The saga of Wednesday July 31, 2024 travelling between Reykjavík, Iceland and Castle Rock & Giant's Causway, Northern Ireland
The night before our last day in Iceland, I quadruple checked the weather to make sure we were dressed appropriately this time. It said it was going to be 51°F, but feel like 39°F due to high winds. It was also supposed to rain. Before going to sleep, I took out all the handwarmers and our ponchos and thought to myself, “Aha! This time, I will get it right.”
We awoke early and were on the local bus by 7:20am with all of our belongings. The local bus dropped off about a ten minute walk from the Bus Hostel where we planned to take a shuttle back to the airport. Everyone had a handwarmer or two in their pocket, long underwear, their sweater, and new hat. The boys were so annoyed with me because the weather was not at all what our weather app had told me it would be. Instead of cold, windy, and rainy, it was a balmy 55°F with the sun peeking out. They pulled off their layers one by one as we traipsed through the city streets. Ever determined to use my handwarmers, I put their castaways in my own pockets and was the warmest I had been since landing in Iceland three days prior.
We arrived at the airport with what we thought was plenty of time for a small airport. Then, everyone had to poop. When four boys say they need to pee it’s a breeze. When four boys say they need to poop it’s more like World War III. No one knows when it will start or how long it will last. A half hour later, we made our way through customs and to the gate. We were at the back of the line, which meant our carry-ons needed to be checked. No matter, it was free! Apologies to the unfortunates behind us. It took the gate agent a solid five minutes to set it up in the system. The other passengers in the queue were getting restless because they weren’t allowed to use the other line. Why? They had e-tickets instead of paper tickets. This was one of those times where it would have been better for someone to have gone old school rather than depend on new tech. Feeling badly about holding everyone up, we boarded and settled in for a short 2 hour flight.
We touched down in Dublin where it was at least 20 degrees warmer than Iceland. I was dying of heat at the airport, which was lacking in air flow, and hadn’t showered in three days because I was too cold to take off all of my layers in Iceland. Gross, I know. But I could not imagine getting into a shower when I was frozen. I headed to the bathroom where I stripped off my layers, threw out the handwarmers, and finally took off my hat. Thank goodness for dry shampoo.
After getting our luggage we jumped on a shuttle bus to pick up our car rental. This is one of the only locations we plan to have a car just to be able to reach our Airbnb. The rental car was under my name. I’m not going to lie. I was feeling apprehensive about the idea of driving a car on the “wrong” side of the road. Fortunately for me, I didn’t realize that when I booked the car it was a manual. In theory I can drive a manual. I had to move a post-college roommate’s car all of the time because we had to park back to back in our driveway. But, I only ever had to get it into first and reverse. Just enough to move it. Chaim, on the other hand, loves driving a manual and misses driving one. “Yoo-hoo. Chaim!” I called over to Chaim who had been watching the boys while I was at the counter. “You’re driving.” Chaim looked at me quizzically. He knew I was going to make him a second driver, why on earth did I need to tell him he was driving. I called him over and told him the news. “It’s a manual.” He understood and just said, “Oh.” I’m fairly certain that until that moment, he had been secretly relieved that he wasn’t going to have to attempt driving much on the “wrong” side of the road. I jumped for joy on the inside while looking very apologetic on the outside.
All sorted out, we lugged our belongings to the 7-seater car. Thank goodness for that seventh seat. We managed to fit two of our red bags into the “trunk” and then piled four onto the seventh seat. Everyone’s backpack went under their feet, except for Chaim’s which he managed to shove in the trunk. It took about five minutes to get in. Crammed into the car like sardines, the boys and I expectantly sat waiting for Chaim to start driving.
Imagine with me. Chaim sits down in the driver’s seat. Gets out and then gets back in. He stares at the controls, as one does when they get into a new car. He looks down at his feet where the pedals are. He counts the pedals. 1, 2, 3. All three are there. They are in the “right” order. He stares at the stick-shift. The gears are in the “right” order. But driving is on the “wrong” side of the road. “Chaim,” I gently say. “Can you please turn on the car so we can have some air conditioning?” “Oh. Right. Sure.” As we sat there waiting for Chaim to get comfortable, I promise him that I will not be a backseat driver. “There is no judgment,” I promise. If I was going to say something it was going to be as calmly as possible and just to try and help. About ten to fifteen minutes later, we pulled out of the car rental and headed off on the “wrong” side of the road.
