Ireland – Day 0.5

I do not travel well.

It is known.

I once traveled with a pregnant woman and felt like I’d found my tribe. We both needed bi-hourly bathroom breaks, snack breaks, nausea breaks and nap time breaks.

I get sick on trains, swing sets and sometimes while driving my own car. When I first moved to Chicago, my friends took me on a boat with a cool couple I very much wanted to impress. Within the hour, I was puking off the side of their boat.

But motion sickness isn’t my only travel problem. I’m an anxious wreck before and during trips. What if I get sick and miss the trip? What if I get sick ON the trip? And, of course, one of my greatest hits, What if I just straight up die on the trip? 

It’s thoughts like these that, for the past week, have had me waking up in the middle of the night to jot down notes like, “Look up 911 in Irish.”

You see, today begins my 10 day adventure in Ireland. My first time out of the country since I was 12. My first time traveling alone and my first time doing anything remotely adventurous.

I still can’t believe I booked this trip.

My goal is to write every day. I’ve been slacking in this department, so I hope this will be a real Eat, Pray, Love situation for me.

The first leg of my journey has been a long one. It began on the Blue Line in an elevator that smelled like pee, standing next to a woman who told me to watch out for pee. I felt like puking – not from the pee, but from nerves – so I put in my headphones and bumped my go-to de-stress music: Enya.

When I got to the airport, I met a man from Kentucky. He saw my Maker’s Mark shirt and struck up a convo. We danced around the topic of single-hood, feeling each other out with phrases like, “nothing tying me down,” and “no commitments,” etc. We talked about our seat assignments, at which point I called myself “strictly an aisle kinda girl.” I regret this very much.

When we parted ways, we didn’t shake hands. For this I was glad. My Eucerin cream was safely stowed in my checked luggage, and my hands were starting to chicken foot.

The flight was fairly uneventful. I sat next to a girl who was also traveling alone. We talked for a bit before I knocked myself out with a small bottle of champagne and two Dramamine.

“Don’t worry if I start to pale,” I said, popping in my ear plugs. “I’m nervous.”

She nodded. I wondered why I kept saying weird shit to strangers.

7.5 hours later, I landed in Dublin. I’m still at the airport, blogging over eggs, toast and coffee, while waiting for the bus to take me to Moville.

I hope I get an aisle seat.

 

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