PRE-VACATION (or, in honor of European terminology, "Pre-Holiday") ADVENTURES:
From the time we booked our tour up until the time we flew to London, Dan walked around the house speaking in (his version of) an Irish brogue.
“I’m Irish," (Imagine a very American boy from the Wild West, regardless of his last name - Duggan - attempting an Irish dialect.) "I've got ta work on me Irish accent," he would say. "I’m goin’ to the mothuh-land."
“Please don’t say that when we get over there,” I warned.
A month or two before our highly anticipated vacation, we took an inventory of any sort of equipment, luggage, etc. we might need overseas.
Dan kept insisting that we only needed one backpack, but I wanted one too, something larger than a purse. While I was explaining this, I put the backpack on and bounced around the living room.
"See, aren't I cute?" I put the backpack on in front, "And in the crowded areas, to avoid pick-pockets, I’ll wear it like this!” I explained as I stroked the pack (a little suggestively, I must admit).
I must have been convincing. Dan bought me a canvas messenger bag just for our trip.
Then came the adventure of packing lightly . . . for two weeks . . .
We checked the Heathrow website for any unknown security requirements. U.K. guidelines looked similar to U.S. guidelines. We did find a couple of funny details on the website, however.
(Under FAQ's):
"What foodstuffs can I carry in my hand luggage? Can I take my wedding cake?"
Apparently, wedding cake is just fine to fly to the U.K.
(Under banned projectile-firing weapons):
No catapults.
We were pretty certain we didn't have any catapults around the house, so we started to pack. At least, I started to pack. Dan, on the other hand, tried to put it off as long as possible.
While I was going through my various travel-size toiletries, Dan walked into the master bath, donning his new raincoat.
"I like my new raincoat. I think I'll try it out."
And with that, he locked himself in the shower room.
"Dan, do not turn on that shower! Get out here and pack."
A couple of minutes later, he rolled the suitcases into the bathroom (where I was still packing) and said, "Look, a short handle for you."
Dan had just discovered the adjustable handle lengths on our new luggage.
After my suitcase was packed, Dan stood on the bathroom scale and weighed it, more likely a symptom of his procrastination efforts than a genuine need to ascertain the weight of my bag. Finally, realizing that I was "winning," he started to pack his own bags. He still finished before I did.
LONDON:
Our first night in London, my worst nightmare came true. I had seen enough romantic comedies about American couples traveling in Europe to know that the Yanks are notorious for causing power outages through the use of electrical appliances with improper voltage. And even here in America, I had a habit of blowing out fuses in older buildings (e.g. in Sun Valley on my honeymoon and in Cairo, Illinois at my Aunt Alice's turn-of-the-century home). I had also read several accounts on the internet posted by American travelers who had done just that, and I had come to the conclusion that this stereotype was 100% true.
So Dan and I extensively researched adapters, converters, and dual voltage appliances and decided that we would be just fine with my dual voltage hair flattening iron and an adapter. At the last minute, I suggested we also bring a surge protector; it was not dual voltage, but it could supposedly handle up to 300 volts.
"But what about all of the stories about people who had adapters and converters and still blew out their room and the five rooms next to them?" I asked as I tentatively plugged my flat iron into the surge protector which was plugged into the adapter which was plugged into an ominous looking European outlet.
"Don't listen to those dumb people on the internet," Dan assured me. "They don't know anything."
Then I switched on the outlet on and blew the fuse. We were left without a T.V. and hair dryer.
"Well, I guess I go curly tomorrow," I said. "If we did just blow out the next five rooms, will they know it was us?"
We sneaked out the next morning, possibly after blowing out the other rooms in our hall. Our lights were still on though, and no one from maintenance came banging on our door. It turned out we hadn't needed the surge protector after all. Strangely, what was supposed to have protected a surge had actually caused one. For the rest of the trip, my dual voltage flattening iron worked fine with an adapter and sans surge protector.
STONEHENGE - SALISBURY - BATH - NEWPORT, WALES:
The next morning, after quickly sneaking out of our room before anyone could call us "Stupid Americans," we officially started our tour. We began with a routine that would continue every morning throughout the trip. Paul the Guide would say, "Say 'Hello, Young Richard.'" And we tourists would recite in unison, "Hello, Young Richard." Young Richard was our driver.
Once on the road, Paul the Guide asked if anyone knew of James Dyson. Dan was the only one who raised his hand.
"He invented that Airblade Hand Dryer and the bagless vacuum cleaner," Dan whispered to me enthusiastically.
"That's kind of nerdy that you know that," I whispered back.
Paul the Guide had a plethora of interesting information, but I just couldn't stay awake on the bus. And I couldn't exactly blame jet lag. Maybe I was reverting back to my childhood. My parents used to say that when I was a baby, they would throw me in the car and drive around town because it was the only thing that would put me to sleep. We were supposed to rotate seats on the bus which meant, in a few days, I would be up front, in view of our guide, sleeping very inconspicuously.
CARDIFF, WALES - WATERFORD, IRELAND:
Right before we drove off the ferry into Ireland the next day, I said to Dan, "We're in the mothuh-land."
"We're still at sea," he responded, excited to finally get to use his brogue.
Paul the Guide, who had been telling us that the elevators at our next hotel - a charming historic hotel - were powered by mice, called out our room numbers for the night. When he got to our name, he said, "Duggans - welcome back to Ireland - room 226."
