Contributor Andrew Post is traveling in the U.K and Ireland for the next two weeks covering the World Cup and his trip for TheExpeditioner.com. This week he’s in North East England before heading to Dublin, then on to Scotland. Minus any hooligan-related incidents, Andrew will be checking in with dispatches along the way. God help him.

By Andrew Post

Reality is harsh. Our existence on this earthly plane is, by most accounts, an impartial one. The universe cares little for the fortunes of the individual. But every so often, life rewards us with small miracles. Once in a great while the stars align, the dice roll, and the roulette wheel stops where we want it to. During such bittersweet moments as partings, these tiny miracles can make the difference between a journey taken and a journey long remembered.

The Climb To Arthur’s Seat

It was my last day in Edinburgh, and I knew it. Soon I’d be boarding the train for Newcastle, there to spend two precious last days and then depart for home. Jeff and I would go our separate ways in Scotland — he was heading to London directly. Perhaps I’d see him again, perhaps not. So we were determined to squeeze the last trap of dolce vita out of Edinburgh before we left.

Between the sagging mattress, the alcohol in my system, the snores of other sleepers, and the parched quality of my mucus membranes, I didn’t get much rest. I finally slid out of bed at 8:30 a.m. to check my e-mail. I rudely awakened our Romanian roommate as I sat down on a vacant bed to put on my boots. He looked around blearily as I apologized in a whisper. His voice was deep, and had the frog-like quality that smacked of a bender. (more…)

Contributor Andrew Post is traveling in the U.K and Ireland for the next two weeks covering the World Cup and his trip for TheExpeditioner.com. This week he’s in North East England before heading to Dublin, then on to Scotland. Minus any hooligan-related incidents, Andrew will be checking in with dispatches along the way. God help him.

By Andrew Post

Roaming the globe is always a learning experience. Even Captain Cook would tell you that there’s always something new a traveler can discover. He might also tell you (as he rubbed the back of his head) that every interaction between a foreigner and a local is an opportunity for a fatal faux pas.

In my wanderings, I have made every attempt to read up on the customs, traditions, and history of a locale before I so much as set foot in it. I am meticulous in my conduct, assiduous in my behavior, polite in word and deed, so that I may never offend or alienate the inhabitants of the places I visit. I am the pinnacle of etiquette and an example of anti-ethnocentrism to the world.

If you believed the above paragraph, I have a bridge to sell you.

I goof up all the time, everywhere I go. There are some standards of politeness I can’t even get right in my own country, let alone abroad in this big, wonderful world. There were two particularly noteworthy “whoops” moments which occurred during my three-day sojourn in Edinburgh, Scotland, both of which I intend to warn you against.

To Scotland By Rail

The train ride to Edinburgh from Newcastle, Northern England, was absolutely stunning. The tracks came down right beside the cliffs overhanging the stormy, grey North Sea. Breakers tossed and rolled over black rocks. Miles of open country flew by, quintessential in their Britishness: forests which Robin Hood wouldn’t have felt like an idiot hiding out in; hedgerows and fields that would’ve had Tom Hanks thinking, “It’s World War II documentary time.” Sheep pastures, herds of Black Angus, and a few Clydesdale horses completed the agrarian scene. Once in Scottish territory, the terrain became hillier, and the seas became wilder and rougher, even though the skies were clearing. Sail-surfers swooped through the breakers, bushes and trees grew wilder in the pastures. We were in Celtic territory: William Wallace, steam power, whisky distilling, shipbuilding, philosophy, broadswords, tartan, and deep-fried Mars Bars. (more…)

Contributor Andrew Post is traveling in the U.K and Ireland for the next two weeks covering the World Cup and his trip for TheExpeditioner.com. This week he’s in North East England before heading to Dublin, then on to Scotland. Minus any hooligan-related incidents, Andrew will be checking in with dispatches along the way. God help him.

By Andrew Post

As travelers, we bounce from one nerve-wracking situation to the next. Circumstances which test the nerves and stretch the limits of the comfort zone await the wanderer in serried ranks. No sooner is one crisis averted than another rears its head. Lost passports, scary new cities, blocked roads, natural disasters, airport delays, long bus journeys, dodgy hostels, and smelly roommates are just a few of the dangers and annoyances that we face along the way.

