Ahdom Smith Travel Blog

3 AM. I woke up, gave up on the idea of “real sleep,” and decided to just surrender to the broken-night haze. A few hours later, Sal and I were dragging ourselves onto a plane for the next layover: five hours in Amsterdam, Netherlands. The flight was short, and I dozed most of the way, saving what little energy I had. When we landed, our wallets were as empty as our eyelids were heavy. Still, adventure called, and we followed the signs out of the airport in search of the train. Fifteen euros lighter, we had a pair of round-trip tickets to Amsterdam city center clutched in our hands and another stamp on our passport. Sal and I were pretty irritable from lack of sleep, which made a strange combination for the amount of excitement we had to see a new city. The first breath outside hit me like a reset button—cool, crisp air that felt both foreign and invigorating. We eventually got on the correct train to the city after asking a few people. We boarded the train, snapping a few photos ...

We boarded the plane with a mix of anticipation and exhaustion. It was one of those smaller planes that board from both the front and the back, and you had to climb the steps outside like you were either a rock star or a political figure about to wave at a crowd. First time I’d ever done it, and I felt a little like the latter, minus the Secret Service. Inside, the cabin was buzzing with Irish accents. Even the safety briefing sounded lyrical, especially when they repeated everything in Gaelic. I couldn’t understand a word of it, but it felt ancient, magical — like the airplane might transform into a flying pub at any second. The flight itself was short, just long enough to remind me that I’d picked the wrong snack before boarding. Before I knew it, we were descending into Cork, green patchwork fields rolling out beneath us. At the airport we met Ken, our ride and guide. As the van wound through narrow roads, the scenery kept us glued to the windows: emerald fields dotted with cows, he...

  SALISBURY We had an early cross-country train ride from Scotland ahead of us, our first stop: London, England. Somewhere along that long ride, Dad decided it was the perfect time to unload our Scotland photos and videos onto his computer. Big mistake. He managed to save a few, and then—poof—the computer ate the rest. A tragic loss. I buried my grief in my travel journal while Sal sulked. At one stop, Dad got up to use the toilet, and when he returned, a young woman had slid into his seat. “Did I pinch your seat, love?” she asked sweetly. Dad looked around, puzzled, and muttered, “I don’t think so,” taking her question literally. He smiled before awkwardly sitting beside her.    Eventually, we rolled into London, where chaos awaited in the form of the Underground. Whoever designed that system clearly had a grudge against tourists. One wrong hop and you’re stranded. Add in the hypnotic chant of “Mind the Gap” echoing at every station, and it felt like some sort of claustr...

I was standing on the brink of what could only be described as a marathon of a weekend. First, there was the birthday party for my soon-to-be three-year-old son, Liam. Pulling that off alone already had my nerves doing cartwheels. Add to that a Kings of Leon concert on October 3rd and, oh yes, a flight across the pond the very next morning. The plan? Stay up all night and trick my body into UK time. The reality? Sitting in the airport terminal, diary in hand, running on fumes and Braum’s breakfast, waiting for a plane that was late, while my eyelids staged a mutiny. We first flew to Minnesota for our layover. I practiced a bit of sleep under a bench until our flight to Amsterdam was ready to depart. I was so completely spaced out. After our long, sleepy flight to Amsterdam, we landed and got to our terminal to Manchester. We decided to exchange our currency for Pounds. Then, we were off to England. Eventually, we stumbled into a café by the train station, where the automatic door h...