Back from the long weekend in Dublin, and the heat wave has finally broken, so that my bedroom is 26 C (79 F) instead of 32 C (90 F) at bedtime. Much more bearable. It's a three day work week, but there is no rest for the wicked, as this coming weekend is my birthday, so I will go from a long weekend in Dublin to a short week at work to a weekend of celebration. One of these days, I will catch up on my sleep.
Dublin was good, although it was a hassle to get there. We were supposed to fly out Friday evening, but our flight was cancelled at the last minute due to malfunctioning de-icing equipment. Yes, it was hot as hell in the summer, but apparently the planes are not allowed to take off without de-icing equipment, just in case you have to divert to Siberia or something. Two of my friends waited in the long line at the transfer desk, and two of us decided to go out to the main ticketing desk to see if they could do anything about it. It took us 20 minutes of constant, brisk walking through corridors, up and down escalators, in and out of buildings, through passport control, and so on to get to a spot that was probably only 100 meters from where we started. Guess the Zurich airport was not designed for complications. They operate under the assumption that things will work. Period. So there is no reason to design the airport to allow for easy movement between terminals.
In any case, we eventually got to Dublin on Saturday morning, and my friend came to get us at the airport. He's in his mid-20's, a normal beer-drinking Irishman, and he suggested that we go back to his place for breakfast and then we could sit around and have "tea and cakes," which to the American ear sounds rather granny-ish, but it's apparently the normal thing to do in Ireland. So we went back to his place and he started pulling together some breakfast. First he gave us "Scotch eggs," which were whole hard-boiled eggs encased in sausage and breading, then fried. They seemed like they were quite enough for breakfast, but then he fried up three different kinds of sausage, a pile of bacon, and some eggs, tossed in some toast, butter, cheese, and other things, then said that we were just having a small breakfast, comparatively. Compared to what, I shudder to imagine. If that's what breakfast is in Ireland, there is no good reason why Americans are the fattest people in the world. There was enough pork on the table to feed a small village, as long as none of the villagers were vegetarian or kosher.
At various points, my friend expressed his love of the following foods: cheese sandwiches with a salty-sour jelly-like spread; "French-fried toast," which is basically French toast made with salt and pepper and eaten with ketchup; Nutella and butter sandwiches; and peanut butter and butter sandwiches, and was disgusted by some of my suggestions: Reese's cups; French toast with maple syrup; bacon dipped in maple syrup; and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They say that Americans, the Irish, Brits, and Aussies are separated by a common language, but I'd say that we're also separated by rather uncommon foods. Like French toast with ketchup. Eek.
Coming back to Zurich brought one unexpected perk. Tuesday was Swiss National Day (their version of July 4th), and fireworks had been banned in the city itself, since the dry spell and heat wave increased the risk of fires, so if we had stayed, we wouldn't have seen any fireworks. As we descended towards the airport, however, we could see all of the fireworks people were setting off outside of the city center, and for the first few seconds, it looked like faraway paparazzi or signal fires, until we realized what it was, and enjoyed the show from afar.
Birthday party this weekend, wish me luck.
Dublin was good, although it was a hassle to get there. We were supposed to fly out Friday evening, but our flight was cancelled at the last minute due to malfunctioning de-icing equipment. Yes, it was hot as hell in the summer, but apparently the planes are not allowed to take off without de-icing equipment, just in case you have to divert to Siberia or something. Two of my friends waited in the long line at the transfer desk, and two of us decided to go out to the main ticketing desk to see if they could do anything about it. It took us 20 minutes of constant, brisk walking through corridors, up and down escalators, in and out of buildings, through passport control, and so on to get to a spot that was probably only 100 meters from where we started. Guess the Zurich airport was not designed for complications. They operate under the assumption that things will work. Period. So there is no reason to design the airport to allow for easy movement between terminals.
In any case, we eventually got to Dublin on Saturday morning, and my friend came to get us at the airport. He's in his mid-20's, a normal beer-drinking Irishman, and he suggested that we go back to his place for breakfast and then we could sit around and have "tea and cakes," which to the American ear sounds rather granny-ish, but it's apparently the normal thing to do in Ireland. So we went back to his place and he started pulling together some breakfast. First he gave us "Scotch eggs," which were whole hard-boiled eggs encased in sausage and breading, then fried. They seemed like they were quite enough for breakfast, but then he fried up three different kinds of sausage, a pile of bacon, and some eggs, tossed in some toast, butter, cheese, and other things, then said that we were just having a small breakfast, comparatively. Compared to what, I shudder to imagine. If that's what breakfast is in Ireland, there is no good reason why Americans are the fattest people in the world. There was enough pork on the table to feed a small village, as long as none of the villagers were vegetarian or kosher.
At various points, my friend expressed his love of the following foods: cheese sandwiches with a salty-sour jelly-like spread; "French-fried toast," which is basically French toast made with salt and pepper and eaten with ketchup; Nutella and butter sandwiches; and peanut butter and butter sandwiches, and was disgusted by some of my suggestions: Reese's cups; French toast with maple syrup; bacon dipped in maple syrup; and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They say that Americans, the Irish, Brits, and Aussies are separated by a common language, but I'd say that we're also separated by rather uncommon foods. Like French toast with ketchup. Eek.
Coming back to Zurich brought one unexpected perk. Tuesday was Swiss National Day (their version of July 4th), and fireworks had been banned in the city itself, since the dry spell and heat wave increased the risk of fires, so if we had stayed, we wouldn't have seen any fireworks. As we descended towards the airport, however, we could see all of the fireworks people were setting off outside of the city center, and for the first few seconds, it looked like faraway paparazzi or signal fires, until we realized what it was, and enjoyed the show from afar.
Birthday party this weekend, wish me luck.
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