The Hunt for Undies in Dublin
The trials and joys of searching an unfamiliar city for basic essentials.
“I don’t want our vacation to end,” I lament as my two teens and I pack up and head to the Amsterdam airport, and they agree.
Usually by the final days of a trip I’m ready to return to my beloved Seattle. This time, I’m researching flats in Utrecht and starting Duolingo in Dutch. I’d nearly forgotten how beautiful life is in Europe after 17 years away. These almost three weeks overseas have been incredible and we’re all not ready to be done. I wish we had more time.
I’m not sure I meant for the Universe to take my request so literally.
But it did — at least, for one more day.
I stand in the back of the grounded plane and feel the minutes tick by as passengers slowly file out, row by row. Our flight from Amsterdam to Dublin left late, and our nearly two-hour layover has dwindled to mere minutes till our connecting flight. I sigh, resigned to the likelihood we won’t be on it.
The seats around us are filled with jovial Irish folks. I say we’re heading to Seattle and a woman with under-dyed pink hair proclaims, “Oy, I think we’ve been there!”
“You think?” I wonder. We’re kind of the furthest corner in the country. You can’t…
