A home exchange? What a great idea! Right?
Well, that
depends on who you talk to. It's not for everyone, I suppose.
Most of my
friends said they could never do it, could never trust strangers in their own
home.
My response
was simply that everything that I value is coming with me. And I wasn’t
referring to what was in my suitcase.
The
preparations were intense. On top of the regular packing and planning for our
trip, there was the additional burden of preparing the house for the other
family. I wrote a four-page summary of information complete with instructions
on the proper operation of the dishwasher, TV, washing machine, computer,
navigation system, coffee maker, etc. Plus, recycling instructions, baby sitter
telephone and emergency numbers. Of course the house had to be in tip-top
shape, with fresh bedding and towels, as well as waste and laundry baskets
emptied.
By the time
we left, I was exhausted.
We swapped
cars too. Why not? A rental would have cost nearly a thousand for the duration.
So, we left
the keys in an envelope addressed to our guests at the information desk at the
airport. We checked in, passed through security and then waited in the boarding
area for the passengers from Ireland to embark from the plane that we would
subsequently board and then retrace their route.
The waiting
area was glass all around and adjacent to the receiving area for arrivals. The
aircraft was parked on the tarmac about 50 meters away so the passengers had to
descend the stairs and walk towards the terminal. So we watched intently at
everyone disembarking, to catch a glimpse of the strangers that would spend the
next eleven days driving our car, lounging on our couch and sleeping in our
beds.
And then we
saw them. A family with several small children. I looked for the mother. I had
spoken with her on the phone and passed dozens of emails, but actually hadn't
seen any photos of her. What if she were, um, well, unkempt, repulsive even? How
could I let someone like that in my very own safe haven?
But she
wasn't! She looked, well, like me! An Irish me! OK, but with dark hair and
totally different, though very much the same. Ahhhh. Sigh of relief.
And then,
even as the disembarking passengers were still lined up outside the terminal,
trying to get in, they started boarding us for the flight! We were allowed to
go out onto the tarmac, adjacent to the passengers from the other flight, and
there they were right next to us!
So
exciting! We approached each other and I gave her a big hug and then, to my
surprise, I was immediately approached by security who told me that I now had
to return to check in and go through security again since I "made
contact" with someone not on my flight.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh
no, oh no. I was in a semi state of shock. The lines in and out of the airport
were outrageous. I'd miss the plane.
Then, the
security guard relented, apparently he was bluffing, trying to prove something,
and told me to say goodbye to my acquaintance and board the aircraft. I did, in
a hurry.
The flight
was uneventful and on arriving in Dublin we took an airport shuttle to the
hotel where the other family had left their car for us. We picked up the keys
at the front desk and found the car quite easily. We were very happy to find
that there was enough space inside for us and our luggage. The navigation
system was relatively easy to use and, according to the instructions left by
the family, I programmed HOME to get us to their house.
The weather
was rainy and cold. We drove and drove until the kids were starving and we
needed a break. We pulled off the highway and found a restaurant. I had
pictured a charming pub for our first night there, but it didn't happen. A
plain old family-style place. We brought the map in with us and tried to figure
out where we were. Why were we on the M6 instead of the M7? Sure it would take
us to Shannon, but it didn't look at all like the shortest route. We kept
driving according to the navigation system's instructions, although it kept
losing the route since it was a "new" highway (though it looked to us
to be at least several years in place). Finally we were in Galway and we were
being routed through side streets. Ok, something is wrong here. I grabbed the
navigation system and looked through the preprogrammed settings. Why are there
two entries for “home”? One written in capitals and the other small. And why is
one in Galway and the other in Shannon??? Oh, no, can it be? Didn’t the
exchange mother grow up in Galway…and probably still considers it “HOME”. Great.
So, I reprogrammed the system to the other “home”, which pointed us straight to
Shannon, and the nav system added another hour to our already long day. So, now
we were headed in the right direction, but albeit through a storm that greeted
us with snow, hail and freezing rain. Also, it was now dark. And the roads were
narrow, poorly lit, and completely deteriorated where they met the earth on the
outside lane. Did I mention that they were narrow? Let’s now define narrow in
terms of an Irish road. Picture this: barely wide enough for two cars to pass,
no break-down lanes, sidewalks or leeway of any kind on either side; simply
hedge-rows or steep hills on one side with vehicles including large trucks
racing against us on the other. Don’t forget, we’re driving on the left to top
it all off.
We finally
found the house, with the help of the written instructions, and were relieved
to find it modern and beautiful. We went straight to the kitchen and poured a
couple of Irish Whiskey's. Ahhh.....
But why is
it so cold in here?
Oh, because
the heating system had been turned off since the weather had been mild the past
couple of weeks, although today the temperatures were below freezing and
expected to stay that way. So, where’s the thermostat? Really, where is it?
