I have flown through the Toronto airport two times before, for connecting flights to Europe. Guess how many times Toronto has screwed me? TWICE. Each lovely time that I have flown through Toronto, my flight was delayed 24 hours. I have no problem with Canada, and would love to spend some time there, but come on. Twice in a row? It’s very disheartening to arrive at the airport knowing you have missed your connecting flight, having to stand in a ridiculously long line that takes about 3-5 hours to get through, just to be told “Here's your accommodation. Your next flight is in two days.” TWO DAYS. Then, you have to call this number and they may potentially be able to assist in getting your flight changed to a sooner date.
At the Toronto airport, if I hadn't started talking to the lovely older folks behind me in line, I would have been doubly fucked. They asked way more questions than me, figured out how to actually make the flight change (since I was repeatedly told to call back tomorrow, call back later), and saved me from having to stay in Toronto another night. So, a big thank you to Rosemary, Bridget, Ed, and the last lady (whose name I forget)!
Okay, sorry, I have bitched far too much. Now on to the good stuff. After getting my flight changed, I was able to fly the following night to London with a connecting flight to Dublin. I got to the Dublin airport at 9 A.M. and was utterly and completely drained. Four hours of sleep in 48 hours will make anyone feel haggard. Anyway, so I found my suitcase and carried my ridiculously heavy backpack onto a bus and into the city. Finding my hostel was surprisingly easy as pie, and luckily they still had a room for me, since I missed the first night and my booking had been canceled.
Lug all my crap up the stairs at the hostel. Feel ridiculous because I have a giant backpack, purse, and suitcase, in a hostel. Get funny looks by the people in my dorm upon arrival cause of said stuff. Oh well. From there, I stare at my bunk and contemplate how much I want to sleep. Instead, I decide to get the terribly boring things done in my semi-incapacitated state. Spent the day at the Immigration Bureau to get my registration card (holy shit balls, 6 hours is far too long) and got my Irish phone number. On my way back to the hostel, I ran into an Australian who was trying to get people to donate for a good cause. He tricked me with his charming demeanor and good looks into signing up to donate 12 euros a month. Hopefully, I get that job soon!
Oh yeah, I also ate at Tolteca, which is EXACTLY like Chipotle. Their menu, branding, and everything is the same. I was shocked at how much it was like Chipotle without being Chipotle, though the food wasn't quite as good.
So, I headed back to the hostel and napped until my lovely German bunkmates came back to our room. They were headed to a pub crawl and offered me some vodka and Monster energy drink, which I gladly downed and asked for another. I decided I would go out for a drink, and met some lovely Irishmen before heading back to pass the fuck out.
I find out where I am renting my flat by the week. Turns out, it’s in a great location, but unfortunately, I have to share a bedroom. However, my flatmates are very lovely - three Italians and one Spaniard, though we struggle a bit to communicate as they are all here to improve their English.
Needless to say, they took me out the first and second night and have been extremely generous and welcoming towards me, which is fantastic! I’ve been spending the last few days just wandering the city and trying to gain my bearings. I am now just settling in, and trying hard to get on that job grind. Though not too much luck on that front yet. Hopefully, I'll have a job soon!