Dan looked very pleased that someone had recognized that he was indeed back in the mothuh-land.
WATERFORD - KILKINNEY - DUBLIN:
Dan's heritage kept manifesting itself throughout our time in Ireland. In Kilkenney, after seeing our last name on our credit card, one restaurant cashier informed us, "If you're a Duggan [with two g's], you're probably from here."
As we left the restaurant, Dan said, "This is a neat, little town. I'm proud of being from here."
DUBLIN:
I had already fallen in love with Dublin before ever setting foot on European soil after seeing the movie (or to be more accurate, encountered the emotional musical experience that is the movie) Once. It did not disappoint. Afterward, when I asked Dan to tell me his favorite city we visited, he also said "Dublin" without hesitation.
Our tour guide told us the story of the Ha'penny Bridge as we drove to our hotel.
In the olden days, young men would walk down a path known as the Gentleman's Walk on one side of the Liffey River. The young ladies would walk on the opposite side. The men would wink and tip their hats at the lady of their choice, and if the young woman tipped her parasol, it indicated that the gentleman in question was invited to meet her on the Ha'penny Bridge.
The next evening, Dan tried to reenact this story, but I ended up walking too fast and missed him winking at me from across the river. With my poor eyesight, I probably wouldn't have seen it anyway. We did meet on the bridge, satisfied in having participated in a slightly mushy Irish legend.
Dan was adamant about having Irish Stew at dinner that night, wanting to embrace Irish tradition to the fullest during our last night in the mothuh-land. We walked streets of Dublin until we found a pub with an empty table.
Later, I asked him how his long-awaited Irish Stew had tasted.
"It was okay," he replied. Actually, by Dan's stoic standards, that's not too bad.
BELFAST, NORTHERN IRELAND - EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND:
The next morning, we were seated in the dreaded front row on the bus. As it turned out, Paul the Guide didn't seem to mind that I occasionally listened while "resting my eyes." And Dan and I got a behind-the-scenes perspective of our tour.
"Elvis Presley landed at that airport," Paul the Guide said over the P.A. system as we drove into Scotland. "It was the only show Elvis did here."
Then he set the microphone aside and said to Richard with a chuckle, "What kind of rubbish is that?"
Then to us he said, "Now your life is complete, now that you know that."
Paul the Guide would also sing from his perch in the front of the bus. We thought he might be keeping his voice warm, or maybe he was just trying to keep himself awake. I could relate.
He would talk to the cars on the roads, "Come on, Little Volvo," and "Did we just break out of jail?" about a woman driver wearing a black and white striped top.
"He reminds me of Mr. Bean with his funny noises," Dan said. And, almost on cue, Paul the Guide said, "Doobee, doobee, doo, doo."
One drawback to sitting in the front, I had to stop Dan from being a backseat driver and making suggestions to Young Richard.
I pointed emphatically to a sign above our heads that read, "Do not talk to driver."
"I'm a control freak, huh?" Dan said.
"YES!"
EDINBURGH:
The first thing I saw when we drove into Edinburgh was a busker playing a guitar. His dog stood loyally beside him, holding a purple hat for tips.
We took a tour of Edinburgh Castle the first morning. Paul the Guide took a much deserved break and left us in the hands of a "local expert," a tall, blond, blue-eyed man with a thick Scottish brogue. He wore a brown oil skin jacket and a blue and green plaid kilt. And by the way, don't call it a skirt! These Scottish men are bigger than (and probably more masculine than) you. Scotland is known for its extensive military history. If you insult their kilts, American men, I have a feeling, they could easily take you down and break a few bones.
YORK - STRATFORD-UPON-AVON:
Upon arrival in York, England, Dan and I watched a street performer juggle knives on a unicycle. I, of course, watched through my fingers.
When he finished risking his life, the performer passed around a yellow plastic hat for tips. He held up a couple of bank notes and called out, "Tourists, these are five-pound notes. One or two of these would be great!"
After our day in York, right before heading back to the bus, we started to walk a wall that runs throughout the city. I was rambling on aimlessly about a fair trade store we had just visited.
A couple of minutes later, I was frozen, gripping onto the stone wall. I had finally stopped chattering and had realized that I was pretty far off the ground, suspended over a high-traffic street, with no railings preventing me from spilling over the edge and splatting onto a pile of cars.
"Wait! This is scary!" I exclaimed in horror.
"I was wondering when you would notice," Dan said.
Then he took out the camera and snapped my picture, which forced me to swallow my fear and pose in my typical, adorable fashion.
LONDON:
We spent the next morning at Heathrow Airport standing in line for 45 minutes. The self check kiosks were not working, but Globus had gotten us there in plenty of time. In line (or in "queue," I was still in England, after all), Dan entertained himself by drawing his passport out of his pocket like a cowboy in a quick-draw shoot-out.
I suppose this was his way of preparing to leave the "mothuh-land" and return to the great American West.
If you are looking for a tour at a decent price with fun, informative guides (such as Paul the Guide and Young Richard) who take care of everything for you and your family, try Globus. We had a terrific experience with the company.
National Duggan's European Vacation Episode #1
National Duggan's European Vacation Episode #2
National Duggan's European Vacation Episode #4
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