Anticipating some Starbucks would close earlier on Sunday, I had intended to start out earlier, but in the end I just couldn't drag myself out of bed. I rationalized my laziness on the grounds of not wanting to weaken my immune system during a long trip.
After 5 1/2 days, I decided briefs #1 had finally reached the point where I had to change them. It occurred to me that I should have been doing the same thing I was doing with my socks, alternating days and giving them time to air. That might have extended their overall usability. After 5 1/2 days of straight use, however, I wasn't sure if those first briefs could be brought back from the dead.
I thought the ZVV ticket machine had cheated me of my change until I realized that the 1/2 Fr coin (smallest of the set) was not, as I had foolishly imagined, half of 1/100 of one franc, but rather the equivalent of a 50-cent piece.
Yoicks! The two-day ticket to Geneva stopping in Aarau, Bern, and Lausanne turned out to be way more expensive than I had expected, 160 francs. Assuming I did not have time to travel to Saint-Gall, the Swiss portion of my trip was still costing around $600.
Something weird about my body. Because of all the walking and reduced caloric intake, it appeared that my waist was slimming down, based on how much my pants tended to slip down day by day. Unfortunately, little or none of the fat around my stomach seemed to be affected. I still carried around an unsightly protruding gut. Ugh.
No trouble in Aarau, finding the Starbucks--I only needed directions from two persons--and I was able to return to the bahnhof in time for the direct train to Bern. In Bern I found myself completely disoriented as I exited the bahnhof, and I took a roundabout way to the Starbucks. The store was very pretty, and the staff had many questions about my project, so I dawdled, but I luckily managed to make the 13:04 train, and even pick up a pastry, with just minutes to spare.
Upon seeing some French on the signs in Berne, I thought that might have been the start of what I had heard referred to as "French Switzerland". Bern turned out to be very German, however. Not so Lausanne, where all could see were signs in French. It might have been my imagination, but even the streets and buildings seemed to remind me more of my visits to France.
At the first Starbucks I logged on to try and find out what time the stores in Geneva closed. The first available outlet I saw was not near a table, so I put my computer atop a partition next to some seating. After a few minutes, my research was disrupted when I noticed that the couple on the couch had begun to engage in some serious PDA. I mean serious kissing here, not light pecks.
I wasn't done buying train tickets yet. Only two of the stores in Vaud were in Lausanne--the third was in Vevey, a 10-minute train ride away. With time running out to get to Vevey and back so I could finally head to Geneva, I, perhaps foolishly, made the mistake of trying to use my card at the ticket machine (to preserve my remain 40 francs for food and small purchases). The machine required a PIN, though, and so I missed the 15:33 train and had to buy a ticket from an agent and take the 15:50.
View from the station at Vevey.
No worries in Geneva, the stores all closed at 9:00. I visited two, photographed the third while the sky was light, then set off in search of food. I usually shun hotel food, but many restaurants were closed on Sundays, so I finally gave in and ate at the Hotel Calvy. I needed more meat than had been provided with my spaghetti the previous days, so I ordered a steak. Expensive, of course, but pretty darn tasty. Much better than the meat served up at the mom-and-pop Latin American restaurants that I like to frequent.
Sweet! On the train back to Zurich I listened to an interview with XXX, and XXX mentioned that he had started playing music on Grafton Street. A week earlier that would have meant nothing to me. But now, I knew exactly where Grafton Street was, what it looked like, and why a street musician would want to play there. I could visualize not only the street, the shops, and the Starbucks, but also the old man playing the violin in a side alley, and the bronze-painted performer pretending to be a statue. However useless some people think my Starbucks project is
9:00 AM, and like the morning before I really wanted more sleep. Except that this time I knew what I was feeling was due to 12 hours without caffeine, so I quickly went to the shower to avoid burning any more daylight. Now that I was feeling better, I wanted to see if I could make better time.
Well, that was mighty embarassing. I thought the hostel had screwed up my access card when I could not get back into my room after showering.
By the time I reached the bus stop I was sniffling again, and this boosted my confidence that I was just experiencing allergies.
Look at the ZVV map more closely and was relieved to see that I had never left Zone 10. Sihlcity was also in 10, and I would not have to pay extra until I visited Thalwil.
I was craving a proper American breakfast, eggs, bacon, biscuits, but when I arrived at Paradeplatz to change from Line 8 to Line 13, I spotted Caffee Spettacolo and decided on a whim to have a non-Starbucks coffee. Cappuccino--not bad. I didn't want a caffeine rush because of my hunger, so I tried a vanilla pastry called a Kabriki Plunder. At 4.80 for the coffee + 3.80 for the pastry, that turned out to be a very expensive pseudo breakfast.
