I'm back! Gloriously back! And after 20 hours of travel, I can report that there is some tacky-ass Euro luggage making the rounds in baggage claims of the world. I'm not exactly wandering through Heathrow with my Louis Vuitton steamer trunk, but come on. You're 56 years old, Svetlana. Give it up.
Our last night in Dublin, Greg drove Alex, Lisa, Cathal and I out to Bono's house, or rather, his gate which was admittedly magnificent. I felt like an asshole asking to see it, expecially when I realized it was such a trek to his estate. But once we got there, the group agreed the trip was totally worth the 14 seconds spent admiring Bono's guilded exterior. What great taste that little humanitarian has!
We were really hoping to see him sitting there with Nelson Mandela and some AIDS babies, inviting us in for tea and crumpets but alas, t'was not to be.
Greg dropped us back at the hotel where we got ready for our last night in Ireland, dinner at the very lovely Roly's. And lo, hours and hours of incredibly boring travel and a viewing of Ghost Town later, here I am, back at work and realizing I've used more than my share of vacation days for the next 43 years...