The International Terminal

From my journal yesterday:

It's 8am local time here is Dublin, 2am Chicago time, and I have just disembarked from stage one of my journey. I'm tired, exhaused actually, I can no longer feel the area of my butt surrounding my tailbone, and I'm indecisive of whether to indulge my eyes with sleep or attempt some level of human alertness by buying my first cup of european coffee.

Despite my war against sleep and the confusion that comes with the realization that I have just left the US, Chicago, my family, and my dearest friends for the better part of a year for a country that promises frustration as I will surely struggle to understand and express myself and a sure fire commitment to keeping me out of my comfort zone, despite all of this I am moved to write - something that has been divorced from my will for quite some time. The intellect intrinsic to Euro air is fast acting.

The Internation Terminal is a fascinating place. Even now, before the sun has dared to peep from the horizon, the consumer mall, convieniently unavoidable in the search for your gate, is delightfully abuzz with German, Spanish, Japonese and the occasional, reasurring English. The Euro feel is everpresent and quite sophisticated. The casual terminal food stop, normally carrying ham and cheese sandwhiches, ceasar salads, and starbucks coffee, are stocked with deermeat and liver pate, procuto and butter on french baguettes and mango/passion fruit smoothies of what would seem an irrationally small size to the American eye.

If all I manage to see today before I fallinto the caress of sleep is the international terminal, I will be quite content. As I paruze the "House of Ireland" I can't help but recall the two wonderful trips I have had here - memories I do not attempt to write but which have penetrated me deeply and never fail to bring comfort and happy nostalgia. As images of Agas and castles dance in my mind, I undoubtably recall the trip which Ireland was the initiation to: Dando and Nicoletta Take Europe 2004. But these revalries of things past scatter themselves between my pensees of things to come. I see flights leaving for Prague and Amsterdam and note that I too hope to be taking those flights sometime soon. I see Euro trends and wonder how my sense of life might change by June. And finally, I attempt to translate my thoughts into french as much as possible and lovingly look forward to a day when that might not be so much work. The Dublin international Terminal has taken me from past to future and around the world - and here it is only 9am. The sun is beginning to rise and I will soon board my flight to London. It's harder to thrust oneself into uncharted territory without the comfort of a dear compaion and even harder on little sleep, But nonetheless - I'm off!