Few people, however, are faced with such double danger as your humble correspondent. Imagine braving the perils of a big city in Ireland . . . immediately followed by the trial of hosting a barbecue for a bunch of strangers.

In the words of Arne Saknussemm, the venerable explorer from Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth: “I have done this.”

My head was fairly well off on the dawn of our third and last day in Dublin. I’d cheated the hangover gnomes by popping a couple of aspirins and gulping loads of water before bed. (more…)

Contributor Andrew Post is traveling in the U.K and Ireland for the next two weeks covering the World Cup and his trip for TheExpeditioner.com. Minus any hooligan-related incidents, Andrew will be checking in with dispatches along the way. God help him.

By Andrew Post

There are many ways to enter Dublin. The Vikings came with swords and ships, ravaging the countryside, uniting the two Gaelic villages of Dubh Linn and Átha Cliath into a major city. The English came with daggers and promises, finishing the work that the Vikings began, placing the Irish and the new city of Dublin under British rule. And now, in the last few years, people from around the world — Asia, Africa, continental Europe — have come to Ireland to build new lives, bringing industry and exotic foods and foreign spice, lending a dash of international flavor to an already culturally wealthy metropolis.

My buddy and I decided to come to Dublin with a hangover.

Where’ve All The Irish Gone?

In less-than-triumphal progress, Jeff and I stepped off the Ryanair jet and into the terminal at Dublin Airport. We were broadsided by the apparent Irishness immediately. All the airport signage was bilingual: Gaelic in prominence, printed in jaunty shamrock green, with English in white, taking a small, secondary place beneath. (more…)

Contributor Andrew Post is traveling in the U.K and Ireland for the next two weeks covering the World Cup and his trip for TheExpeditioner.com. This week he’s in North East England before heading to Dublin, then on to Scotland. Minus any hooligan-related incidents, Andrew will be checking in with dispatches along the way. God help him.

By Andrew Post

For A Few Pints More

After the anticlimactic but non-fatal draw between the USA and England, it was time for a day of rest. Elaine, one of my gracious hosts, had to go to work for the day, but Adam decided to take Jeff and I into South Gosforth (one of Newcastle’s northern suburbs) to meet her afterward.

At about one o’clock, Adam’s mate Jay showed up in his blue Renault. Jay was born a Geordie (for a definition, see my first dispatch), but lived in London while attending university, and has traveled extensively in the U.S. and Australia — all of which meant that his accent wasn’t as pronounced as Adam’s or Elaine’s. His car was like a sardine can, a minuscule hatchback with just enough space for us tall blokes to get our knees under the dashboard.

Walking and driving through sizable English cities makes one sympathize with the numerous Britons who have deserted their shores and gone to live in the States. The main reason is elbow room. London was cramped enough, but Newcastle, though logically laid out, is a maze of byways, one-lane residential streets, and omnipresent roundabouts. Navigating this maze — in a Renault no less — is an exercise in reflex and agility. Clearance between parked cars and moving ones is practically nil at times. Roundabouts eliminate the need for stoplights, but they tend to throw a heavy dose of inertia at drivers as the car whips into the outside curve, throwing all its passengers to the left.

Compound this with the fact that I was sitting up front, and (23 years of driving American cars notwithstanding), there was no steering wheel. My disorientation and dismay should be understood. (more…)

Contributor Andrew Post is traveling in the U.K and Ireland for the next two weeks covering the World Cup and his trip for TheExpeditioner.com. This week he’s in North East England before heading to Dublin, then on to Scotland. Minus any hooligan-related incidents, Andrew will be checking in with dispatches along the way. God help him.

By Andrew Post

You must understand that my journey to Newcastle-upon-Tyne in North East England was like a wildebeest’s migration. There was very little sleep and quite a lot of walking. It was a feverish, relentless drive across a continent and an ocean, in pursuit of a singular goal. I was on a pilgrimage of sorts. I was traveling to the Holy Land of football — what we uninitiated savages over on the other side of the pond know as “soccer.”

I was on a mission to watch the England vs. USA World Cup match in an English pub.

Welcome To “The Toon”

Worn down by four airports and eleven hours of flight, I stepped off the plane in Newcastle, went down the steps and entered the terminal. The sun’s warm glow took the chill out of the breeze blowing off the North Sea. The air was cool and fresh. It was if the weather itself had decided to welcome me to Northumberland. (more…)