I'm hanging out in a pub in Dublin airport waiting for my flight to Paris, fully leaded Americano in hand. Ironic. I met a nice guy from Seattle on the plane who travels to Dublin quite often. We commiserated about the differences between east coast and west coast living and the living-to-work versus working-to-live mentalities. Seems it's not always a guarantee, at least in his case. You can still work a 60-hour week in Seattle. But Seattle still sounds like a pretty cool place: busy, forward-leaning, walkable. Definitely not Northern Virginia where the concept of walkable is as foreign as driving sans road rage. The guy seated to my left nearly swiped my passport when he sat down- my fault entirely. Luckily I caught him in the act of putting it in his carry-on. That would have sucked. I would have been in a panic and he would have been none the wiser. Although I heeded the advice of some to carry a copy of my passport with me, I would not have wanted to see how well that would have worked out on day one.
As I deplaned it occured to me I've never been to Dublin. It's 50 degrees, foggy, rainy, damp. Perfect. It's exactly what I've packed for so I hope Spain looks just like this. I went through customs on accident and was ejected into baggage claim. I could not hide my cluelessness; my face gives me away every time. An airport agent rescued me. I had to go out to come back in, kind of like Jersey's universal policy of "You can't get there from here." I went back through security and was grateful that for once I was anal enough to look up TSA requirements before packing. Travel tip: in Dublin, you have to pull out all your liquids and have them in clear ziplock bags. I avoided looking like a stupid American because I was prepared for this. I sifted through security without taking any more time than anyone else. I hope this is not my only reprieve from the SAS, Stupid American Syndrome.
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