Hibernia Alone

And with a "see ya, kiddo" I am adrift. The only left to do is to pass through security, find my gate and wait. I am alone for the moment in Dulles Airport uncertain of what to expect.

I have only flown alone once before, from Lugano to Prague, the rare trip where I had to do everything totally alone, with only the promise of a friend's presence to look forward too. At the very least, I only had to fly for three hours, with a layover in Zurich. This time I can look forward to a two hour layover in New Jersey, and a six hour flight to Dublin, and then wandering through Customs and Immigration, recovering my just underweight bag, and finally into a cab and off to a hostel. Mostly by my lonesome. I had company yes, but there was no green canvas bag providing the answers should I lose my way.

Which meant that I simply could never become lost; I would always known what came next and how to function in any crisis.

Of course, this is all in the past now. The six hour flight is done, the cab was hired and paid, the hostel booked and checked in, and two full days of touring have passed since a moment of blind panic. I am in Dublin, in a hostel in the middle of Temple Bar, and I am safe. My room is secured by the knowledge of my roommates, and my own caution. My feet ache with the miles of tourist tracking, and I am back in my element. I'm still in a foreign country, and I need to eventually move my slightly underweight bag from one side of the island to the other, and try my hand at day trips, but those are minor inconveniences of the future. For now, I am fresh from an evening of "Arcadia", Guinness, Gaol and art. Tomorrow I have museums and further touring to accomplish, and the hopes of a trip to the Giant's Causeway or Newgrange.

The important thing? I'm in Ireland, and the sun has never stopped shining.