Despite the best efforts of the Icelandic volcano, Simon and I made it to Ireland this weekend for the wedding of one of his childhood friends to his Irish sweetheart.
We thought we were clear for takeoff last week when the ash cloud disappeared and our friends returned from their respective vacations across the world, but tragedy struck Wednesday night as we got news Iceland’s volcano Eyjafjallajokull (that’s not just me pressing a bunch of letters; that’s its actual name) was erupting yet again, sending its ash cloud rolling straight toward us.
News at 10pm was that our flight had been cancelled, so I got in the bathtub and Simon set about mourning the loss of our Irish mini-break. But just as I was easing myself into the water, I heard a loud knock on the bathroom door: “It’s back on! We’re going to Ireland!”
…which meant we had to get up at 6am and throw some things in a suitcase to make it to the airport in time for our 11am flight.
All worked out in the end – we made it to the Emerald Isle with time to spare, and back again yesterday in yet another small window between ash cloud mayhem and airport closures.
The Ireland Verdict? I love it. I could never – ever – live there. You think English weather is bad? Apparently it rains even more in Ireland, and the lovely bride, Emma, told me the highest temperature she’s ever recorded in her car is 19 degrees Celsius – that’s just 66 for all you Fahrenheiters.
I’m sorry, I just can’t cope with that.
I have this theory that English people are all reserved and stiff-upper-lip-ish because they’re so depressed about the weather…but Ireland totally threw that out the window. Irish people are some of the warmest, nicest, most hospitable people I’ve ever come across – and I’ve come across quite a lot of people.
Between staying in a tiny little B&B owned by an Irish grandma named Beady, and attending the most amazingly entertaining wedding reception ever in the history of the world(Irish dancers! Beatles cover band!), it was a great weekend.
Kiss my ash, Eyjafjallajokull.