A few days before taking the train from Chicago to New York City I panicked a bit and looked into booking a room.  The room would have cost an extra $500.  Ouch.  I also tried using my meager media connections.  A definite no-go.

So we stuck with the original plan and left our Edison Park home with three backpacks (mine ridiculously huge and weighing in at close to thirty pounds), a wheeled suitcase, and a small cooler also on wheels.  We also each carried pillows, had jackets tired around our waste, and gripped an odd assortments of stuff we grabbed at the last moment as we headed out the door. What I imagined was us walking to the Metra train station in a carefree manner, waving to the neighbors as we marched toward Iceland via the Edison Park Metra Stop, Union Station, Penn Station, and then LaGuardia.

Waiting for our first rain in Edison Park

Instead we lumbered along at a snail pace dropping items along the way which resulted in Keystone Cop antics (I bend over to pick something up and in the process swing into Corey who then steps on Henna’s foot and yells at me).  Waiting for that first train I had my first bout of backpack envy as the woman standing next to us had a small, perfectly contained one.  She was headed to Antarctica (probably not, but she was the first of many people whom we met with minimal backpacks, clean clothes, and a smile headed out for a delightful jaunt somewhere far away).

For the twenty minute Metra ride we mostly had the car ourselves.  We also met a nice Metra employee with a deep southern accent.  It was like his second or third day on the job (and by his polite manners probably his first hour in Chicago).  He was a great help to us later in getting off the train which bruised my ego but was also greatly appreciated.  Outside the Ogilvie train station we looked lost and vulnerable and had only a vague sense of where to go.  A panhandler approached us, told, without us asking, which door we needed to reach (a good three large city blocks away) and then asked me for a dollar.  With my backpack snug, my hands filled, and worried about cars whizzing by I could not reach into my pocket to get that dollar.

At the end of Union Station there is a door with a small sign for Amtrak.  One advantage of taking the train is that each passenger is allowed two carry-on bags up to fifty pounds each.  You also are allowed to check, free of charge, another two bags (again, up to fifty pounds), as well as two additional bags at $20 a pop.  So the three of us could have checked close to a ton of luggage for only $120.  Waiting to check our backpacks (which we actually did not have to do) we saw families seemingly moving the entire contents of their apartments across country with humorless bureaucrats tagging it to go (I say humorless because they never smiled or really acknowledged anyone they processed and for us they reprimanded us for not knotting our straps then groaned when hoisting our backpacks to the conveyor belt).

The waiting room is filthy and disorganized.  A few vending machines, not a lot of information given, and then confused shouted directions asking people to enter another room.  Train travel is a popular option for the Amish and sitting with us where several generations with a few teenage girls, infants on their laps, staring intently at us.  Everyone had really cool worn down luggage from an era far past ours.  Dressed in heavy clothes a few had obviously not bathed in some time and we shifted away from them.  Later we avoided sitting with them on the train and sometimes had to hold our breath when walking past them in their train car.

On the train you have large seats with comfortable leg room and outlets.  No wifi on our train but most do offer free wireless.  The train left on time and a few minute later the snack room was open.  This room, one of a few set aside for dining, was one of my first disappointments in the trip.  What I imagined:  Humphrey Bogart serving drinks at a bar, the patrons with felt hats, a lot of miles under the belts, and a few stories told with gin and tonics.  What it was:  a no-frills kiosk with a microwave for heating up hamburgers or popcorn tended by a tired woman who became a lot friendlier after we tipped her.  There were only a few tables we could sit at and some were filled with Amtrak personal maybe on break (or maybe they were working, who knows).  We tiptoed back to our seats and had our drinks.  Later I walked back to fetch a second round.

Watching the miles go by

Outside the scenery was industrial and ugly.  I had both seats to myself and slept curled up in a ball.  I woke frequently and noted things like two men drinking beer both standing behind pickup trucks in a parking lot.  In the early morning light I woke up for good outside Cleveland.  Corey and Henna slept a little better with their heads touching each other.  From Cleveland to New York City the scenery improved to quit woods and sleepy towns with the more spectacular mountain scenery a good ways north and unseen.

