Flights and Vegas Lessons

Looking crazy at Surrender Nightclub

Vegas was like my practice trip for travelling, simply because it was a much shorter vacation and I was going with someone who knew what they were doing. Here are some things I learned that may help me in July:

People are not very helpful at 7am. My younger sister Dominique and I went to pick up Danielle before heading to Vegas, and we decided to be helpful by watching her dog as she went inside to grab the last of her belongings. Well, we turned our backs—helpful, right?—and that tiny, scruffy monster disappeared. Turns out he had slipped through the fence onto the main road and was sniffing around the 7-eleven parking lot. We were calling him and calling him, trying to figure out where he had gone and feeling embarrassed that we might be waking people up, while at the same time being observed with mild interest by people sitting across the road on a bus bench. When we finally spotted him in the parking lot we couldn’t get through the fence. The bus bench people could have gotten him, and they certainly saw the whole thing. Thanks so much for simply watching the little dog in a parking lot instead of directing him back to safety or telling us where he went. As a result, I had to get my authority voice on and holler “ROSKO!” for the whole morning world to hear. At least he responded to that. I’ve made a note to be helpful or at least friendly on the way to Ireland, and I know this means I’ll need food regularly. That particular morning we didn’t have enough time for it. When going on trips, something always seems to come that puts breakfast even further off.

Eventually we got on our flight and I stumbled on an interesting trick for dealing with turbulence. The bumps were mild, but I barely even paid attention to landing because I was writing. I brought along a notebook to work on my novel and the level of concentration it takes to create a scene carried my mind elsewhere. On the way back I was too tired to write, so I learned another trick: doodling! I made a dumb little design on the back page of the notebook, and while this drew the attention of some bathroom-goers, I was too focused to care. It was plenty bumpy on the return, so I had to concentrate even more on keeping my hand steady. You would think, then, that drawing would be a less workable distraction, but I actually found it better. I often stop when writing to think about what’s next, which allows me to look around and be more aware of my surroundings. With doodling I was fully absorbed and calm.

Our flight flew from Bellingham, Washington (it is typically cheaper to fly from the United States than it is to fly from Canada). So after we drove across the border we stopped at an ATM to grab some American money. Guess whose card wouldn’t allow it? Once in Vegas, I went to use my credit card instead. It didn’t work either. I had alerted my bank via email that I was going to be in Los Vegas, but my credit card is often another matter. Even at the Eatery the week before it hadn’t worked. After a drunken Shania Twain concert, a wild nightclub/pool party at Surrender, and the crisp memory of Danielle running down the strip barefoot while the three of us attempted to grunt like Tim Allen, I tried my debit card again before we left. This time the message must have gotten through to the bank and I was able to draw out some money and pay Danielle back. So I learned that I need to get a new Visa credit card before we leave for Ireland. I have already alerted my bank regarding what dates I will be away, so that should be early enough this time. Looking further into banking, a friend recently suggested this website, which gives some information on accounts in Ireland. I should be able to apply from home for a bank account. The other option may be sharing a mutual account with Dale. However, we aren’t sure if SWAP could help us with this yet. What I do know is that taking money out of my current account while in Ireland would result in my dealing with a fee every time.

Danielle, who booked the hotel in Vegas online, had to confirm her credit card number when we arrived. Booking hostels has become another problem considering Dale’s credit card will also expire while we are gone. This means whoever buys the beds needs to have the same credit card when we arrive. We have a hostel for London in mind, so now we need to sort out our credit cards before the cost goes up or the hostel fills up. The higher price is what we get for travelling in the busy summer months.

I say London because we booked out flights nice and early to Heathrow.  I figured we should start with London because we are going to want to travel there at some point considering Dale has never been. With a little research I found a website that allows you to purchase a dual train and ferry ticket to Dublin, Ireland for approximately $60 Canadian. Weirdly enough, this flight was cheap without departing from the States. Danielle actually alerted me to the deal on Kayak back in January. Booking flights earlier often means better deals on the summer months, so we snagged our one-way tickets before Dale even had his VISA. Which he still doesn’t. Danielle found the flight through Kayak, but Kayak found it through airfare.com, where it cost us $714 Canadian each. That is with tax. If we’re lucky it will only cost us the same amount to travel home again, making our flights about $1400. Flights to Europe can be up in the $2000 range so I am happy with this arrangement.

Another thing I made note of in Vegas, apart from some tactics to get rid of irritating sellers and flyer-forcers, was that I may be in charge most of the time. I went along with everything for most of Vegas, which was quite nice. But Danielle won’t be around to find me flights, help with directions, or lend me money this time. I better get my shit in order!

Dale's SWAP and my Luck

Dale climbing

Two weeks ago, Dale and I headed into Vancouver to drop off his SWAP application forms. Dale does not have family in England or Ireland, like I do. This means he could not apply for dual citizenship, and after checking out a few limited options on working abroad and gap years, he decided to go with SWAP: the Student Working Abroad Program. You don't have to be a student, and the option he chose now includes two years of Ireland. The program will obtain a work VISA on his behalf, and cost him near $500 in the end. He will also have to pay almost $400 Canadian to the Garda National Immigration Bureau upon arrival. Additionally, SWAP expects him to have $2500 of his own “support funds,” which is money to fall-back on should he have trouble finding work. The program is Canadian, legitimate, and has had proven success. It works internationally, so people who are from other countries and hoping to travel can use it too. The website is: http://www.swap.ca/out_eng/destinations/ireland.aspx.