Time to call home…at least time to call the Irish folks who were housing in our
home. After several calls and an encyclopaedia worth of directions, we finally
got the heating system going.
Ok, time
for some perspective. Ireland is not at par with the technology of the Unites
States or Germany (what we are used to). The heating system, though new, was
primitive. Hot water was not always available. You had to turn the boiler on a
half hour before you wanted to shower, or do dishes, or whatever and then move
quickly before it shuts off again.
I had to
buy a pair of slippers (red ones were all I could find) to wear around the
house for a week, but we raided the host family’s closets for hats and gloves.
Yes,
Ireland is very idyllic and perhaps the nasty weather made it even more so.
There’s nothing like warming up with a Guinness in a pub with a toasty warm
fire and live music, but with four young kids you can only spend so much time
at the bar.
We toured
um-teen castles, fought the winds in Cork and compared Irish coffees. And I
blew a kiss to the Blarney Stone.
Blew a
kiss? Yes.
What you
may not know about the Blarney Stone, and what I did not know until I saw it,
was that it is at the top of a dilapidated ancient castle. Just to get up to it
you have to climb a winding stone staircase, that was in horrendous condition,
and from which there were several huge sections of wall missing, no railings,
and a misstep could cost you your life. But for the luck of the Blarney Stone
it would be worth the risk, right?
So, finally
I’m on the roof. And there was a short line which led up to a man seated on the
edge of the wall helping people who were then lying down on their backs,
bending way down backwards and kissing an unseen stone.
This can’t
be true.
Oh, but it
was.
I got up
there thinking that I would just get it over quickly. I sat down and was about
to lean backwards, when I made that fatal mistake. I looked down.
I panicked.
And I got up and ran away. Really ran.
Let me try
to describe this…once you sit down, the man “helps” you by guiding you gently
backwards and underneath the outer wall so that you can kiss the Blarney Stone.
But to get to it, you really have to lean out and lower yourself down about two
feet in order to reach it. Oh, and did I mention that there was nothing to hold
on to? Just this strange man who said, “Trust me.”…and now the clincher, you
are leaning back over a void that drops about 50 feet! Ok, there were a couple
of rusted old bars down below, that may or may not catch you if you fall, but
WTH?!? Not me, not today, not any day. I was shaking in panic for the rest of
the day.
The Irish
Whiskey flowed in abundance that night.
I was ready
to go home.
Which leads
me to the adventure of the return trip. It’s not over yet.
Well,
everything was just fine, at first. We went through security without a problem
and were waiting at the gate to board. We were (thankfully) in the front of the
line for boarding, and one of the flight attendants waved me through, along
with the kids so that we were out of the way while the other attendant checked
our tickets and passports. Then, the attendant saw my US passport and asked why
it wasn’t stamped. We looked at him completely dumbfounded. I mean, there was
no customs checking us in; we had our boarding passes and simply went to the
gate. I have an unrestricted permit to live and work in Germany. Well, the man
said that they can not let me on the plane without a stamp in my passport! Not
again. Anyway, the guy said that I had to go get it stamped. I told Frank to
get on the plane and save some seats with the kids. And I asked the man if they
would hold the plane for me and he said „no“ and that’d I’d better run! So, I
grabbed my passport and started running back through the airport, and I had my
huge carry-on bag on my shoulder, which was further weighed down from the liter
of water I had just purchased. I had no idea where I was going, and you know
how far the gate is from the main check-in? I would estimate at least ¾
kilometer. I asked a few people there in uniforms where to go and they had no
clue. So finally I went to the security (metal detector) check point, and I
think then I was nearly hysterical and I said „Please help!“ and the lovely
Irish folk there were so kind and took care of me! A security guard was
summoned over and brought me back through to check-in and to the customs agent
and pushed in front of the line and got me stamped, and then I was still
thinking that I had to go back through security and „What about my water
bottle? And do I have to take off my boots again? I’ll never make it!“ But the
security guard escorted me through, signals buzzing and everything, and he told
the other security agents that I was with him, and then to me he said, „Now you
have to stay with me for 5 years.“ I said sorry but I’m already married. He
smiled and sent me on my way. I was running as fast as I could (thank goodness
I am a runner, otherwise there would have been zero chance) and when I got back
to the gate, the place was empty and they were just shutting the gates! But
thankfully they called the airplane and escorted me down. The kids of course
were crying and little Amelia asked me why my face was so red. I was sweating
from head to toe and shaking.
And several
hours later, we were home. Our home.
Red
slippers or not. There's no place like home; there's no place like home.
I think this was a wonderfully told story of a sometimes funny, sometimes worrisome week in Ireland. I loved it!
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