Getting to Thalwil and finding the Starbucks turned out to be pretty simple. When I arrived, the supervisor/manager turned out to be the most incredulous of the 19 I had met in Zurich. Fortunately for me, the barista behind him had heard about me on some web site, and he added to my credibility. I asked him about Zug and Lucerne, and he said it was not only easy to get to both, but that I would be able to get to Basel from there. Furthermore, if I could get a hostel room in Basel, finish Basel in the morning, then go to Geneva and get back to Zurich by nightfall. Later, while I waited for the train in Zug, hostels.com would report no availability in Basel--I crossed my fingers that the barista knew what he was talking about.
Unsure of which train to take for Zug, I asked directions of an attractive young blond student. Her name was almost a cliche for the region, Heidi, and she was very friendly and conversational. She was also into photography, and I hoped she would go to my web site to check out my photos and then e-mail me.
At the Zug station I bought a ticket for Lucern and thought to ask about Basel as well. She did not say so explicitly, but I assumed it turned out cheaper for me to buy them both. I should have thought of that when I bought the ticket to Zug.
I was told that Luzern is one of the favorite cities for visitors. Perhaps that is due to views like these?
The first Starbucks in Lucerne was right across from the train station, but I missed the second one and spotted the third one first. I still thought I had plenty of time to catch the 2:45 to Basel, so I stopped at tourist shop to buy some refrigerator magnets for my mother. On the way to that final, riverside, store I stopped for a hot dog and fries. What I did not anticipate, but should have since it was right next to the river, was the long line at the Rathausquai store. Because of this line I went ahead and bought a coffee--4.40 for a sample was the most I'd paid in a long time. And despite of this, I missed the train by no more than 60 seconds. Grrr...
Fortunately, there was a massage parlor right next to that first Starbucks, and hot young Swiss women were giving really cheap massages with lots of extra benefits!!! No, of course not. Just kidding. But I did have access to free wi-fi at the Starbucks, and that's almost as good as a massage from a hot Swiss woman.
Almost missed the train again because I was updating my list of stores and not quite finished before I had to rush off. Then I decided I needed to use the bathroom and wandered around looking for it before I found one that charged 2 francs and decided I did not want to pay. I had assumed the train would not have a bathroom, but that was a silly assumption. Of course it did, though it was quite literally no more than a tube that led down to the tracks. As I watched my stream trickle and splatter down onto the ground, I made a mental note to never lick the ground between railroad tracks.
For no particular reason, I chose to sit next to the attractive young redhead who happened to hold both Canadian and Swiss citizenship. From her I learned that Switzerland is not in the European Union! Say what what what??? Not in the EU???
As I neared Basel and plotted out the stores in Geneva I had the thought that I had misplanned again. I need not have returned to Zurich to fly out. I should have looked more close at train fares to other cities.
I trusted what I had been told, that the stores in Basel would be open late, but I should have verified this. After dawling at Centralbahnplatz, I made it to the Aeschenplatz by 5:58 to find it closed. Not wanting to have to remain in Basel if I did not have to, I called across the store to speak to the manager or supervisor, and when the barista came over I explained, and had her partner pull me a shot. From there I rushed to the other stores, a good thing because the final one, Claraplatz, was in the process of closing.
Hopeful, I hoofed it all the way back across town to the YMCA Youth Hostel, but my hopes were quickly dashed--there were no room. Tired and famished, I splurged on more spaghetti while I debated what to do next. I really needed to get online and check out the Geneva situation, but all the monkeybastards with computers near the restaurant had their wi-fi locked down. Monkeybastards!!!
The price of the spaghetti bolognese, 16.50, was comparable to those listed as the "kleine portion" at Molino in Zurich, but the portion was much larger. Not that I was that worried about the price since my travel budget was much larger. I couldn't help but think of my budget trip to London a few years earlier during which I tried to live on as few calories as possible, to such an extent that one night I found myself with my nose pressed to a window longingly looking at the food on the other side of the glass. No such shenanigans this time around. Traveling with money sure is nicer than traveling broke, let me tell you!
Rather than heading to the Starbucks for wi-fi, I returned to the hauptbahnhoff to check on train schedules first. There was a departure for Geneva at 21:01, in about 4 minutes, and another 3 minutes after that. That did not leave me time to rush to the Starbucks to see about hostel or hotel availability, and the next, and last, train would be at 22:01. Given the total cost of the trip, it would have been worth paying 100 francs for a hotel in Geneva, and I considered that, but I finally (and quickly) decided that the 31-franc fare back to Zurich where I already had a room was a better bargain. Since my Monday flight wasn't until 11:25, I was guessing that, based on distances, I might still have a chance of traveling to Geneva in the morning, then all the way back through Zurich to St. Gallen, and then back to Zurich.