Dale will also be provided with two nights at a hostel in Dublin, orientation, help finding a job, accommodation, and help setting up an Irish bank account (lucky bastard). SWAP is a safe option, and hopefully it will be worth the money for him. I won’t complain if the information he gets benefits me either. What I do like about the program so far is that they are friendly and willing to answer any questions by email, even if you don’t sign up with them in the end.

It should only take four weeks for Dale to receive his VISA, though SWAP tells you to expect six weeks in case of delays. I was getting antsy for him to get the ball rolling since our trip was eight weeks away at that point. The day we finally went to the Travel Cuts office, I kept my phone close at all times because I was hoping for a call from the BC Elections office. When you work the election you can make very good money in one day plus training, and while they had enough people to work that day already, I was on-call and hopeful. But somehow I missed them. When I called the office back—long distance—I got some Jamaican man’s answering machine. That was a cruel joke, Government. Feeling panicked now, I contacted a friend who was already locked-in to work the election and asked her for the correct phone number. Dale parked his car, I called, and I struggled to thank the lady without sounding upset as she told me they had given the job away half an hour ago. When I hung up I was so disappointed that I couldn’t speak for fear of tears. The boilingly beautiful day got worse with Vancouver traffic, and then better when we surprised Julie, my life-long friend currently at UBC, with sushi at The Eatery. She put the job out of my mind.

The weekend that followed saw Dale and I at the Backyard Vineyards in Langley. Ever careful of money, this was a Groupon trip that I had bought him for Christmas. Before we even got out of the car to tour the winery, sample five wines, enjoy a glass of our choice, and pair it with cheeses, olives, nuts, chocolate, and fruits, my phone buzzed. To my delight, I got the election job after all! Someone had backed out at the last minute and they needed me for training the next day and to work the election the day after that. I had to cancel my volunteering in a kindergarten classroom, but the teacher I assist is so wonderful and understanding that it wasn’t a problem.

It was a whirlwind week. The election was 14 hours straight in a school gym with no more than bathroom breaks. However, I was thrilled to be sitting with a woman who loves the TV show Supernatural so much that her husband built her the characters’ car, the Impala! I never expected 14 hours with a stranger to go by so fast.

The next day I was off to Las Vegas with two of my sisters. My oldest sister, Danielle, had bought the trip for us as a graduation celebration. Bizarrely, all three of us have finished university at the same time. Putting my mind at ease was Mum coming to the rescue with a gift of graduation money for each of us. I didn’t spend a single dime of my Ireland savings, and it turned out that I had over-budgeted in the first place. What with the surprise job and not spending all the money that I had planned to, I essentially ended up making $385 this week! And not even a dime of that was won through gambling. I like my current kind of luck even better.

Paper

Overlooking Dalkey Island in the Republic of Ireland (Summer 2007)

Dalkey Island was just off shore; it was a tiny little piece of rock in the Atlantic ocean, with a tower-like structure rising from the grass. Before this was a tiny, ancient church which used to have a peaked roof. Now it only has two side walls and a peaked wall in front and behind—like a gingerbread house before you get to the challenging part. Down a gentle hill to the right of these buildings was a short-walled and also roofless fort. Inside the fort were rusty tracks which guns once slid along from place to place like trains. Dalkey Island seemed exciting, secret, abandoned, and older than I could contemplate. Granddad took us there twice, and the sky was grey each time. He would hire a rowboat and we would explore the tiny island until the rowboat’s owners returned for us.

The door of the tower was high up the tower’s wall, and I needed a giant boost to get inside. I was not too deterred from feeling like I was in some magical place by the strong scent of urine and the sight of beer bottles in the darkness. I just wanted to climb the curving stairs to get to the top. I wanted to see the view through the cap-like roof, but I don’t remember if I ever did. Eventually we just sat close to the shore, looking across the wide and grey Atlantic towards Canada, with Granddad sitting on my left and Danielle on my right. At least with my sense of direction I thought we were looking towards Canada. We weren't. Seal after seal would pop its head out of the water to stare curiously and boldly back at us, and I was as delighted as a nine-year-old could be. Back at the boat launch, Danielle had to keep her hand on her hat to protect it against the wind while I took pictures of two jellyfish in the water. I had never seen jellyfish before.

But on one visit the rowboat was readied as the weather grew stormy. We had to leave before it could get any worse. I sat in the bow and felt like I was flying even as I crashed with the boat down the dark waves. My short blonde hair was whipped away from my face as we rose over the next grumpy batch of water, but the salty spray flecked my cheeks with a remarkably gentle touch. I was an adventurer! For some reason, I was also Pocahontas. I was never afraid. And this was my kind of travel.

