Airport adventures, a crab fisherman and Belgian beer

3/1 - The travel day from Dublin back to Porterville on Saturday was worthy of its own blog. The biggest lesson for the day?

Ethiopian Airline sucks. Never again. My first experience with the airline in Los Angeles was no fluke.

After trying to sleep in Dublin Airport for five hours, the airline wanted to verify my payment card. I used a different card to pay for the flight, but that account is closed now. The woman at the desk told me a person would be over in two minutes to verify the card, so I moved to the side to wait.

Forty-five minutes later, still no one had helped me. I was visibly annoyed at this point, pacing back and forth and knocking on the counter with my knuckles. I sarcastically asked the check-in lady, "should I just come back another time when it's less busy?" The fact an Irish guy named Eddy was going through the same thing, but in his case it was more than two hours of waiting, should make the airline ashamed of itself. Eddy was fuming, at one point calling the check-in people assholes to their faces.

Once someone finally made their way over to help us, the whole process took less than five minutes. It was shockingly bad customer service. United in our combined mistreatment from the airline, Eddy and I formed a brief friendship. I found out he is the captain of F.V. Stella, a fishing boat in Alaska. This is the exact kind of boat you see on the television show "Deadliest Catch." We talked about it for a few minutes, and I gave him my business card after saying I'd love to try crab fishing for a season because there's a sense of danger there (it also pays incredibly well).

After completing the 10-hour flight back to Los Angeles and putting up with a screaming brat who actually lay face down in the isle a few times just screaming at the top of her voice, I had one more travel hurdle to overcome, and this is where the story really gets interesting. Since my flight was delayed an hour because of the terrible customer service, I missed my Amtrak bus to Bakersfield.

I bought an Amtrak ticket for a bus leaving Union Station, but I didn't know how far that station was away from LAX. I had a travel plan; it was just badly planned and executed. Since I missed my first bus, I called Amtrak and changed the ticket to a later bus which was about an hour later. After waiting for the shuttle to Union Station (which costs $7), I realized I'd be late for this one as well.

After another call to Amtrak to change my bus to a later departure, I found out the later departure was sold out, so it was either this bus in less than an hour or I'd have to find a place to stay in Los Angeles for the night. After a moment of brief panic and a "what am I supposed to do?!" to the person on the phone because I had to get across Los Angeles in about 40 minutes, my head cleared.

From that point I was forced to use my last and most desperate option to get across the city: a taxi. Luckily I had a good driver, an Ethiopian man (coincidence?) who zoomed me downtown and to Union Station in 25 minutes, five minutes before my bus left. After running through the station, frantically trying to figure out where my bus was, I made it, breathless and sweating. All things considered, the $60-plus fare to get me there was worth it, but that was one close call.

The bus trip to Bakersfield and train ride to Corcoran were uneventful besides the fact I sat next to a man who had been released from prison that day after a three-year stay. He had nothing with him besides the sweatsuit on his back and a few papers. I let him use my phone to get a ride from the train station because I'd want someone to help me if I were in his shoes.

I was happy to be back in Porterville that night, something I won't say too often. It was a long, expensive and stressful day, but it was also filled with crossing paths with fascinating people. Having an adventure and a good memory sometimes begins in the airport terminal, so the fact the day was difficult is no problem. I'm not angry; it's a great story!

4/1 - Despite being jetlagged, I visited some friends in Visalia on Sunday. To their house I brought my favorite beer: Trapistes Rochefort No. 10. I was pleasantly shocked to find it in a BevMo in Visalia. Though the bottle wasn't aged for more than a year like the one I had in Wales, this was still a damn good bottle of beer and well worth this $8-per-bottle price tag. It was a great way to spend a Sunday back in the Central Valley.

The rain jacket I took with me to Ireland absolutely reeks with the combined odor of wood smoke, sweat, dirt and manure. I unfolded it at the dry cleaners on the counter, and the odor made me take a step back. It served a useful purpose and I'm fortunate to have had it, but, damn, that was an awful smell. Fortunately, I have no pictures of the smell.