The train, an ICE, was much nicer than the IR I had taken earlier. I asked the Dutch gentleman with whom I was sharing a table (yes, some seats had tables, and even outlets (that required an adapter)) about this, and he commented that the ICE train was faster because of fewer stops, and also more expensive. I wondered if I could have taken a cheaper train to Zurich, but I wasn't really sweating the 31 francs.
The Esso station near the hostel was apparently where it was at in Zurich on Saturday night. No fewer than three groups of youths, mostly male (and some not so young) crowded around vehicles. It was kind of weird, though, seeing a group around a Smart car. Have you seen a Smart car? I can't imagine youths with their bling and hotties in short skirts in, say, Houston, TX, chillin' at 3:00 AM (it was only 10:30 in Zurich) around a Smart car.
The hostel's wi-fi signal was accessible from my room, and at 6:45 AM I got up and eagerly checked isohunt for a Lost torrent. I saw two right away and went back to bed content that I would have the latest episode available to me when I got up. At 8:00, I double-clicked on the video file that had finished, and I realized to my dismay that I had downloaded episode 10, not episode 11. I immediately tried to look for the correct torrent, but whaddayaknow, just at that moment the hostel's wi-fi connection decided to die. AARRGHH!!! I went downstairs, but I could not detect it their either. I was still really tired, so I had not choice but to go back to bed. 9:00 AM, I tried again, but no dice. Same thing at 10:00, when I decdied it was finally time to get up.
During those hours, I had many false awakenings, which I often have when I slept late into the morning after having gotten to sleep late at night. As expected, my ultra-vivid dreams dealt with what was most promently on mind mind, downloading Lost. I imagined myself going downstairs and asking the person at the office to watch my laptop. I imagined myself successfully downloading the show. And in a bizarre twist, I imagined myself in a violent conflict with a curly-headed petite blonde who had attacked me for some reason having to do with my download. I ended up having to call the cops and then hold my phone carefully above my head to avoid being shot as I explained that I had been trying to detain her, not rape her. Weird stuff.
Just past 10:00 I still felt like I needed more sleep, but I decided that enough was enough and it was time to boogie. I headed back to Rindermarkt where I connected to a "default" network because the Starbucks one kept dropping out and waited while I downloaded the show. It didn't matter that it was already past 11:00 and that I was burning daylight--Lost took priority over everything.
The Spaghetti Factory that had aroused my craving for pasta the night before was too far from the wi-fi signal, so I instead popped into a small shop two doors down from the Starbucks. At first I found nothing that looked appealing and just bought a banana, but on the way out I spotted something that looked like a sausage roll. I had the lady who helped me write down the name of the product, but all I could read was "schweins wurstXX im teige".
Went back to the the Starbucks with my schwein and washed it down with a reddish tea-like carbonated beverage called Kombucha. I didn't really care for it, and I looked at the ingredients and noticed "Red Bull AG" in the list. The same Red Bull company?
Incidentally, the Ethiopia Sidamo I had a Rindermarkt, as well as the one I had later at Stadelhofen both tasted really good, and different from the samples I had had the previous day. Maybe my physical state affected their taste?
Finally got my spaghetti, a la carbonara, at a restaurant near the Stauffacher store. Washed it down with a Coke--for some reason Coke seems to ground me to home in a way that Starbucks coffee doesn't. During the meal I found myself wondering what to tip. I round the 22.70 up to 25, and later I googled tipping in Switzerland and Germany and made a mental note to always google tipping upon visiting a country.
Forgot to mention the discrepancy in Starbucks addresses available online across different countries. The addresses for the U.S. and Canada are, of course, the best. The ones for London tend to be pretty good too, though London has so many stores that quite a few of them are unplottable. The Irish ones sucked--very often there was no street address at all. Zurich, on the other hand, was excellent. Of the 17 (excluding two in the airport), Microsoft AutoRoute plotted 16 addresses. And even without the address, just having a postal code helped. Looks like I'll be able to count on the postal codes for Germany, too.
At Glattzentrum I met a manager/supervisor from, of all places, Mexico. He was very friendly, but mistaken about the presence of a movie theater in the shopping center. I obtained better information, I hoped, from the extremely attractive and yet friendlier dark-haired attendant at the information booth. She said there was a movie theater in Hardbrucke, and that it would likely be screening Speed Racer in English. Hardbrucke was within walking distance of the hostel, so if I could reach it in time for the film I'd be golden (I hoped). On the way I had the sense that I was finally, after some 28 hours, figuring out the bus and tram system.
