What I Did on My Buyout Vacation: Day 1

The Odyssey (sorry, Homer!) has begun. And who better to dog us in Dublin than ... you guessed it ... J.R. Ewing.

First, the backstory:

The Better Half and I have been planning this adventure pretty much since we decided to take Uncle Belo's check. We left DFW Friday night at 7 on a nine-hour nonstop to London Gatwick. All went fine -- 'cept a certain luggage handler tweaked his back in the crazed ramp-up on Friday and nine hours of playing pretzel in coach were not exactly the best tonic.

Still, thanks to handy supplies provided by Big Pharma, we made it without incident and then weathered a seven-hour layover in London before jetting off to Dublin, where we'll be for the first two days of the trip. (By the way, the Gatwick-Dublin trip was the deal of the century -- cost us exactly 1 pound each, plus about 20 pounds of government surcharges. So we spent less flying from London to Dublin than we would've driving from Dallas to Wichita. Ka-ching!)

So after we hit the lil D (don't know if the Dubliners will like that moniker much), we took a taxi to our hotel, the Morrison, one of those cool W boutique wanna-bes. And after we say we're from Big D, what're the first words out of the cabbie's mouth? No "Wanna see Bono's hangout?" Not even a "Ready for a Guinness?"

No, he asks, "How's J.R.?" And then proceeds to ask all about Southfork, Sue Ellen, Bobby. You get the drift.

The same script we got on our last Europe jaunt, 10 years ago, from a Parisian cabbie.

Man, Dallas needs a reputation makeover...