When I returned to Ireland at eighteen, my mum enjoying the trip with me, we didn’t have a chance to go back to the island. It might be just as well since I wouldn’t want to spoil the memory. But the island still has the same appeal, and it sums up the many levels of my experience with Ireland. I have also heard a rumour about the small ruins of a castle somewhere which bear a name my family has married out of—and I intend to hunt for these ruins next time. There’s still plenty to explore.

My first step to an extended stay in Ireland was applying for dual citizenship. My mum lived in England up until she was seven years-old, and our trip back together was her first returning voyage. It is thanks to her that I was eligible for dual citizenship. I applied here: https://www.gov.uk/overseas-passports. It’s supposed to cost $211 plus the cost of passport photos (about $10), and courier fees ($33), but for me it ended up being closer to $320 because I needed to rush order my “long” birth certificate from here: http://www.vs.gov.bc.ca/forms/index.html, then rush it by courier to the Passport Office in Washington, DC. Yes, the States. This is because they chose to have one location on this continent in order to stream-line the process. I hadn’t expected Hurricane Sandy to affect my everyday life way over in British Columbia, Canada. But eventually the papers stopped blowing around and in under two months I became a Subject of the Crown!

Overall it was a bit of a pain, but snagging dual citizenship seems to be the cheaper route than going with a work abroad program. Plus, the Passport Office reimburses some of the cost if you aren’t approved! And as a European Union (or E.U.) adjacent country, I can now live and work in either the Republic of Ireland in the south, or in the E.U.’s Northern Ireland. So wherever those ruins are, I’ll be there too!

Flying

For months I had nightmares about airplanes crashing. My mom couldn’t understand why I was so worried, and neither did I. I was nine years old and my grandparents were planning on taking Danielle, my older sister, and me to visit our never-before-seen relatives in England and Ireland. I was both excited and filled with dread.

The plane was cold. I remember seeing blue everywhere, but not a friendly, sky-colour blue: it was steely; icy. During take-off my hands turned icy too. I clenched the armrest in my left hand and my grandma’s hand in my right. I couldn’t let go of my chair even after we’d been flying for a while. Every bump of turbulence sent a chilly thrill of terror from my stomach to my toes. I couldn’t get used to the idea that nothing was keeping the plane in the air; that nothing was below us, but air.

Somehow I managed to fall into an uncomfortable sleep with my head resting on my grandma’s chest.  Before I knew it, my granddad was gently shaking me awake, saying, “Look,” and pointing to the windows on our left. I looked through tired eyes, but was suddenly jolted wide awake in horror.

“Are we over the ocean?” I gasped.

“No,” Granddad chuckled, “those are the clouds.”

I stared, open-mouthed. We were skimming right over top of the clouds as the sun sank below them. I hadn’t been wrong to think we were over water. They were gilded brilliantly by the sunset, reflecting all the sun's radiance into the plane and dispersing the fearsome blue. But the shape was that of an enormous, solid mass of water. It was riddled with waves that stretched to the horizon in an awe-striking expanse I had never been exposed to before. I could have been looking at the sea at sunset, but the waves were frozen instead of rolling. I half expected the plane to turn and dip one wing into the salt water, spraying a golden stream up behind it. Of course, this idea terrified me. I could barely handle the plane moving at a straight angle, let alone tipping to one side. But the imagination of a nine-year-old does whatever it wants.

And apparently so does that of a 23-year-old. I was standing in the Pacific Ocean at Whiterock, with the water just up to my thighs, and enjoying the view of the white buildings rising up the hill back on land. Dale, my boyfriend of a year and a half, was facing me. This year I would finish my degree (Bachelor of Arts, major in English), and then hopefully go straight into the one-year Teacher Education Program for elementary school teachers. But after taking my time getting my degree in something like five or six years, jumping into another year somehow seemed a little crazy. That, and I couldn’t imagine being a teacher already. So I asked Dale if he’d consider moving to California for “just a year.” Or Ireland. But that seemed like my imagination for sure.

Lucky for me, he said, “Well, I guess wherever you go, I’ll go.”

I’ll admit I reveled in that comment for a while. But by the next week I was back to trying to convince him. Change is not his favourite, but it’s at least nine months later now and we’re going to Ireland in two more months so all the more respect to him! It turns out moving to the USA to work is a ridiculous process, even for someone just north of the border. So we took a more nerve-wracking route to a cooler place—in my opinion. I went after my dual citizenship with the UK, and he went with SWAP. Neither of us have jobs over there yet, or a place to stay, and in my case I no longer have a job in Canada. I have less than $2000 in my bank account and about $3800 in student loans which I will have to start paying off in September. And you know what they say about finding a job in Ireland. As you can imagine, the pressure’s on.

Dale will be leaving the steady, secure, and exhausting job he has had since high school, I will be moving out for the first time, and both of us will be moving in with a significant other for the first time. A new country, a new home, a new stage in life, and no more school—for a year. I really hate saying that last part. I’ve always been ambitious, which means I’ve had practice with hefty challenges. That’s how I’ll be looking at this big year in an attempt to prepare myself mentally. Nevertheless, I am excited!

I still don’t like flying. But here’s hoping the view from Ireland is as good as the one from the plane.