Though on past trips I would have scoffed at wasting time overseas at the movies, I planned to be gone for many weeks and decided I did not want to wait and risk missing out on a movie that did poorly and left theaters. Plus, I really wanted to see Speed Racer. Unfortunately, by the time I reached the Abaton cinema around 9:30, I had missed the 8:00 PM English-language. The next was a 11:00, and that was just too late.
Walked around looking for something light to eat until I finally found an Indian-looking grocer and bought an apple. On the way back to the hostel I stopped at that Dollhouse club I had seen the night before. I might have paid the 15-franc cover, but I wasn't going to pay 100 francs for whatever a "table dance" consisted of.
It had not been that long, less than four hours, since I had taken the fake Benadryl, but I was seriously sniffling again. That made me worried that I was getting sick again, with something else this time. I did not take another pill so I could see what would happen the night. No sniffling, and I woke up without any great degree of congestion.
As I lay in bed that night, I had a sudden thought--I had forgotten to note the zones to which I was traveling. I had no idea if Glattzentrum was outside Zone 10. If it was, I had exposed myself to a penalty. Or worse? A Swiss prison?
Woke up at exactly the right moment, 7:37, which gave me time to shower, pack, and get downstairs for breakfast.
As I dressed I noticed my gut was protruding more than I would have expected given I'd not eaten that much in three days and been walking around for two. At the same time, I still had an unpleasant bloated feeling, so maybe it was mostly gas?
Missed a Luas train to Tallaght by, quitely literally, one or two seconds. The next one was only five minutes away, but it was starting to rain. The rain did not last, but I was more concerned anyway that I was running out of time to reach Tallaght and then the airport (without taking a taxi), let alone having time to visit Liffey Valley.
The Starbucks was conveniently located right next to the train stop, but the damage to my schedule was already done. According to the manager, it could take three hours to take the Luas back to the city center and then take a bus to the airport. That seemed extreme, but I only had about two hours if I was going to reach the airport by 11:15 (an hour before my flight). The manager also speculated that a taxi would cost 50 euros, quite a penalty for having poorly planned my trip to Talaght, but the cost of missing my flight would be higher. I did not really see a choice.
The ride ended up costing just 35 euros. Still expensive, considering that I could have avoided the cost by simply planning better. If I had visited Talaght Wednesday evening, I could have visited Malahide in the morning and had a much shorter trip to the airport from there. And that's not even counting the time I wasted going back to bed Wednesday morning. I didn't really want to chide myself for that, because Starbucks losing a great deal of luster if I am constantly rushing, especially when fatigued.
The taxi driver, bearing a proper Irish name of Michael Sheridan, spoke with the thickest brogue I had heard during my time in Ireland. There were certain words and phrases that escaped me, but I just went along. I also noticed that, just like the ladies on the DART train to Blackrock, this Irishman expressed a keen interest in the American election.
It should go without saying that after spending the extra money to ensure my timely arrival at the airport, I ended up with well over an hour to spare. For one, the Aer Lingus flight boarded just 30 minutes before departure--it was only an hour for interncontinental flights. And security was a breeze. I had expected no less--my trips through security in Europe had generally been easier than in America, and the staff tended to be more polite and mannerly than the pricks the TSA seems to enjoy hiring (not that they have much of a choice, given what I've heard they pay). Maybe the Europeans pay more, or maybe the Irish are just naturally more polite.
I found a power outlet at Caffee Ritazza not far from my gate, A12, and tried to get online. Unfortunately the wi-fi, thru eircom, was not free. What was, though was somebody named Gary's Limewire music library. It took me months to figure out why I would sometimes launch iTunes and see somebody else's music library listed. First I thought it belong to someone who had used my laptop to power her iPod, but later I figured out iTunes was going out on any available network and searching for music via something call Limewire. I wondered who Gary was, and if he knew I was listening to his copy of Eva Cassidy's cover of "Time After Time".
Slept during most of the flight, except towards the end when the son of one lady behind me started throwing a small football with the son of another lady--I had to give up at that point.
I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of languages on signs, but I soon saw that German appears to be the primary language.
The customs agent barely looked at my passport and waved me along.
The information desk directed me to the Starbucks upstairs where I immediately asked for the manager. He was very friendly and informative and explained that all the stores in Switzerland are run by Starbucks.
This won't make sense, but as I sat there verifying my list of Starbucks, I did not have the sense of being in a foreign place called Switzerland. I just didn't feel like I was in Switzerland, whatever it is supposed to feel like.
