Leaving and Arriving. 4 Days. 4 Places.

Friday was the day. The last day. The day to leave Donegal. A late night with friends meant that I slept in later than I had planned. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave the comfort of Dunfanaghy. Despite the small-town aspect that can feel a bit mundane, I like it there. Some part wanted me to miss the bus and resort to taking the very last option the next morning. The other part of me was ready to go, excited and nervous at the same time – I just had to get the first step rolling to get out of there.  I was extremely impressed with myself that I had managed to narrow my clothes down to fit into my backpack but when the time came to pick it up I nearly tumbled over: it was heavier than I had expected.  As my internal dread of over-packing slowly rose throughout my body and rushed to my head, I desperately took out a pair of sneakers and some shampoo & conditioner – like, really, those are so heavy. There was really nothing I could do, so I jumped on the 16:10 bus and was outta there. Until next time, Dunfanaghy.

 

The bus brought me to Dublin to spend the night with Hugh. It was Friday the 13^th so naturally we watched various versions of the scary movie – recent one filled with bimbos and the older ones with fantastic 80’s outfits and hair do’s. We laughed. We jumped in our seats. We looked away. We pretended not to be scared. We ate quality Chinese food – of course with chips instead of rice – it’s just the way it is in Ireland. Potato. Potato.

I'm waiting to hear you're on your way over here, Hugh. 

I was one step, one day closer. 

Next, Dublin to London. From Heathrow I transferred to Gatwick to meet up with Arina arriving from Holland. Throughout the winter I tried to convince her to come to Ireland for a visit but with a new home and a new job it was a bit difficult. Luckily and ever so gratefully, she came to meet me in London for my last night.  It’s amazing how you can not see someone for a couple months, years even, and then get back together and instantly time disappears and it feels as though you never left each other.  With our fantastic directional skills, we managed to find Ottolenghi – a chef’s restaurant who’s cookbooks I have written a lot about here, his recipes pretty much filled our three days of Christmas.  Right in between our birthdays, it was a perfect setting to celebrate with a glass of prosecco, a bottle of Italian wine, lots of laughs, and small plates and stories to share. As I had made the reservation online, there was a box option for comments where I wrote my usual “Allergic to nuts and swimming fish (shellfish is ok)” so the waiter, after some glances from the kitchen and discussions with the other staff, came over to our table with a paper menu scribbled over with X’s and checks, ingredients crossed out to show me what I could order off of. Pretty impressive restaurant attention.  We were the second to last table to leave the restaurant.  

 Great last night.

The next day, my last day in Europe was spent wandering the Brixton Village markets, eating – apparently – the best pizza in London, wandering the streets of Oxford Circus, Picadilly and Leister Square, eating at Jamie Oliver’s Italian Restaurant, walking down Kensington Church Street to see our old house on Cambridge Place, and having one last coffee on Glouster Road before we parted ways on the tube.  Arina’s enthusiastic bright smile and her supportive, generous hugs gave me the courage I needed to take a deep breath and keep going.

 Prior to flying, Singapore Airlines gives you an option to check out your meal options. Pretty impressive. And pretty tasty.

They also give you your own TV, an iPhone charger, Givenchy socks and a toothbrush, and pretty nice blanket and pillow.

2 hours into the 13 hour flight, right after I had taken half a sleeping pill, the loud speaker came on announcing the presence of a doctor to be made. Oh man, I thought, but she was ok.  And neither did I have to worry about disembarking as a drugged sleeping zombie as I slept for maybe an hour, maybe two, the entire flight. Instead I watched Drive, Moneyball, The Whistleblower, and What’s your Number?

