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June 05, 2005

The Big Apple

Saturday 7th August – Dublin Airport

“I leaving / on a jet plane / don’t know when I’ll be back again” is not the sort of song you want to here while your driving to the airport. Especially when John Denver’s singing it. I was anxious enough as it was flying over to another continent. Alone. True I was going to be staying with friends when I got there but the big commute itself would be taken only by me. Eager to check in my suitcase, I headed over to the check-in area and chose the smallest queue which turned out to have the longest waiting time as the people in front of me all had about a million bags with them. When I finally reached the desk, the girl gave me some forms I would have to fill in before I would be allowed through pass American customs. I had to answer questions like “Are you a Nazi?” or “Were you involved in the Spanish Inquisitation?” After scribbling in my answers I dashed off to look for my gate. Two floors later, I was sitting in the waiting area trying to spot any suspicious looking characters to keep my eye on. I figured the final random routine check before we boarded the plane would catch any oddballs. “Excuse me sir, can you just step over here please. Routine check.” I know. I was as horrified as you that I was about to be searched. “This is just a routine pat down, sir. Could you stand feet apart and arms out, please” Oh the embarrassment. Of all people to be frisked, it would have to be me. “Now could just put your bag on the table, please sir. Do you have any sharp objects in there?” “Ehhhhhh…” I said out loud trying to think would a pen be considered a sharp object. “Could you open your bag for me, sir?” Oh great. This just keeps getting better. “Now could you just sign here to say that I have searched your bag.” Then I realized he just wanted my autograph but was too afraid to ask so he did the elaborate way.

Aboard the plane, I thankfully got an aisle seat right beside the emergency door. As the plane took off I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t bought any sucky sweets to stop my ears from popping. In fact I had forgotten to buy a magazine to amuse myself during the flight so I was stuck with in flight TV. The question you should ask yourself when watching in flight TV is why am I watching ‘Keeping Up Appearances’? Of all the programes I could be watching whilst over the Atlantic, why the exploits of Hyacinth Bucket? It’s rhetoric. Don’t answer. A little while later the in-flight movie started. ‘Shrek 2’ which I’d all ready seen. During this I was wondering why they never played movies like “ALIVE” or “Air Force One” on planes.

Forward ahead around six hours when we came to a smooth landing in JFK. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity of waiting for my suitcase to come round on the conveyor belt, I headed for the exit so I could take my first steps on American soil. With that historic occasion out of the way, I needed a taxi. No sooner had I stepped out of the building I was approached by loads of people all offering cheap taxi fares for their various limos and mercs. Now while I’m partial to the odd limo journey I couldn’t see how a ride in a limo was going to work out cheaper than a ride in an ordinary taxi. Hence, I queued up for a Big Yellow Taxi to take me to Brooklyn. My driver was this crazy Jamaican dude who drove really, really fast. We sped through motorways and streets swerving in and out of different lanes. All the windows in the taxi were open letting the air rush through as if we were on a roller coaster. We then got lost in Brooklyn trying to find 11th Street on the corner of 3rd Avenue. My driver said he couldn’t read the signs which is just what you want to hear from your driver when you’ve just arrived in a different country and don’t know where you’re going. Eventually we did arrive. The fare was around 50euros. When I pulled out my immensely war-torn looking dollars, the cabbie said “Where you been hiding them, man?” “Bank of Ireland, my friend, Bank of Ireland” We bid adieu and I was left standing in front of my new home in Brooklyn. I pressed the buzzer and a voice crackled through asking “Who is it?” “It’s Liam,” I said. “I’ve arrived.”

Trains, Buses & Automobiles by Liam Geraghty appears every week in the Kildare Nationalist (page 6)

Posted by LiamG at June 5, 2005 10:25 PM