In the morning we made friends at the snack room.  There were a group of step-cousins traveling west to east then back again with stops at the Grand Canyon and other places.  Most of their trip was consumed by the train and by the time we met them they were like hoboes.  They had hoped to spend a few hours in Chicago but an earlier breakdown meant a change in plans and they never left Union Station.  We also met a worldly gentleman from many places but more recently Vermont (Grayson) who entertained us with bad jokes and better stories including some involving famous writers.  Everyone on board was killing time and together the train was a fun pursuit (favorite highlight was us playing poker with wadded up napkin crumbs for money; Henna took us for all the napkins we had).  Two Amish teenage boys hung out in the snack room as well and patiently answered questions about their lifestyle while surfing the net on borrowed smart phones (they mostly looked up pictures).  Other interesting people met or observed at a distance included an older African American with a cowboy hat and his arm in a sling.  Talking to the person next to him (a middle age man with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Shirt not worn ironically) he described how the horse he was caring for became jealous when he reached down to pet a dog which resulted in an injured arm.  Later I heard him on his phone reassuring someone that his arm was fine and that he could still do the job.

The food in the more affordable snack car is as good as it is packaged.  Per Corey and Henna the microwave chicken and veggie sandwiches were disgusting.  But the microwaved pizza tasted as good as any other microwave pizza.  The coffee was brewed well, the bagged pretzels were fine and cold pop is cold pop.  In the dining room (whose food is included in the cost of a sleeper car) the grub looked to be of a slightly higher quality.

Our train broke down somewhere in upstate New York.  Amtrak trains do that a lot.  Or they have to pull over for freight trains (Amtrak leases the rails and must give way to other commerce).  Or maybe there is an issue on the line.  Or maybe they just want to rest the train for a bit.  Besides breaking down the trains look their multi-decade age.  For example, each car has a different temperature with some ice cold and others a sauna.  One person I met complained that in his sleeper car the air conked out leaving him miserable. For our breakdown very little information was given and it lasted for more than an hour.

Miraculously our train was only about ninety minutes delayed.  All our checked luggage was returned to us (in a kind of ceremony with the workers laying out our bags behind a curtain then revealing it all at once as if they were for sale).  Through our deft use of Amtrak points (most of which were gained by opening a charge card) the trip cost us less than fifty bucks not including what we purchased on board.  Tickets purchased well in advance would have been about $100 a piece and also fully refundable up to a few days before departure.  If you have the time and do not mind a bit of discomfort then traveling Amtrak is a good option over flying.  For all our grumbling we are already planning future Amtrak trips out west.  We just do not expect to be on time.

Our first night in New York City

For the second time in six weeks we saw a flurry of American flags (the other time was in Höganäs where family did all they could to make us welcome). Many people we have met have a Chicago connection too. Like Eileen the Pub owner who told us that Chicago has been good to her community (many have gone there for work). At another pub we heard the saddest song about a family leaving famine for Chicago.  In the pubs, on walking trails,  and everywhere else we see people who remind us so much of friends, neighbors, coworkers, etc. They laugh with us, wish us a sincere hello when we meet them and help us when we get lost (an hourly occurence). The driving though is terrible.

Country roads in Ireland mean an altogether different thing than they do back home. No wide meandering back road where you might go a bit before seeing another soul. It is exactly as our friend Chiereth said (whom we met so long ago in Stockholm ). You mostly stay in the middle and then shoot left when another body comes. On a summer day that other body comes around a lot and is too often a large trailer to wide for the road let alone the not quite two lanes (one up one down) allowed. Throw in a lot of walkers (there faces with a lot of regret), Americans getting the hang of left side driving, and your mirrors do not stand a chance.

But it is all worth it. I say that because we are safely at the airport waiting on our flight. But even here we look both ways nervous to cross the waiting area.

Otherwise known as Cliffs of Insanity (Princess Bride).

A bit of sunshine and a little less rain made today all the more special.

This is a story I heard today. In order to protect the confidentiality of the persons in the story certain details have been changed.

About a decade ago a local business man was asked by a tourist the best place to see Fungie.   Fungie is a dolphin who has been living in Dingle’s harbor for the past thirty or so years. He, the dolphin, loves attention and has been performing for tourists and locals for quite some time now. There is a statue of him in the harbor. Boat operators take you out to him, money back if Fungie doesn’t show.

So the local business man had a bad heart. He did not have private insurance and therefore was expected to wait a very long time before receiving the proper medical attention. He was in fact not feeling well the day the tourist came around asking about a friendly dolphin. Regardless the man decided to take the tourist on a tour of Dingle in his own car. The tourist is flabbergasted by this completely unsolicited act of kindness. He also senses something wrong with the man. The tourist it turns out is a cardiologist.

