Returning to the Emerald Isles

They say that upon kissing the Blarney Stone, one is granted with the gift of gab (or a load of blarney). In 2009, in the pouring rain, I kissed that stone and I must say that whenever I return to Ireland, the gift of gab goes into overdrive.

Blarney Castle, Cork, Ireland - 2009

I flew out of Detroit on a Saturday morning (we're talking early morning), and before the shops at North Terminal even opened I had made friends with two flight attendants on their way back from Paris. On my flight to Boston, I sat next to a man who grew up in my town, went to the same school as my older brothers (no longer in existence), was friends with my mom's boss and who had Big Sean and Charlie Sheen at his wedding. We talked the entire flight and I wasn't even mad about losing out on the sleep I had intended to get.

Then came an 11 hour layover in Boston, where I finally decided to check my bag through and also where I spent a lot of time wandering the terminals and watching "Call The Midwife" on Netflix (and asking everyone waiting in the queue at AerLingus if they had ever been to Ireland). But all was well when I boarded my flight to find that because I had changed my seat assignment, I was now an end seat in a completely empty row of four. The glory of being able to possibly spread out while I slept!

Then I decided to help out an elderly woman who was struggling with her entertainment system. That, however, turned into six hours of talking with the retired Irish nurse, Ethna. Mind you, I had wanted to get some sleep during this leg, but she eventually saw that and I got a quick nap in before breakfast and deplaning. At customs, just before we went our separate ways (E.U. vs. everyone else), we exchanged information and shared a quick hug.

And although I spent the first half of my week with my friend, Shannon, I had a lot of alone time during the second half of my trip where I ended up having conversations with various strangers on the streets and in my hotel pub. It actually got to the point where I was telling Shannon on how I had complimented this girl on how beautiful her hair was as we walked down the street, and she told me it was weird to be so chatty in a place where you don't know that many people. (Her roommate was on my side with the compliments).

While at home, I tend to be less outwardly social, especially with strangers, my trip brought out a different side of me. My aunt said it was probably because I was somewhere where I felt happiest and I couldn't contain my joy. I think that may be true.

I definitely am a different person while travelling, a better person I think. And by the time I was back on American soil, that chatty person had drifted away (although it may have been due to the THREE security checkpoints I had to go through upon landing at Boston Logan).

They say travelling makes you a different person, but are you a better or worse version of yourself on vacation?

Until next time,

-J