New Years in Dublin, Irish music and fellow Americans

30/12 - The journey into Dublin and to my hostel couldn't have gone smoother.

Unexpectedly, the bus dropped me off in the center of Dublin; I thought I would have to get a bus from the airport. I only had to walk five minutes to get to the hostel, which I saw from the bus. And as with being in a large, bustling city, I was itching to get off the bus so I could explore.

I'm in a 6-bed dormitory, and besides one drunk Irishman who came in at 3:30 a.m., I'm the only person in the room. But today I just wandered around, ate a falafel and felt at peace with the world. Dublin has been super chill so far, and I have nothing but good things to say about the city and this hostel. 

My hostel, the John Gogarty Hostel, sits above the pub named after the same person. It gets very busy in the evening, because there is live Irish music for about 12 hours every day. This pub has had a different vibe to any other bar I've experienced because of the fact most people sing along with the musicians and are committed to the song. It's very lively.

1/1 - My stay in Dublin has not followed the theme that began this trip to Ireland, namely, there have been no snags, snafus or fuck-ups, besides the fact I lost my room key (it was free to replace). It has been, forgive me for being cheesy and cliche, a perfect end to a perfect year. 

Dublin, particulaly my neighborhood, The Temple Bar, is incredible. The nightlife is perfect. Inside every pub is live accoustic music. Sometimes the music is fantastic, but the price of being packed into the pub like sardines and getting knocked around by others navigating through the crowd, such as on New Years Eve last night, isn't worth staying for. 

My favorite pub, The Temple Bar, is chaotic to say the least. It's always filled to capacity, there's always live music and every available space is taken up by something, whether it be pictures, foreign money, a large Santa Claus clutching handfulls of candy canes, police/EMT/fire badges from many different countries, lights and many other things. 

Luckily I was able to celebrate the New Year with Jessica and Emily, two Americans I met in my hostel. We spent the afternoon and evening drinking IPA and cider, but we drank smart by eating plenty and drinking water. It's always refreshing to spend a holiday with someone, especially when they're from the same country as you. 

I wandered around Dublin yesterday, stumbling across the National Gallery and  Little Museum of Dublin, so my day featured much more than just the drink. I even got a haircut and a beard trim from a barber; there are few things better than a good haircut in a strange city. Dublin is turning out to be one of my favorite places.

Today was more wandering around, but I did take a tour of the whiskey museum, had an Irish coffee and saw the new Star Wars movie (which was excellent). I saw more examples of why Dublin is so enjoyable: it's very colorful. There is so much street art on building walls that gives the city so much personality.

Despite the one hiccup of losing my key card and my shoes getting soaked through with so much rain, the trip to Dublin was a massive success. The trek to Ireland couldn't have been better, either, even with some of the cringe-inducing horror stories of the crashed Ethiopian Airlines system or being presented with the idea of getting deported from Ireland. It was a balance of complete opposites, with farm work in lonely northwest Ireland to raging New Years Eve parties in a big city. Considering my plan wasn't to come to Ireland until a week before departing, I think I did pretty well for myself. 

With it being 2016 now, I won't bore you reflecting on 2015; you've already read plenty of times about what I've done, where I've gone and what I've accomplished. But I will say this: moving to England and visiting 16 countries in 2015, and all of the stories that came from that, made me more confident in myself. Despite how arrogant it sounds, this past year has made me a much more interesting person as well. It made me realize I can do anything; it doesn't matter how many miles away from home I am or the language barrier of that country. Adventure never stops. 

So here's to 2016, a year in which hopefully my travels will continue and one more person will be inspired by the contents of this blog. That's my New Year's Resolution. 

Remember, an adventure begins as soon as you open the door. But for me at the moment, adventure means waiting in Dublin Airport for five hours in the middle of the night, flying for 10.5 hours and then spending several more getting back to Porterville. At least I'm not sick with the flu this year.