I did, however, feel much better than I had felt earlier than morning, or for the duration of my stay in Ireland for that matter.
Besides a second Starbucks, I had a few other tasks to perform before I could leave the airport. First I stopped into the shop across the hallway and determined that I did in fact need a plug adaptor for Switzerland. That shop was out, but I found one upstairs. Next, because I expected the banks might be closed by the time I reached the city center, I obtained $50 worth of Swiss frances. The currency exchange bureau downstairs had been closed, so I used Credit Suisse instead and had to pay a 5 franc fee--bah. I needed the cash, though, for a 6 franc ticket to the central station, and for food. I almost waited in line a bit trying to get that ticket until a young man emphasized that it was very easy to use the ticket machine. With the help of another traveler, I figured it out. With the help of yet a few more people, I managed to find the correct platform and get on the train to Zurich.
Ah, now this makes me feel more like I'm in Switzerland.
The Rennweg store was the closest to the train station, and I finally started noticing differences. First, the donuts--lots of donuts, three varieties. And then, the prices!!! Yipes, but the prices were high. Earlier, at the airport, when I asked about Starbucks, I heard the person comment that Starbucks was too expensive for the Swiss. Well, if you could see the menu board you would understand. The highest price-- 9.40 frances, for a White Caffe Mocha. But here's the really cool difference--30 minutes free wi-fi!!!
At the next store, Bahnhofstrasse, I learned that stores with two stories are common in Switzerland. I also noticed that the sugar dispensers have these convenient long spouts for pouring.
Had to skip Bleicherweg that had closed at 7:00, but I managed to get three more after that. The walk across the river/lake was great. Very pretty scenery. And more ducks! Why do I like ducks so much?
At Bellevue I met a district manager who happened to be from America. She was very helpful with directions, but unfortunately a little off on the time. The next store up the road had actually already closed, but I was still able to get to the coolest store, Central, in time. On the way I passed a couple of adult theaters and some cabarets. I was curious about the adult cinema, but not curious enough to pay 15 francs.
My appetite seemed to have finally returned--I had a mad craving for spaghetti. Unfortunately I had already eaten a hot dog and did not think I could finish a whole plate of spaghetti.
Before heading to the hostel I stopped at the other adult cinema--same story with the entry fee. I also dropped into two of the cabarets. At the first, the English-speaking Asian woman explained that there were no "lap dances". Instead, I needed to buy a beer for 17 francs, and that would get me room. At the other cabaret, the deal seemed to be the same, but the prices were ridiculous. A trio of girls insisted I sit with them as they explained the menu, which included drinks in the hundreds of francs. One bottle of champagne was listed at over 1100 francs!!! The Spanish-speaking girl explained that for that bottle, I would get to spend time with all three of the ladies. If, on the other hand, I chose a 20-franc drink, I would get to spend time alone. The girl was very polite up until the point I made it clear I was not going to stay, and then she said something in German that I'm pretty sure was rude. When I explained I could not stay because I did not have cash, she said I could use a credit card. Fat chance of that--I would never use a credit card at any gentlemans club even in America, let alone overseas. Not because I care about it showing up in my records, but because it would be too easy for them to run up the charges.
After asking around, I managed to find the correct bus to the hostel and figure out how to buy a ticket. When I arrived, I realized that I had forgotten to e-mail the previous week and arrange to stay two extra days. Still, I lucked out, and my room was available through Monday, when I would fly out.
Unlike the lively Abraham House, this hostel was more like a dormitory. I did not see guests milling about chatting. I saw very few people, in fact. The rooms were for no more than two, which was a little disappointing from the perspective of meeting people, but better from for security. I did not feel the need to keep my backpack next to my head when I slept.
I had only visited seven stores in Zurich that day, plus one in Dublin--eight really wasn't that much. Still, I had an incredibly difficult time sleeping. Part of the reason was my constant need to kiwi. I think I set a record, making kiwi no fewer than twelve times over the course of some 3-4 hours. I worried that my dormmate, an Irishman named Nile (no S), would be disturbed by all the times I left the room. Because of the bells on some nearby clock, I knew that I did not get to sleep before 2:45 AM.
Nile, incidentally, was not on vacation, but spending time in Zurich for tai chi training. It's a good think I asked him about this before he went to bed, because when I came back from one of my trips to the restroom I found him on his hands and knees on the bed, ass protruding in an suggestive manner. Had I not known about the tai-chi and assumed it was some exercise, I would have wondered if it was some kind of code for those gay hostel trysts I've heard so much about.
