by JOSH HARRINGTON
Vacationing in June makes for such a wonderful time during the year: it’s still early enough in the summer that it isn’t blistering hot, the kids aren’t far removed from school-mode, and our favorite destinations are hitting their stride for accommodating waves of tourists. Living in the real world with a full-time job combined with the uncertainty of this year’s travelling season, I find myself pining for the days of annual June vacations. I blame one particular June escapade as the reason why. As much as people hate being labeled a “tourist,” I’ve always been one to embrace the term. My 8th-Grade English teacher, Sherry Edens, provided my family and me with just the opportunity to wear that badge of honor once again in June of 2014. She coordinated through the school an EF (Education First) organized guided tour to Ireland on a feature trip that they still offer called “The Emerald Isle.” For this excursion, EF flies its customers to the east coast of the island, and you breathe in the salty Irish Sea air as you embark from Dublin to the Ring of Kerry in the southwest corner, before returning to Dublin. This itinerary takes place all in a matter of nine days. As an American, at first, it sounded like a gruelling, Rat Race-style, cannonball run, but, to be quite honest, nine days were more than ample for our tour group to cover the 400 miles, round trip. For reference, Bristow is about 400 miles to St. Louis one way, which is a drive that can be easily made within the span of a day. My preparation for the trip began with signing up, of course, which was a breeze. My parents were eager to sign up as quickly as possible for this trip of a lifetime; our group was organized nearly a year before, and it was a small group at that. My friends Connor Corwin and Grant Mahaney were among 6 THE CORRIDOR MAGAZINE / JUNE 2020
those who came on the trip, which made for a more entertaining experience in gathering their rather peculiar insights. From the get go, the pair were most excited to see the architectural differences between American golf courses and the courses found in Ireland, the latter of which is a mere ferry ride from the “Home of Golf” at St. Andrews Links in Fife County of Scotland. Golfers. The next item on my agenda was procuring my passport, and I regret not getting a haircut before accomplishing that task. I look forward to the passport’s expiration so I can finally renew it and travel to a different country without the customs agent assuming I was going for the all-too flattering Ringo Starr cut circa 1964. After that, I got my wardrobe ready, which felt odd as I packed my jeans and sweatshirts in preparation for the cooler weather. Despite all of my preparation and excitement, my enthusiasm paled in comparison to my parents’. My mother and father were absolutely ecstatic as they had recently begun a genealogy kick and, lo’ and behold, we had some Irish roots. By the time May rolled around, my brother and my sister both got married within mere weeks of each other, which made for a nice little weight gain to burn off in walking tours. The only thing that stood between my family and the Emerald Isle was an hour flight from Tulsa to Chicago and an eight-hour flight to Dublin. After a rather short flight to O’Hare International Airport, we met up with the other half of our tour group to enjoy our one and a half hour layover in Chicago. While in the food court, my father and I tried Chicago-style pizza for the first time, which definitely is made better at Savastano’s in Tulsa with all due respect to the Windy City for having devised the concoction. We passed through the gate, and much