Finally we landed in summer-toasted Singapore and I began stripping off the tremendous amount of layers of summer clothes I had piled on to keep me warm the last couple days in winter-coated Dublin and London. I don’t think I can begin to tell you how excited I was about my 13 hour layover in the Singapore airport.  It may have been the cheapest flight option, but as I looked into it, there was part of me that secretly wished I had stayed a bit longer. It makes sense as it is such an international layover stop to have such amenities for weary travelers. A swimming pool, movie theatre, world-class shopping, restaurants, spa services, hourly hotel rates, free tours into the city, feet-eating fish, shower facilities....it sounded great! And it did feel more like a mall than an airport. I was disappointed to find out that I had missed the free tours of the city as I had arrived at 6pm but then as I looked around and saw signs for public transportation I thought why not take myself in? It was nighttime, I was by myself, and I had absolutely no sense of bearings for Singapore. I couldn’t think of a visual image I had seen of it before nor could I think of any major tourists sites. I didn’t know if it was a safe city or where to go.  I dropped my shoulder bag off at the excess baggage desk and asked the guy what he thought. He said it was the start of Chinese New Years, explaining that it would be busy in town and naming some places to go for some bars and nightclubs. I smiled, replying that my flight was at 7:55am the next morning I didn’t think I would be going to any nightclubs or bars by myself in a strange city. As I walked out towards immigration, I asked for a second opinion to see if it was worth it to go into the city for a couple hours before the last train and if I just needed my boarding pass and passport to get back in. The lady at the immigration desk also mentioned Chinese New Year and started at my wool sweater saying I would be extremely hot wearing that outside. On my way to find some Singapore dollars for the train, I passed the tourist center and the woman there not only gave me a map of the city and the subway, but circled and walked me through all the different spots I could visit within the length of time I had. It was exactly what I needed.  Rather pleased with my adventure, I probably still looked like I was lost as I was the only Caucasian on the train – no one wanted to sit next to me.

awkward traveling alone.

 I got out where I was told and immediately the hot summer night air hit me, and almost as effect, knocked my head upwards as I felt tiny amongst the huge, brightly lit skyscrapers. It was really quite beautiful. I walked around the path around the river that was lined with restaurants and people enjoying eating an array of Indian, Asian and seafood restaurants. I remember walking around, enjoying the night on my own, and thinking how glad I was that I dared to venture out. It gave me a bit more of the confidence I needed to travel alone.

 I got a little lost on my way to Chinatown, feeling a little directionally challenged, but when I found it, wondered how I could ever not find it. The streets were lit up with bright lights and Chinese lanterns covering the car-less roads. On either side of the streets the stores opened up with tables and displays selling trinkets for Chinese New Years, chopsticks, candies, dried mushrooms, glass dragons, fans, iPhone accessories, wild Malaysian fruits, lanterns, dried meats of whoknowswhat and little vendors selling all types of Chinese food like a little Chinese mall’s food court. It was so hot and sweaty maneuvering between the hoards of people I eventually sat down to a cold Tiger beer and chatted with an English guy who owns a bar in Crete and travels for the 6 months of the year doesn’t work. Rough.

 Back on the train, I arrived at the airport with another 7 hours to go.  I wandered, chugged coffee, took a shower, and then sat, heavy-eyed at the gate. Another 5 hour plane ride to Perth, I thought for sure I would sleep no problem. Nope. I was restless. As I followed the flight map on the television screen in front of me, the plane slowly crossing the Indian Ocean, completely surrounded by water, all I could think of was how many sharks there must be in the deep water below us. I’m pretty sure it was the first time the pilot had ever landed a plane. It was awful. I thought for sure I wouldn’t even make it to the ground. We did. Then we arrived and he announced it was 36 degrees Celsius, which is 6 degrees Fahrenheit. What? I was sweating as we stood in line at immigration. Not only for the heat, but what if I wasn’t allowed in?  The guy took my passport, looked at the numbers, looked at them again, asked me if the passport was issued in Ireland and I said no America and he goes hmm I don’t see in here (computer system). Ohmygod. Then he handed me my passport and I was all set to go through.

 All Sharks.

First sight of Australia. 

AHHH HELLO AUSTRALIA!! I made it.