Dublin Debacle

We decided that this time around, we would stop over in Dublin for a night before continuing on to our stay in Germany. Due to several cancellations by the airlines, we couldn’t take a direct flight, so stopping in Dublin was our best option. And since the only flights to Europe from Boston are red-eyes, we’re always exhausted halfway through. That feeling that you’d pay a million dollars for a bed and a pillow is brutal, since neither Matt nor I can sleep on planes. So we thought we’d try checking into an airport hotel when we arrived in Dublin in the morning. The catch, of course, was having to lug our checked bags on and off the hotel shuttle and around the airport parking areas. In the rain.

Since I didn’t know what our food options would be at the hotel, I went looking for a shop to buy some prepackaged snacks to get me through the day. I found a little convenience store inside the airport and got a couple yogurts, some crackers, some soft cheese wedges, some rice cakes with chocolate on them, and a Coke Zero. I hoped I’d be able to get a salad or something at the hotel cafe, but this stuff combined with our stash of Larabars could easily cover me if I couldn’t.

After a 20 minute (not 5 minute, like the website said) ride to the hotel, we checked into our room. Relieved that they checked us in early, we opened the door to the room that time forgot. The carpet was matted down to a burgundy piece of felt, cigarette burns dotting it every few feet. The beds were squeaky and you could feel the springs right through them, and the furniture was nothing short of amazing in that it was straight from the 70s. Literally.

Matt politely called the front desk to complain about the cigarette smoke smell, and they were kind enough to switch us to a renovated room on the next floor. Meanwhile, I was so desperate to wash the airplane smell off of me that I actually ran a bath in hopes that at least there was hot water. Matt returned with the new keys to find me sitting in a pool of filth, dirt actually floating on the surface of the water. He applauded my good-natured attempt to pretend that the room was OK, but suggested I get out of the tub before I got some kind of infection.

The new room was a vast improvement. I no longer felt the threat of ringworm or bedbugs and after a long, hot shower, Matt and I descended into the plush white bedding to catch up on sleep. We awoke around dinner time and went downstairs in search of food. There was a casual pub area in the lobby where the prices didn’t seem outrageous, so we went in there and looked at the menu. I saw a green salad with broccolini, quinoa, and cranberries that looked promising. I ordered it without the cranberries, and with oil and vinegar on the side. You could add chicken for a Euro fifty, so I decided to get a double portion of chicken (I assumed that at that price, there probably wouldn’t be much). But when my food arrived, there were two massive chicken breasts on top of some sad looking lettuce and some questionable broccolini. The broccolini didn’t taste exactly rotten, but it was close. For some unknown reason, I ate it all, save some of the chicken which Matt took off my hands. Well, I paid for it dearly with awful stomach cramps all night. Neither of us was able to sleep through the night anyway since jet lag was throwing us off so badly, so we started our return to the airport just as exhausted as if we had skipped the hotel altogether.

Included with our room was a free breakfast, and Matt wanted to take advantage. We thought maybe they’d have oatmeal or fruit or something less volatile than the double chicken salad. We also thought that it would be a quick buffet since all the guests would be rushing off to the airport, but no. With true Irish hospitality, we were met at the front of a dining room by a host who asked for our room number. Matt told him, and we started to follow him to a table where we would have to order from a menu. Before we could get there, another employee confronted me and asked for my room number. We explained that we were already being shown to our seats when she insisted on taking our luggage from us. Already tight on time, this was the last straw for me, and I cursed and stormed out of the place, heading straight for the shuttle. While on the 25 minute ride back to the airport, I complained loudly about the length of the ride, the process involved with breakfast, and the horror of the first room they had given us. While no one seemed to notice, much less care, Matt suggested we simply leave an honest review on Trip Advisor, including the pictures of the first room that he took. This got me to calm down and stop being so embarrassingly rude. I turned my attention to getting through the next leg of our trip without throwing a fit.