If you guess that the tourist /cardiologist fixed the man’s heart you would be right. He did so within a short time of meeting the local business man and refused all payment saying that he just wanted to match the man’s kindness.  The local recently sent a card to the doctor. It read, “Thank you for the last ten years.”

Did that actually happen? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way it’s a good story.

We started with the understated  (Cashel Rock) then the overexposed (Blarney Castle). Afterwards it was a bed and breakfast over a pub. It rained, it misted and if we complained there was always someone to remind us that this is Ireland.

So Henna was the only one brave enough to kiss the stone. Blarney Castle and Gardens is actually a lot more than a kissable rock. It is a lot of paths and ancient ruins as well as a running river.   Easily worth spending the day.

Cashel Rock was a mighty good roadside attraction of epic historic proportions. About a thousand years old it figured well in the spread of Christianity and includes a rare round tower and a lot of sweeping views of the Irish country side.

Driving from Blarney Castle the road twisted and the locals gave a friendly blast of the horn whenever they saw me coming (especially when I drifted a bit too far to the right). We pulled into a bed and breakfast over a pub and then settled into pints, pool, and whiskey. There was a very friendly and gassy terrier for Henna to play with. Corey beat two locals at pool. I learned a little about Galic football and other Celtic traditions. Love this island.

Henna, our new friend Dylan, and Corey

The thing about Ireland is that even on its most weather dreary day there is always somewhere warm and dry to have a breakfast, coffee, or a drink. This morning it was Molloy’s where Henna and I split a traditional Irish breakfast; an egg, rashers (meaty bacon), baked beans, white pudding (similar to kishke if you happen to know what that is), mushrooms, home made brown bread and sausage. Corey had a white coffee (a creamier cappucino) and Henna was served tea with an extra pot of water and a dainty cream holder. Corey also had a homemade scone. It was all less than $18.

The other thing that goes without saying is the witty and inquisitive banter that is everywhere. Just open your mouth and someone will answer you. 
Answer back and they will ask where you are from. Laugh with them and you will have a new friend. About to test this theory out at pub below the room we are renting for the night. Will let you know how it goes.

Another day another country and this time they speak English!  They also drive on the left side of the street which might take a bit of time getting used to. Enjoy a few pictures taken along Bray’s brightly lit waterfront.

Huh?

On the last morning in Paris Nicole drove us to the airport. In doing so our kind hostess transformed into a NYC cab driver, snaking in and out of lanes and riding the bumper of any car that dare to linger in the left lane. Driving here is not for the weak.

Living here I think though would please anyone. Besides the magnificience of a mature and intricate city, the people are warm and engaging.  Surprised? So are the French when you tell them. This is not modesty (that is not French) but the result of them watching a million movies telling them they are arrogant. They are not arrogant. Just particular and if you relax and enjoy their level of care everyone will be better for it.

We worried a lot about crime. Would Paris be as safe as Chicago?  Really though can anywhere ever be as safe as Chicago. Our parents, fellow tourists, Nicole, and many pamphlets warned of the pickpocket as well as other more   quaint cons like three card monte. So I wore my wallet in my pants (which made every purchase obscene). And each bump into a fellow tourist resulted in a scowling stare down (You’re not getting my wallet grandma from Omaha!). The worst we suffered was an aggressive hard sell (I bumped shoulders with a man trying to put a cloth bracelet on Henna’s wrist, his friends forming a wall around us). Otherwise Paris charmed us with every turn and the little rain was a welcomed reason to sit and sip our cappuccinos while the drops fell on cobblestone.

Now for a bit of street art taken by Corey.

They are comically old cars, some you have to open by flipping a lever down with a snap (and from inside you can actually open the door before the train comes to a complete stop).  And they are color coded in weird secondary colors like light yellow and slightly darker yellow as well as a light green yellow line. I am talking of course about the Metro which whiz below Paris with open windows that alllow for an impressive breeze.  We had our struggles today and a couple times the train let us down (note: not every connection is clearly marked). But oh the places it took us.  Paris for us was not love at first sight but we are now officially smitten. 

Locks sold by street vendors and no more room on bridge for them

On the man made beach banks of the River Seine

That is a lot of people looking at the Mona Lisa!