Newborn goat, leaving the farm and New Years in Dublin

27/12 - This place is going to be remembered for all of its smells. The house is always filled with the scent of wood smoke that comes from the stove near the back door. Then there's the odor of horse manure combined with the sweat while shoveling it into the wheelbarrow and soiled straw that was used by poultry. But there's the pleasant smell of clean air and damp earth as well.

It's amazing how good eggs, butter and milk taste when you know they came from just 30 feet away. They taste richer and creamier. Perhaps that's because they're more fresh or without chemicals. I'm not sure. I just know this city kid has never tasted anything like it.

My two days off are approaching, so I've been researching ways to travel. It turns out Swinford is in the middle of nowhere. It doesn't even have a train station. If I want to go to Northern Ireland and Couchsurf for a night, my best bet would be to get a car. That's expensive, though, and I don't want to spend too much.

28/12 - Instead of going to Northern Ireland, I'm going to be easy on myself (and a little bit dull) by just going back to Dublin for a few days before my flight. I'll leave the farm on Wednesday to give myself a day or two checking out the breweries of Dublin. Whether I'll Couchsurf, do Airbnb, get a hotel or sleep on the streets I still don't know.

I'm getting the routine down at the farm and more confident in understanding what needs to be done. But amid all of the routine, something completely random happens. For example, one of the goats gave birth today. Mary first noticed something was wrong because the goat was lying down. That usually only happens if it's being submissive to the other goats or if it's ready to give birth, she said to me.

While we created a makeshift pen for it, the goat kept standing up and lying down, so Mary called Anna to help her assist the goat with the delivery. They told me to keep clear so as not to stress the goat out more, so after doing a bit of work, I could hear a new, high-pitched voice, one that sounds like it breathed some helium.

The baby goat, which I learned is called a kid, is black and white and never stood up during the time I watched it. The mother also was not taking to it, so Anna and Mary held the goat and guided the kid's mouth to the udder to get to feed. I was amazed at how much of a difference one feeding made to the kid, as it looked more perky after getting a little bit of milk. Eventually the kid was placed in a shoebox filled with straw so it could stay warm over night.

I also learned a kid typically stands up and takes its first steps within 10 minutes of being born. In the time I watched, it stood up on shaky and clumsy legs while Anna rubbed its legs to get them moving. This was cool for me because I've never seen a newborn goat before. Another new experience while traveling.

29/12 - The baby goat is standing, walking and nursing off of its mother now. I had to be careful not to step on it while changing the water in the goat pens because it's so small. That came as a relief to Mary, who didn't think the situation would change for the better this quickly.

My week on the farm is complete. If I'm honest, I'm ready to leave. It's good to get some manual labor in to knock myself down a peg or two, but I wouldn't want to do farm work for months on end. Though it's immensely healthy, shoveling manure and working in the daily rain gets old because there's no variety in the daily routine. Mary and Anna are quick because they have their own routine and have been doing it for years, whereas I've done it for about six days. I got my fill of the farm.

Now that I've left, it seems like only yesterday I arrived. It was a quick trip, but rewarding nonetheless. As I sit here in the Gateway Hotel bar waiting for my bus that comes in an hour and a half, I should note that I feel proud of the fact I volunteered my time for a week. My traveling seems to always turn out positively, and I sincerely hope the bug to explore planet Earth never goes away. This adventure reinforces the fact I'll choose travel over work nine times out of 10. You can always make more money; when the opportunity to travel presents itself, you have to snatch it.

Tonight I'll stay in Dublin for a couple of nights in the Temple Bar district, which is in the center of the city. From the looks of things, it's a very lively area so New Years Eve (NYE) should be plenty memorable. I'll stay in a six-bed dormitory in a hostel and there looks to be plenty to see in Dublin. I'm really looking forward to it because this city life is the complete opposite of my time on a farm in a lonely part of Ireland. For NYE, I won't be getting trashed, but I do want to find a good microbrewery. I'd like to get a pint or two of a good Irish beer, or if possible, a bottle of Trapistes Rochefort.

So here's to celebrating the end of a fantastic year in Dublin. A visit to the National Leprechaun Museum is in order.