Gallery • 36 Photos

The airplane smelled dank and soggy. A few seats over a girl in her twenties sat across from me, stretched out on four seats. I looked to my left and my grandmother sat with her mouth wide open, her snoring partially drowned out by the roaring of the airplane.

We had left Kennedy Airport in NYC at 8:00 American time. Thousands of cultures surrounded us — French, Arabic, English, Indian, African and even Chinese. The exposure was overwhelming. It felt like I was being choked by the cultures of the planet.

My grandmother, whom I refer to as Nana, found our terminal. We waited two or three hours until our flight opened. While we were waiting, a group, who I can only assume were Somalian, based on their accents and apparel, had many children playing around us. Nana told me to never talk to anyone at an airport, but I disobeyed her and offered a child some food. The little girl kindly declined and said thank you.

Nana swatted my leg, she then referred to me as the “eejit.” For anyone who is unfamiliar with Irish slang, eejit is basically calling someone silly or an idiot.

“Gee, it feels like it’s 70 degrees out.”

“It is, you bloody eejit.”

Carrying on, the airplane arrived, and it was larger than any airplane I had ever seen. A two-story Virgin Airlines plane was my chariot over the pond. As a child, I was told I was going to Ireland some day, but I never knew when. See, on my mom’s side, I have family in England and Ireland, as well as Australia. So my mom’s side of the family is quite scattered, but Nana has flown so many times she had earned a free ticket. Cue me, I was offered a chance to go, and I, of course, took it without thinking twice. I felt I needed to go. I didn’t understand why but I had an urge to go.

The airplane jerked and I woke up, still night time. I looked at the screen on the back of the seat in front of me. I looked at the flight coordinates, how far away we were from Great Britain. As you might imagine, three hours in an airplane makes you somewhat anxious. I have had a fear of flying, but not enough to make me scream and shout. But flying over the ocean triggered a kind of anxiety.

Nonetheless, I looked at the map, and we were at the tip of Greenland. I looked down into the blackness, which was cloud and the ocean. But something more interesting was a little red light in the distance. I took out my camera and put the long lens on. It was another airplane behind us, probably going to land in Greenland or Iceland — I wasn’t sure. I stopped spying and decided to go and watch a movie. I grabbed my headphones and plugged them into my seat and watched serenely as the engine roared. I felt myself start to drift into a deep sleep.

I awoke about an hour later and the sun shone into my sore eyes. It was 6:00 English time, and an hour later we were in Wales. Thirty minutes later the plane drifted into London airspace. We touched down at Heathrow Airport. In England, handguns are illegal, so instead of people walking around with guns strapped to their side, they have guns on their chests. Fully automatic guns, just walking around with them nonchalantly. I was a little freaked out.

We arrived at customs, and a long line awaited us. The guy in customs took our passports politely and asked us how long we were to stay.

“Four days,” Nana responded. “Alrighty then!” he piped up cheerily. “Enjoy your stay in the UK!”

Posters of people surrounded us as we walked out of the terminals, telling us how awesome England was!

As we walked out of security, we went to the place where people pick you up. We were supposed to have a driver, and we did. A large Indian man, at least six-foot-seven, held the name “Forde” on a big piece of paper. He was large and scary looking. Nana and I went up to him and said hello.

In a kind of high-pitched voice, he responded with, “Who of you is Forde?” He smiled as he said this, and I almost burst out laughing. A man of that stature had such a tiny voice. It was truly a sight to witness and hear.

He escorted us to a large Range Rover truck, and we rode to my cousin Romina’s flat. The man, who was originally from Sri Lanka, showed us Buckingham Palace and many parks on the way to the flat. Now, Romina’s flat was right next to the massive Victoria Park. It’s very famous for holding cricket and rugby games, but I was pooped from the jet lag.

We arrived at the flat, and I finally met my cousin Romina. We got inside and I had to sleep. It was about 10 when we got to the flat.

The next few days were fantastic. I met so many cousins. The places we went to included Piccadilly Circus, the National Art Museum, the History Museum — where we saw mummies — a few pubs here and there, the Olympic Stadium, and Victoria Park.