I usually leave the hostel before breakfast is served, but I couldn't seem to get enough sleep and stayed in bed until 7:45. I scooted into the shower as quickly as possible before any of the other dormmates could, and I proceeded to scrub as best I could without soap. Soap was the one item I forgot to pack the most often. At hostels where the bathrooms were shared among different rooms, it is often easy to find a spare bar, but the only thing left over in the room's bathroom was a bright red container that read "PAPER SHAMPOO". It contained the remnants of some white substance. I left it alone.
The hostel breakfast was, as usual, a bare minimum. A croissant, really bad orange juice, and a scone.
I felt worse than the night before, but I chalked it up to caffeine withdrawal. I needed to get that first sample in me quickly.
I did an about-face, however, something I had never before done during my overseas travels--I went back to bed. To avoid continued withdrawl, I had half a cup of coffee from the kitchen. It was some god-awful swill, let me tell you. Whatever you might think of Starbucks coffee, it is vastly superior to that hostel coffee.
I couldn't get to sleep right away because several of the five Canadians were packing to leave for Denmark. As I lay there, I fully felt my exhaustion and wondered why, after nearly eleven years, I was still pursuing a seemingly impossible goal. What was the point, really?
At the same time, I knew that was just the fatigue talking. Once I felt reenergized I would feel the excitement anew of visiting new places, of the challenge of trying to get to these stores.
At 20 of 11:00 a hotel staff member came in to clean up the beds of the guests who had left. I decided enough was enough. I'd heard many times that too much sleep can be detrimental, and I was sure I had passed into the that territory. I needed to get moving.
So I moved, but slowly. I walked at a very slow pace towards Harcourt Street. I stopped at a market for an apple. I had to fight off a bit of queasiness with every bite. I was still experiencing a combination of hunger and a lack of appetite.
Not far from the hostel, a view of this tall spire thingy--what is it???
Stopped at the Bank of Ulster to exchange currency and received a much better rate than I had at the airport, or than what was advertised at various nearby currency exchange bureaus.
I noticed that some of the bathroom doors have these strange locks, not exactly intuitive. I wonder how many people get walked in on because of these.
The manager at Harcourt gave me pretty good directions to Dundrum and Beacon South Quarter. From there she said to take the Luas to the Charlesmont stop. Once I arrived I had no idea in where to walk, so I asked directions of an attractive redhead (if redheads are going extinct, it doesn't seem so in Ireland) who was insistent on helping me find my way.
I started feeling a bit better as I walked along the canal towards Mespil Road. Along the way I spotted many duckies, and also some swans, including this one sitting on eggs (how cute). I wished Rebecca, who had never been to Europe, could be there.
I did not think I could take another coffee without eating something, so I popped into Beshoff Bros, a restaurant serving fish and chips. That was the first meat (if you consider fish to be meat) I had eaten since Monday, and really the first significant amount of meat I had eaten since Saturday night's pizza from hell. Fish and chips were decent, but I still had trouble eating despite feeling famished. After just a few bites I felt bloated. I might have attributed this feeling to the liquid coffee, except I had only been to three Starbucks--I hadn't really drunk that much. I really worked at eating as much as I could--7.95 euros was a lot of money to waste not finishing the meal.
After Ballsbridge I had to take a different type of train, the DART, to Blackrock. By the time I arrived I began to worry whether I would make it to Malahide before they closed, so I could not wait for the manager to finish interviewing--I just bought a solo espresso.
On the train to Blackrock I asked a lady what the body of water out the window was. She replied it was Dublin Bay and asked where I was from. This led to a discussion of the election, and the teacher of a group of giggly teenage girls volunteered that they all supported Obama. I don't know what it says for Hillary's chances, that teenage girls in Ireland support Obama.
Hmmm... that beach doesn't look so inviting to me, but what do I know.
Upon reaching the Malahide station, I friendly, heavyset, red-faced, English man overheard me asking about Starbucks and led me part of the way there. He seemd to have a rather poor opinion of Starbucks, and he recommended a chain called West Coast Coffee.
At the Malahide store itself I met the first barista who recognized me on site, from a photo in an article.
On the way back from Malahide I noticed many cranes, just as I had noticed them throughout the city center. Clear evidence of Ireland's economic boom.
Managed to sleep during most of the flight, and I did not feel very sleep when we touched down around 7:00 AM GMT.
Though after nearly 11 years my Starbucks project does become tedious at times, I never fail to be excited when I see that first new store in a new country, and Dublin was no exception. Unfortunately, I quickly learned that the airport location is licensed out, to Alpha Retail but were switching to HMS Host. The supervisor did not quite know enough to explain how the licensing worked in Ireland, but then the manager showed up, and she knew quite a bit more. The whole issue of International licensing was going to be quite a hassle for me, I could tell.
