Reminiscences continued
More from my travel journal that records my first trip abroad.

March 16, 1985
Here I sit on the terrace of our room in the Dublin Sport Hotel. It is a cool, windy afternoon--the temperature is about 35 degrees. Off into the distance is a swell of a small mountain, covered with swaying pines and knotty-limbed barren trees. At the foot of the mountain runs a country road on which tiny cars are driving--on the wrong side, of course. Just before the hotel lies a rippling man-made pond bordered by more knotty trees. Above the pond sits a golf course were several men are playing golf. They are rather tall, of sturdy frame, with Irish brogue rolling off their tongues. In the far distance rolls the almighty sea.

We are here, in Ireland. How did we get here--I mean to the hotel? Our plane touched down in Shannon at about 7:30 a.m. Irish time -- 2:30 American time. After a layover for refueling, we were off to Dublin. After a rather bumpy touchdown, we were really here. The stewardesses elbowed their way out of the plane, the snobs. Then we proceeded to customs, which consisted of telling the agent we were staying for a week and having our passports stamped. We grabbed our luggage, wound our way out of the airport, then hopped aboard the tour buses.

Most slept on the "tour" as the guide babbled on. I, for one, had no intention of sleeping and miss the magnificent scenery. Dublin itself had many identical homes with the only distinguishing characteristic being the doors. We finally arrived at the hotel, exhausted, and tried to settle in. I tried to shower, which was your typical "fry or freeze." Lunch was in the bar and consisted of strong Coke, mutton burgers and chips (what we would call French fries). At four, we went outside to battle the elements and improve our marching. I sure hope it all pays off.

Dinner was a three-course meal of mushroom soup, pigeon and chips, then strawberry ice cream.

At that time we were informed that we would be attending a dance with the Piscataway (N.J.) Band. Ooh! Please have mercy on us! Most of us hadn't had a wink of sleep in 20 hours or more. Those who had been fortunate enough to sleep only gained from one to six hours at the most.

After much prodding, we were herded onto the buses and carted to Dublin. With the guide, Sheila, aboard the other bus, we began to get to know our superb bus driver/guide, Conn. He told us tales of Dublin Bay and sang us songs. Arriving at the hotel where the dance was held, he reminded us that even though we're better than Piscataway, we should be humble about it. From that moment on, every soul on Bus #1 was in love with Conn.

I must say one thing about Irish contemporary music--it isn't very contemporary. Although they are months ahead with British chart makers, they haven't even heard of groups which have climbed and completely descended on the charts in the States. While 50% of the band snoozed in their chairs, the rest of us danced the night away--and regretted it later.

The trip back to Dublin Sport was silent except for the sighs and snores of one pack of exhausted bandies. No one uttered a single remark resembling a complaint when curfew was mentioned. Tomorrow is the big day.