Technically, we spread out over London in about four days. On the last day, we went to Kent, a small county not too far outside London. Romina and her husband, Dan, were moving there in a few months. The flat had only a balcony, but this house had a full-length garden. It was beautiful.

They were painting their house up and such. While they were doing so, Nana and I went to Canterbury, a village inside Kent. In Canterbury there are a dozen churches, but one dwarfs them all. The Cathedral was about 30-40 stories high. It had at least a dozen church bells ringing at once — very noisy but spectacular. It must have been a thousand years old, based on the architecture.

Later we all left and got stuck in two miles of stopped traffic because four cars were demolished. It was insane, so I took the opportunity to walk on the motorway. I didn’t walk far, but it was something that I thought would be cool to do, so it took us about 45 minutes to get back to the city.

The next day we ate at a Greek restaurant and got on a bus to go to London’s Central Airport. That took us about five hours. I went to a small convenience store inside the airport called Boots, a very large chain store in England. I bought a large water for about £1.30, best water ever!

We got on the airplane for an hour’s trip to the capitol of Ireland, Dublin. I don’t know how to say it, but I felt at home. As soon as I stepped off of the airplane and onto the tarmac, I felt at home. All I want to do now is go back. What is it? I don’t know.

My cousin Brian came around to pick us up from the airport. It was very late when we left London, and it was about 9 when we landed in Ireland. I met the strongest man I have ever known there. He’s a distant relative of mine. He name is Jamie Moore, and he is Brian’s father.

Jamie is 93 years old, survived a stroke and still survives with Tourette’s-like symptoms. When I was there, he was shouting, but it used to be much worse. To my family he was a very smart man, although he had a hard time getting his words out. I could see that he was an extremely intelligent individual. I could see in his eyes that he was listening and understanding. He was physically frail, but a mental body builder. I slept in his old living room on a very nice cot.

Two years prior, for those of you who know me, I broke both of my ankles from jumping off a roof. I lived with Nana for about three or four weeks until I moved back home, but when I was there, my childhood cousin Sean visited me. I had not seen him since I was three or four. The most amazing thing was that I remembered him. Almost like a hazy dream.

But two years ago he was there with his girlfriend, Denise, who was amazingly nice, and nicer when I was there. Anyway, I hadn’t seen them in two years and was excited to see them once again. I could not be any happier when I saw the entire family. If any of my family read this, I didn’t mean to act like a nerd. I was just extremely happy to meet you.

After hanging out with the Moore family, I met up with, on my mom’s side at least, some lifelong friends. The Paolozzis are an Irish-Italian family from a small neighborhood of Dublin called Crumlin.

Nana and her parents befriended the Paolozzis when they were younger. In short, I met her son Christopher, cousin of the up-and-coming pop-singer Nadia Forde, which is interesting because my mother’s surname is Ford. No relations, though, sadly.

I suggest her music if you like alternate dubstep. Continuing, Christopher and I wandered around Dublin the remaining week when I was there. We went to the Dublin Zoo and studied animals. On the first day I was there, we went to a town called Hoth, a small fishing town with an abundance of seals. Sadly, I forgot my camera, so there are not any pictures of that.

The entire week was spending time with Chris’s friends Aoife, Claire, and Brendan, a fantastic master of illusion (not a nerdy magician, a cool one). I had my first cup of coffee at his house. It was pretty fun. I also went with other people different places such as an unforgettable venture to the mountains in Wicklow County, where I scaled my first mountain. Unforgettable.

We also went to a restaurant called Luigi Malone’s, an Italian-Irish restaurant. I had a version of American ribs which reminded me of home.

The trip back was awful. Eight hours on an airplane will kill you. But it was worth it. We arrived in Georgia at five. I was craving a crappy American hamburger. I got a hamburger from Five Guys Burgers and Fries. It was good, very good. It took 40 minutes to get back home, 11:00 when I got home. But I didn’t feel at home. I still don’t.

I have the urge to go out and find whatever it is I am looking for. Maybe I was born to be an adventurer. But that’s not up for me to choose. When the time comes, I’ll be able to go where I want. Hopefully, my pursuit of photography will take me there.

A very very special thanks to Louise Brewood, Romina Green, Dan Green, Christopher Coleman, Jamie, Sean, Barney, Bernie Paolozzi, Christine Paolozzi.