The manager Monica, from the Czech Republic, was very helpful, but she could not tell me what I really wanted to know, whether there is a way to tell which stores are licensed. While there I went ahead and asked for a sample, just in case I decided to add the store to a separate list. Plus, I needed the coffee.
Monica suggested that I take a bus to Blanchardstown next, and as I prepared to leave I received the shock of a lifetime... I had forgotten my camera!!! AARRGHH!!! I had spent all that time finding a larger backpage, making a list of what I needed, and spent over 30 minutes packing, and I still forgot the camera. I even had the battery charger. I had even experienced a moment of panic while on the way to the airport when I wasn't sure if I had my SD card. I checked to make sure it was there, and I completely forgot about the camera!!! Wow. That is just stupid.
Didn't have to wait to long for the Urbus to arrive. As I expected, only exact change was accepted, so I had to pay 5 euros instead of 4. The driver seemed to be an immigrant. He understood that I needed to get to Blanchardstown, but he did not understand my question about what the second language on the road signs was.
Okay, the manager at one of the Blanchardstowns stores clarified that the second language in Ireland is in fact Irish, and it is similar but not the same as Gaelic. She also sat down with me and pointed out the four stores that are licensed, and gave me two stores that are not on the web site.
Tried a butter scone, which tasted pretty much like a biscuit. I couldn't really taste a distinct butter flavor. Perhaps "butter" refers to "buttermilk"?
A specialty store called the Camera Centre was conveniently located two doors down from the Starbucks. They had exactly one model of Nikon Coolpix left, an S510, for 300 euros. I asked the attendant about any other electronics stores, but then I quickly changed my mind and decided I did not want to waste time trying to save a few bucks, not in the greater context of a long trip. If I ended up with extra time after visiting all the stores, I'd be better of using it to see something interesting.
Oh, but but the story gets better. I went over to the Starbucks in the Borders, and while I was fishing around for the Coolpix, I discovered that my D-80 was right there in the backpack, at the bottom of one of the many compartments, under some clothes!!! Oh... my... god. I had just spent 300 euros on a camera for nothing. After I finished at the Borders store I anxiously went back across the street to see if I could return the camera.
Dang, I should have looked for a larger, multinational, store in which to buy the camera. The Camera Centre, being small, has a no refund policy. So now I'm stuck with a 300-euro camera I don't need.
I took the #39 bus from Blanchardstown into the city centre. A kind lady pointed out the stop for College Green, and the Starbucks was conveniently located just a hundred feet down the road. Just like the other three stores I had visited, many of the staff appeared to be immigrants, non-English speaking. In this respect, Ireland seemd a lot like London, New York, or Washington, DC.
At the BT2 store I ran into the first Irish barista who had been to my website. I also learned that one of the stores on my list had never been built, but that there was another on nearby Dawson Street. Oy vey.
No luck finding a place that stocked computer software, other than games, so that I could buy an English-language copy of AutoRoute.
Across from the Dawson Street store I spotted the first begging person I had seen in Dublin, an older heavyset woman with tan skin and a head scarf.
Thoroughly famished, I really needed a substantial meal, but when I saw the sign for Lemon Crepe & Coffee Co., I could not resist the promise of crepes. The crepe was not great, but better than that from Nancy's in Silver Spring. What irked me was that, despite paying 5.30 euros for the crepe, I could not finish the entire thing. And it wasn't that big, either. I don't know what it was--maybe too much sugar (the chocolate). Maybe all the coffee I had consumed (only 6 samples). Maybe still getting over my illness (though I felt more or less fine, just tired). Incidentally, the music playing in the restaurant--R.E.M.'s Out of Time.
Oh, something else I noticed at the cafe was the word GALETTE, on the menu. This word was an unpleasant reminder of a Scrabble game I had lost a couple of weeks earlier, in no small part because I failed to recognize the word and challenged. Truth be told, it would be a relief not to have to play Scrabble for 30 days, probably more.
CHQ (Custom House Quay) seemed to be in the direction of the hostel, and it took a while to find, by which time I was thoroughly pooped. I headed immediately to check into the hostel, the Abraham House, offered my apologies to the three Canadians in the room, and promptly went to sleep. Fortunately for me, they came back in around 9:30 to get ready to go out clubbing; otherwise the Tesco would have closed and I would had had to travel farther to find food. The thing is, even at 9:30 the sky was still light out, so I thought it was earlier.
