I settled in wistfully for my last big breakfast at the B&B. The people there had been very nice, and the rooms were comfortable. Plus we didn't really know where we would be staying the night, only that it would be in Ireland.

Ken and Mabel had us over for some tasty curry before kindly giving us a lift to the Bristol airport. Laura and I had no problem checking in and were excited about starting this part of the trip together.

The flight seemed to be no problem, though I had a bit of a cold. Laura asked me if that was going to bother me, and I said no, thinking it was just a matter of enough kleenex. Then, as we approached Dublin, I discovered that sinuses can be a serious issue when you are in a landing airplane. It started as something like an insect bite on one of my temples; I asked Laura if she could see a bug or something, and she said no. Then it spread to the other temple, and I knew something was up, and it just got worse and worse until I felt like my head was going to explode through my eyebrows. I was sweating all over and nauseous (kept it in, which was appreciated by the guy sitting next to us) and it was the worst pain that I can remember having for a long time (probably because it is right in my head and I don't get headaches). The moral of the story is to take decongestants (which I did religiously after this incident) if you are flying with a head cold.

In Ireland, Christmas lasts for three days in the sense that everything is shut down from the 24th to the 26th (Saint Stephen's Day). Unable to catch any kind of transportation up to Drogheda, we stayed at a hostel in Dublin near the bus station.

Eateries and pubs were also quite limited on this holiday night, but we did find a hotel pub around the corner (one of many, but this one was open and had food) that had a restaurant in the back. I ordered an irish stew that turned out to be nearly the size of my head. Delicious. Then we retired to the drinking area for some . . . drinking. Guinness in Ireland . . . so good . . .