Our plane left Heathrow late, after a long run. We ran. Because, you see, the flight attendant announced “Gate 8 E.” We went to this gate. Fifteen minutes before the flight was to leave there were no airline employees, no passengers and no planes.

We were on the only terminal in the free world without departure screens, too. So I walked down aways and found horrifying information. Our flight was actually departing from Gate 80.

English.

So we ran. And then we got on board. I thoroughly made a big show of the entire ordeal. And the plan was late.

But we arrived on time in a funny-how-that-happens way. We landed in Dublin, in what felt like the oldest terminal in the free world. It had screens with departure and arrival times.

We made it through customs, The Yankee going first as always. She answered the questions and I was next. I said to the border agent “Same things she said,” which amused everyone except the weary man working in his weary both.

We got our stamps, though, and then picked up our rental car, a process just as thoroughly devoid of joy and efficiency in every country, it seems. We set out, once again questioning the ability of the GPS to get her there.

It was about here, I think, that we finally changed the GPS voice. We’ve been using an Aussie. We looked for an Irish brogue, but had to settle on an English woman. So the GPS, given to this new personality, must be renamed. I’m sure we’ll figure that out soon enough.

We drive around Dublin on the interstate, which feels new, through countryside that is beautifully rural and undeveloped despite being so very near the city proper. It felt like we drove around the entire city. Mostly because we almost did.

We arrived at our hotel and got checked in. Hey look, this hotel has a television in the bathroom:

Who needs that? Who cares? I have a television in my bathroom.

We went to visit our friends, Adam and Jessica, who are joining us on the trip. Only Jessica didn’t know it. Just a few hours before they’d gotten engaged at a picnic in the gardens of Enniskerry, now they have to have us tag along. She was excited to see us though, so that, happily, went over well.

After a while we looked up, saw the sun and realized it was 9 p.m. And we still had to find dinner. Everything in Enniskerry is closed already. There is a pub in our hotel. Their kitchen had just shut down. But the waiter brought us a room service menu, and four sleepy, hungry people were saved.

Two guys were getting ready to play music a few booths away. We’ve been in Ireland three hours and there’s already a pub, a burger and Irish music.

After a few songs one of the patrons asks “Is it too early for Whiskey in the Jar?” It is never too early for Whiskey in the Jar.

They were fine performers, despite my too-dark photograph and hasty iPhone recording. It was a delicious burger. Our friends, who just flew over from the States today, are happy and exhausted. Tomorrow we set out to drive the bulk of the entire countryside.

For now I’m going to go watch weird Germany game shows. On the television in my bathroom.