A lovely start to Day Two in our little dining room. This morning I chose Greek yogurt with fresh fruit and granola accompanied by some toast and marmalade. Perfect. I love that the Greek yogurt here is not sugared as it usually is in the U.S. They let the fruit do the sweetening and its delightfully refreshing—and healthy.

         It was another drizzly (that is, typical) Dublin day. To save some walking, and see the city another way, we decided to take the tram to the General Post Office (GPO). On my itinerary for the day I had only left a half hour for the GPO but when I reviewed the itinerary with Emmy (aka ChatGPT) she suggested giving longer at the GPO since there is a wonderful interactive museum about the 1916 Easter Uprising. So glad we revised the itinerary! She was right, the museum was well worth devoting more time to.

         The GPO itself is a magnificent building, impressively large and majestic with stone columns out front. Inside is just as grand. We followed signs to the museum and purchased tickets. The senior price was 23 Euro but there was a price for handicapped people of 8 Euros. I was wearing my brace and asked if I qualified as disabled. The young girl smiled and said, “Well, just looking at you I’d say yet.” Santo qualified as my “companion” so we both got in for 8 Euros. Who knew my bad neck could be a benefit?

         The museum presented the history sequentially, giving the background for the Uprising, both social conditions in Ireland and the evolving political landscape. There were several very well-done mini-documentaries on various aspects of this important chapter in Irish history. Also interactive touch-screens where you could zero in on topics of interest. I must admit to somewhat succumbing to the lure of the romanticism of the heroic young rebels, particularly the important role women played in the leadership. But the issue is too complex for romanticism, and armed revolt always ends in tragedy—in this case 485 dead in Dublin including women and children.

         We spent about 90 minutes in the museum and could have spent more but there were still items on our itinerary we wanted to hit, namely, lunch at Bewley’s and a visit to the National Library of Ireland where there is an exhibit on William Butler Yeats. Once outside the GPO, we turned back down O’Connell Street to the wide, graceful O’Connell Bridge over the Liffey. The rain had picked up and since Santo had not brought his rain jacket, we ducked into a Burger King and sat down for a few minute to see if the rain would subside. When we thought it was safe, we ventured back out and headed to Bewley’s.

         Bewley’s was little changed from what I remembered and brought back wonderful memories of the many chats and pastries my younger self had enjoyed here. Even with the hustle and bustle of the steady stream of customers and busy servers, the atmosphere is somehow calming. Perhaps it is the warmth of the gleaming wood or the gentle yet vibrant beauty of the stained glass, or a combination of the two. It was and is, and hopefully will remain, a very special place.

         After Bewley’s we knew we did not have time for the National Library so had to pass it up and head back to the hotel to collect our bags. Vio called us a cab and we were soon on our way to the airport for our flight to Hamburg and the awaiting Queen Mary 2.

         We were scheduled on a 5:20 fight from Dublin to Amsterdam on KLM, where we would get a flight to Hamburg after a 55-minute layover. I always worry about a layover that is less than an hour, but because KLM had cancelled one of our original flights, this was the best schedule we could get that would get us to Hamburg in time for the cruise. As it turned out, our flight was delayed 30 minutes and would now leave us even less time in Amsterdam to catch our next flight. We knew there was a good chance we wouldn’t make it.

         On the flight, we notified the flight attendants of our tight connection. They seemed less that interested in our plight. We were just told that there would be updates about connecting flights after we were airborne. When the connecting flight were announced, they gave us the gate number for the new flight but did not tell us which gate we were arriving at! When we inquired with the flight attendant again she said that we would be getting on a bus and everyone would be dropped at off at a central location at the terminal. “It will be easy,” she said. “No problem.” We were not convinced. Later the pilot made an announcement admitting that there were a few very tight connections but he said that everyone should be fine making our connections if we went directly to the gate. Still not convinced.

         Since I was supposed to have wheelchair assistance, we thought that this might help us get to the gate in time. But the flight attendant came over to tell us that we would have to wait until after everyone was off the plane to get the wheelchair. We would never make it if we were the last ones off the plane.  So I decided to walk.

         As it turned out, I did not walk. I ran. For what we would later find was one mile. Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam (pronounced something like “skip hole”) must be one of the largest airports in the world. Seemed even bigger than Heathrow, which we had found overwhelming. Santo took the lead, carrying my bag and his, trying to read all the confusing signs to direct us to Gate B22. I told him to go ahead and get to the gate, then tell them I was right behind him, but he kept checking back to see if I was OK. We thought we were getting close when all of a sudden we had to go through a passport control. There was only one officer and we had to wait in line. We saw our chances dimming, but tried to stay calm—not easy under the circumstances. We knew there would probably not be another flight to Hamburg that night, and we didn’t know if there was a morning flight that would get us to the Queen Mary in time. If we missed the boat, WE MISSED THE BOAT!

         After passport control, we kept running. I’m honestly not sure how I did it. Since I couldn’t hold my head up enough, I just tried to keep my eyes on Santo’s feet. Every time we thought we were getting close, there would be another arrow for B terminal pointing down yet another long corridor. Finally, we saw the sign for B22 and picked up our pace, racing against time. The desk at B22 was empty and the gate door was closed. We looked desperately at some people sitting at the gate and stupidly asked, “Did the date close? Is it closed?” almost in disbelief that we had come so close to making it. We could even see the plane outside the window sitting on the tarmac.

         Santo decided to run to the next gate where there was a KLM attendant at the desk and plead with her to open the gate for us. Of course, this was impossible, but I think all reason had left us on our mile run through Schiphol. The attendant directed us to a woman standing behind her and said, “My colleague will help you.” The woman was an elegant blond woman who gave us a very warm and understanding smile. “Come with me,” she said, leading the way to another KLM desk. There, she and another attendant both worked to get us rebooked to Hamburg in time for our ship’s departure. They were both so kind and reassuring, completely sympathetic to our situation. It made a difference. I felt better just interacting with them, but Santo could not let go of his frustration. He was exhausted and upset, and began to feel it physically. He went to sit down while I handled the rebooking.

         “Is he OK,” the blond woman asked, concerned. “He’s tired and frustrated,” I said. Then I added, “He’s 83 years old.” I could tell she was surprised. She knew I already had an order for assistance but she put one in for him as well. Before long, one of the motorized airport carts came along to pick us up. We had a voucher for a hotel, dinner at the hotel, and $15 each to spend on breakfast at the airport in the morning. We were booked for a 10:10 am flight that would get us to Hamburg at 11:15 am. If we were on time, there should be no trouble getting to the cruise terminal in time.

         The woman who drove us in the cart was so warm and helpful. She saw that Santo had assistance ordered, but there was no order for me. So she was able to add me. As we drove back along the route we had run just minutes ago, we were amazed at the distance we had run. When the cart parked, there was a wheelchair waiting for me and the same woman pushed me even further, and eventually outside to a shuttle stop for our hotel. Santo tried to offer her 10 Euros but she would not take it. Finally she said, “Give it to someone you see who is in need. Then I will feel I did something good.”

         After about a 10-minute bus ride, we made it to the hotel. Santo sat down while I took care of checking us. The hotel, the Steinberger Amsterdam, was beautiful, with a large marble lobby, flowers, comfortable seating, and a bar and restaurant just beyond the lobby. Luckily the restaurant served food until 11:30 pm. It was already almost 10 pm. We checked into our room, also large and lovely, and headed down to get something to eat. We enjoyed a salmon dinner with some zero beer and started to settle down from our misadventure. Our server was a lovely young woman with a beautiful smile. Another angel put in our path. More balm for our weary souls!