The beginning of chilly Ireland

My backbag at the Heathrow arrived with bunch of green stickers taped on it, informing me that the Heathrow security had taken a closer look in it. The poor thing was also awfully dirty as if it had been dragged behind the luggage-truck rather than in it. Back in Mexico City i almost forgot to tell at the check-in that i want to receive my luggage already in London and not in Finland, which was actually the final destination marked on my ticket. Would've been somewhat funny if my luggage arrived in Vantaa airport while i was in London, though i'm quite sure i wouldn't have laughed at that moment.
And Heathrow is still by far the most comfortable, cleanest, and best-organized airport i have ever been to. And also the most expensive :).

When the flight from Mexico to UK was the smoothest ever, including rather disappointingly unnoticeable soft take-off and landing, then my following RyanAir flight to Ireland was quite the opposite: we literally plunged into the landing strip. I was surprised the plane still had it's wheels after that.

The flight was only about 50 minutes, but Slovenian football support-team still somehow managed to get totally drunk during that time and Irish skank-youth was making farting noises all through the flight. First time in my life i saw a flight attendant who during the safety demonstration utterly failed to open the seat-belt buckle. Luckily for her nobody besides me seemed to be paying attention, even i noticed her only because she had a Latvian name on her nametag.

Upon entering the Europe, the era of living in over-crowded youth hostel dormitories began. Many weeks of drunk people stumbling from bed to bed until they find an empty one, dirtiest and hairiest showers one will ever see or ever again want to see, barely clean linens and maybe even witnessing couple of backpacker nightly make-out sessions, if i'm unlucky enough. My first stop was a 6-bed dorm in Belfast. Amazingly enough i was the only person in the room. Four more people were supposed to come, but i guess they cancelled in the last minute. During the night i didn't know that so in every couple of hours i woke up, opened one eye and screened the room to see if i have any new neighbours.

That was the saddest night i had since i left Estonia. I was terribly jet-lagged, it was very cold and in an empty 6-metal-bed-dormitory you kind of feel clearer how alone and far away you really are and miss all those left behind. I think even i'm allowed a moment or two of melancholy :).

It's funny actually - during this time "on the road", i haven't felt alone or anyhow off-mood, quite the opposite actually. I like being on my own and me & myself & i are getting along much better than i expected :). But my choice of music of lately betrays some of my inner feelings. Everybody who knows me might remember that about 15 years ago i was a dire "Backstreet Boys" fan. At that time i was a bit lonely teenager and the music of BSB kept me company. It also helped that i had a mad crush in Nick, one of the blond-haired members of the band. I was a proper fan for about 7 years, with super-size posters on the walls and stuff. Until one day just like that i felt that i've had enough, i took down all the posters and converted to Wu Tang Clan, Public Enemy and Cypress Hill pretty much overnight. It was a bit of a sudden change but i guess my loneliness had been eased. But now i find myself every once in a while listening to BSB again, just like the old times. Except for the crush in Nick, i have Vallo to thank for that: i will never look at any blond-haired (and rather short) man with any other involuntary feeling than disgust and contempt.

The morning was again bright and sunny and BSB was happily replaced with "Gnawa Diffusion" :).