Despite the significant snags, we thoroughly enjoyed our time at Giant's Causeway. Northern Ireland has a wild beauty that is without parallel, and the whole place vibrates with the energy of an unharnessed freedom, of open fields, windy grass, and rushing waves. I will not miss the damp cold that permeates every pore and the ever-present moisture that prevents wet things from drying, but those round, flat stones paved their way into my heart, and I dream of going back to explore the surrounding cities a little more.
The drive to the airport is smooth, but the small one inexplicably loses it as we board the plane. We tell ourselves it's only for an hour that we and everyone else in this very enclosed puddle-jumper must endure the vocal renditions of a pterydactyl, but one hour quickly turns to three as we sit on the tarmac waiting for the UK to right their radar system. How the radar for an entire country went down and then back up within a few hours is beyond me - I'm picturing someone unplugging it, plugging it back in, and turning it on.
We land in Manchester and hurriedly collect our bags, eager to make the 1.5-hour drive through Windermere's narrow country roads before dark only to find an entire wheel missing from my biggest checked bag. Good thing the sun never sets up here.
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