Today, we started on
the way back to Belfast. The mood in the
car is somber, at least from my side, like with every mile we’re drawing closer
and closer to our boring life. I guess I’m
finally realizing that the magic of the trip is over. I’ve been away almost four weeks, and I
haven’t missed it one bit. My wife asked me the other day if I was homesick, and I took a moment to think about it
before answering, “Nope.” And I’m
not. Not one bit. I have been touring around Europe for a
month, and I haven’t missed home or work at all. I assume that eventually I would (at least
home…probably not work), given enough time, but I’m so burnt out, so
frustrated, so completely demoralized with the life I lead, that I am in no
rush to get back to it. I wish I had
more time here. But all good things must
come to an end…at least when you’re not filthy rich and can lead a life of no
responsibilities.
Just outside Dublin,
we stopped at our third and final castle, Malahide. Coming off the Blarney high, I was very much
looking forward to another castle. I
couldn’t have been more disappointed.
From the outside, the castle was idyllic…from the rising battlements
down to the ivy growing up the walls.
The inside; however, was a complete disappointment. First of all, we had to take a guided tour. There was no option to tour the castle on our
own. Second, we were rushed through the
tour to make way for Santa Claus visiting the castle. There were children everywhere, bundled up in
their winter gear, eager to meet the big man and spout their list to him. Finally, the castle had been lived in up
until the 1970s, when it was sold because it was too expensive to upkeep. So, the whole inside was modernized with
wallpaper, running water, electricity, etc.
The whole atmosphere
of the castle was a house of extravagance and boasting. They didn’t have portraits of the family hung
about. No, instead they had portraits of
famous people the family knew, so they could show off and brag to their
guests. And these portraits covered
every inch of every wall. It was gaudy
and ridiculous. In the sitting room, the
walls were painted in this hideous orange color. According to the tour guide, the family had
paid to invent their own paint color (known as Malahide Orange) because this
would scream wealth.
Anyway, I didn’t
think the tour was worth it. The castle
was situated on hundreds of acres of cultivated gardens. The grounds were nice and peaceful, with
wide-open spaces and ancient trees, but they lacked the magical feel of
Blarney.
We arrived back in
Belfast, trying to track down our hotel, which my wife had booked because it
was near to the airport. We soon
discovered that it was indeed near to the airport, just not the airport we were
flying out of the next day. Belfast has
two airports on opposite sides of town from each other. It was too late to change hotels, so we just
decided to get up earlier in the morning and make the drive across town.
The Holiday Inn
Express – Antrim was a low-class hotel.
It was expensive because of its proximity to the airport, but the
quality was terrible. The worst part was
the door to the room. The first time we
tried to leave, I couldn’t open the door.
The lock seemed to be set in a permanently open position, and the door
wouldn’t close. After several attempts,
I finally slammed it with all of my might to get it to close. When I complained about this to the front
desk, the guy said that that was how they were supposed to work, because they
were fire doors. I have never seen this
in a hotel. But every time we left, we
had to slam the doors; which was annoying and embarrassing at 5 o’clock in the
morning when we checked out. Oh well!