A funny thing--a fourth dormmate was from France, and his English was limited. I was able to speak to him in better French than the Canadians. I found this surprising, given that French is supposedly an offical language in Canada. Thomas accompanied me to the Tesco, and I was glad for the opportunity to practice some French.
The Abraham House has free wi-fi, so I sat in the lobby to eat and blog. I sared a table with Emily the Canadian, and nearby a trio of young women sat in front of one of the computers and chatted in a language that was completely incomprehensible to me. Even though I don't speak Chinese or Russian or Arabic, I can tell when it is being spoken. Not so with this language. I was clueless. Turned out it was Finnish.
Finally got up at 9:30, after spending the better part of 20 hours in bed. My headache felt like it was going away, but my body still felt sort. I was weak, but that made complete sense given that I had hardly eaten all of Sunday--crepes, orange juice, a power bar, an apple, some strawberries, and a little bit of soupon with chicken and rice.
Rebecca drove me to the Macy's in Wheaton Mall so I could return the polka-dotted backpack that I feared would mark me as a naive tourist. We also stopped at Bank of America where I learned that the service fee for traveler's checks is pretty hefty, $20 per $1000. I decided to just take cash. It's not like I wasn't going to be careful with my backpack anyway--I'd have a very expensive camera plus my laptop and indentification. The cash and cards would, of course, not be readily accessible just in case someone tried to open up one of the small pouches and go fishing.
Dropped Rebecca off at GWU and headed out towards my cousin's in Ashburn. I stopped for some Salvadorean food, but I could barely eat half.
At the Aer Lingus counter, I had a feeling from the way the attendant was looking at me that I would be selected for scrutiny, and I was right. In addition to the TSA, I received further scrutiny from the Aer Lingus staff--an agent tracked me down to make a copy of my passport, and then I had to wait in line yet again before being searched.
On board the Airbus plane, the first voice to come over the loudspeaker was in the native language (is it called Gaelic or is it called Irish, I keep forgetting), and female. For a moment I thought I heard the voice say she was the captain. That would have been my first experience on a plane with a female captain, but later on male voices came on to announce that the actual captains were male--the female was just the "cabin manager".
May 4, 2008
Finally headed up to visit the store in Westminster, MD. On the way stopped a Nancy's Kitchen for some of the worst crepes I had ever tasted.
Can't say if it had anything to do with the crepes, or with the awful pizza from TJ's in Franklin, NJ, but after we left the Starbucks and headed over to Target, I began to feel a bit queasy. During the 40-mile drive back to Silver Spring I developed a headache, and my body started to ache. The plan had been to head to Alexandria where Rebecca would introduce me to indoor-rock climbing, but I felt way too bad for that. I needed a nap, at minimum. By the time we reached the house, I was barely functional, but I still felt that if I could sleep a couple of hours I'd be fine for climbing. Not so.
After some four hours, I had not slept at all, and I had begun to feel worse. I wasn't just fatigued--I was sick. With a flight to Dublin the next day, this was a really bad time to get sick. In fact, I hadn't gotten sick the entire 9 months I had worked in West Chester--so why now???
My symptoms were unusual. The headache was intense, and I think I had a fever. But I suffered no sneezing, sniffling, or sore throat, like I usually get with a cold or flu. Instead I experienced diarrhea, at three different times. To compensate I had to keep drinking water, to avoid dehydration. I think the worsening headache was partly due to losing so much fluid.
May 2, 2008
Shortly after 5:30 PM, I wrapped up my work at MEI. Finally... free!!!
May 1, 2008
Decided to only book as far as London, after Zurich and Cologne, for the moment. I don't want to book too far in advance in case I need to return to the U.S. for some reason. London is a good place to reasses because it is likely that I can find cheap flights from there with less advance booking, and I can kill time in England while waiting for a flight by renting a car and heading outside London.
April 29, 2008
Okay, my head hurts. From Dublin I need to figure out an itinerary that covers Madrid, Barcelona, Seville, Paris, London, Zurich, Vienna, and several German cities. I also want to throw in Athens, Turkey, and Beirut if I can. Germany seems to have Starbucks spread all over, like the UK, and will be difficult. I have to factor price, number of days in each city, and availability of hostel rooms.
On top of these difficulties, the Hostel Suisse in Zurich, the only one I found on hostels.com, was having a problem with my single name and e-mailed, twice, to request additional information. I finally had to e-mail them a photo of my passport.
April 28, 2008
When my manager came down to the lab I asked him if it was definite that I'd be finished on Friday so I could go ahead and book that overseas flight. He said "book the flight", and I got cracking. Settled on leaving for Dubling out of IAD on Monday night. Pushed my departure back a day from Sunday so I could spent more time with Rebecca.
