I’ve been living in Dublin for nearly a month! And to think, most of the people in my life (and me) were doubting that I would ever go to Ireland. However, one day I woke up with that special preclearance email, and three days later, my journey began. I arrived to the Cincinnati airport comfortably early (because one must always be quite careful when it comes to international flights) and checked my bags. This adventure involved me stuffing my coat pockets, and carry-on bag in order to redistribute 4 pounds. This went relatively smoothly. Luck graced me in the TSA line, when somehow – by some miracle – my carry-on bag passed without an inspection. Now, this isn’t a “the TSA didn’t find my drugs story”, but rather one of the few times on my trip that time was saved. My carry-on was stuffed with things that the TSA likes to inspect: 5 pounds of protein powder, a laptop, and all sorts of random household things – perhaps even a tube of toothpaste containing over 100 grams. I finished the lovely TSA ritual by awkwardly crouching to put on my shoes, then I continued on my way. I found the correct terminal, sat down at an open seat near my terminal (but facing it), and called a friend. I boarded my plane and arrived in Newark, New Jersey a few hours later; the first stage of my journey was completed with only the usual hitches.
Little did I know, Newark was to be my home for the next 30 hours. I had an hour and a half before my flight departed, so I settled into a quite comfortable seat near my terminal. I fastidiously set an alarm on my phone as a fail safe before I began my wait. One can’t be too careful when it comes to international flights. Well, I messed up my alarm system, and I also watched the wrong line, so I ended up walking to the gate after it had closed. There is nothing like the feeling of watching the sun set through a pristine floor-to-ceiling window: gazing at your own airline as it taxis into the horizon. The entire world seemed surreal to me.
My long night had begun. I trudged to the customer service station where I met a kind Indian man who assured me that missing flights was part of the game. A compassionate customer service lady booked me complimentary tickets to Dublin on the next available flight; which was unfortunately 24 hours away. I resolved to stay at the airport; New Jersey was going to get no more of my money than I could help. I settled into my new reality and worked on graduate school applications until 1am, whereupon I found a cozy spot next a the food court to sleep. I spent the next day journaling, reading, praying, doing yoga. I watched a movie: the “Dead Poets Society”. Hours blurred into a fever dream. I boarded my flight to Dublin early. You can’t be too careful when it comes to flying.
After a long boarding and taxiing process, our plane finally was finally ready to takeoff. The pilot gunned the engine, then stopped the plane. We spent 40 minutes on the tarmac before the pilot announced that due to an unexpected error, we would be taxiing back to the terminal and deplaning. Our crew emigrated en masse to a new terminal where the airline showered us with waters, Goldfish, and Doritos in the lobby. They passed out food vouchers. I sat there half conscious and wondered why they were compensating us so generously for such a small delay. Two hours later we boarded a new plane and taxied once more to the runway. Just like before, the pilot gunned the engine, then idled it. Moments ticked by in anticipation as my seatmate and I figured that we were in for another delay. Then the pilot gunned the engine and we flew to Ireland.
I arrived in the Ireland airport 45 hours after I first got to the Cincinnati airport. Father Gary bought me a taxi to make getting home simple, but even the taxi driver cancelled my ride. Eventually I got to my new home here, and met my wonderful housemates cheering outside. What a roller coaster!
At this point, I must ask myself the question, “Am I thankful that I missed my flight?” I’m not sure. On one hand I was insanely productive for a few hours on something important that I hate doing, graduate school applications. My airport movie, “Dead Poet’s Society”, probably influenced me. Weekday lunches find me writing and reading poetry in Stephen’s Green – when poetry is usually something that I rarely pursue. On the other hand, I did spend 45 hours in “the airport environment” instead of 12 hours. I don’t like the Newark airport.
Emily, good luck with your preclearance! Your long wait will be worth it when you arrive, but in the meantime I hope that your days at home are peaceful and productive. We’ll see you soon!
