spot in the city, Loose Canon Cheese & Wine. Recommended to us by my sister’s Irish friend during our short stay, Loose Canon has quickly become a Dublin tradition. Attached to the well-known George’s Street Arcade, the tiny shop specializes in natural wines and cheese toasties, with patrons leaning against walls, sitting at the small counter lining the windows, or using anything available for a seat outside on the street, all while balancing a glass of wine and an Irish cheese plate.

Just to be clear, time had passed (30 minutes), I walked around a little, and then I headed to another favorite, Grogan’s, aka Grogan’s Castle Lounge, for a pint. Yes, yes, wine then Guinness. I had my water bottle with me the whole time, so everyone can calm down. Grogan’s, like many pubs, has outdoor seating, which basically means that tourists and locals alike spill out into the street, mingling with the patrons of the other restaurants and pubs next door and across the street. Because I am still me, and it was Saturday night, meaning a crowd was beginning to form at just about 6:00 pm, I sat outside on my little stool, quietly taking in the scene. I did not hang out for long.

My third drink of the evening was a cookie hot chocolate from Butlers Chocolate Café. I’m not a huge hot chocolate person; I find it too sweet and overwhelming, usually preferring a few sips before abandoning the mug. However, THIS hot chocolate is the best. This award-winning hot chocolate is truly the best hot chocolate you will ever have, with a cookie in the bottom that melts? crumbles? sort of? as you drink it. They also give you your choice of a free piece of chocolate or truffle. I have to be honest—this is one of those things, or drinks, that might be idealized by the fact that I was drinking it, upon a previous recommendation by my best friend, who also loves Dublin, on a Saturday night after conquering my fears of jumping into the Forty Foot, then bravely ordering a pint at a busy pub… it’s hard to say.

I spent the rest of the evening wandering into shops, specifically any shop with books, which is soon to be a common theme of my trip, seeking the comfort of the expected book smell and calm ambiance. Other highlights of the evening include: walking past a parked car with a dog who looked like he might have been driving—wrong side of the car, though—deciding to head back to Monkstown at an early-ish hour, then grabbing a salad in town when I got back because I felt the need to eat at least one vegetable. And yes, okay, I did order a glass of wine with my salad because I felt guilty for only ordering a side salad and I have leftover Catholic guilt from my youth.

When I got back to the house, I had a late-night heart-to-heart with Rhoda, who spoke to me about aging, losing friends, and what it means to truly live life. I think about Rhoda often and periodically check to see if her home is still listed, just in case I can visit her again someday.

Reader, this is where I leave you, for now. Tomorrow morning—specifically on the 21st of May, in 2023—I’ll head west to the opposite coast, to Galway. Thank you for joining me on this journey so far. This is just the beginning.

_____________

Thought it might be fun to do a little “On This Day in 2023” at the end of each post, since I’m a bit behind the one-year mark. So, at the time of writing this:

One year ago today, a seagull stole my croissant in Bath, England.