After spending several days in Dublin, we decided to see some of the countryside ourselves and inquired in the office the best way to get to Glendaloch, home to the oldest monastery in Ireland.  We had heard about it from two other backpackers we had met back at the train depot and they had described the scenery as lush and beautiful.  Since we didn’t have any other destination in mind, it seemed as good a place as any.  The office administrator began giving us directions by highway when I interrupted and explained that we were on foot.  To which he replied, “Oh. Well there’s a bus coming to take a tour there.  It’ll be here in about 45 minutes.” Ellen and I laughed at the coincidence, quickly packed our things, checked out, and waited for the bus in the parking lot.  Not only was the timing perfect, but who should be driving the bus but the very same man who had pitched us the UCD and driven us there in the first place.

The ride out to Glendaloch was beautiful and the surrounding area as green as could be imagined.  After our arrival, but before we headed out for adventure, we told the driver we’d be staying in Glendaloch a while and wouldn’t be heading back to the UCD.  We asked if he had any recommendations on where to stay.  He said he’d make a couple phone calls and we should check back with him.  Remarkably, he also only charged us half price for the tour, which was already inexpensive, because he gave us a one-way discount.  Later, we met up with him during his midmorning cup of tea.  He had contacted a friend who ran a nearby bed-and-breakfast and gave us directions to it.  We thanked him heartily and headed out to our new accommodations.

We stayed a couple days in Glendaloch before deciding to head back to Dublin and then on to the rest of our trip.  In this regard, our good luck continued.  I had decided to stay in the room and catch up on some lost sleep while Ellen went out to a local pub to get something to eat.  She found a delicious meatloaf dinner and made the company of a nice English couple who were also enjoying a visit in the countryside.  The three spent a lively night at the pub as I slept the hours away.

In the morning, Ellen told me about the pub and the couple she had met.  She also said that they would be driving back to Dublin and would drive us if we wanted to head back with them.  Of course we did, but Ellen had kind of left matters up in the air and wasn’t sure if the offer still stood.  We decided to pack up our things and head out to test the waters.  It was a gloomy, rainy day, so we opened our umbrellas and took a stroll past the couple’s bed-and-breakfast.  We didn’t have to linger in the street a moment when the door flew open and a loud, high pitched voice let out, “Ellen!” The couple had remembered their offer and we were able to take them up on it.  They drove us all the way back to Dublin.

Once there, we were in agreement that we wanted to next head to The Netherlands, but weren’t sure the best way to go.  Ellen wanted to save a little money and return by ferry and train, but I was loathe to repeat the trip so soon after our uncomfortable journey over.  I finally reasoned that it was at least worth investigating and added that we should check the American Express office which I could see from our present position.

We inquired within, the cost of airfare from Dublin to Amsterdam.  It was as Ellen had expected: an expensive proposition.  We were about to give up and repeat the trip on the ferry when I asked if it would be the same cost if we were routed through London, thinking that a major hub may give us some additional options.  A few key presses later, and we had our answer.  It was not only significantly cheaper, but actually comparable to the cost of the ferry and train ride after which we would still need to pay airfare out of London.  We booked the trip immediately, hailed a taxi, and left Dublin within hours, a little wiser.

We stayed about another week in mainland Europe and had a fantastic time.  As we neared the end of our vacation, we realized that the money we had saved thus far afforded us the ability to stay in favorable hotels and use comfortable modes of transportation.  However, although certainly pleasant, the second half of our trip can’t quite compare to the first half.  It’s a wonderful thing to think that we had faced uncertainty and doubt, and came through it all unscathed and with some great memories.  It’s also wonderful to think of all the people who helped make that happen; people who didn’t know us or have any expectation of seeing us again, yet were kind and generous all the same.  It is these people that I remember most from our adventure in Europe.

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
Bible; Hebrews 13:2

As the night waned on, we eventually had to say goodbye to our hosts in Holyhead and head back to the train depot for the shuttle bus out.  We were both extremely tired and worn out by now and each passing moment seemed excruciatingly long.  Even when the shuttle bus eventually picked us up, there were a series of lines we had to stand in so that the next two hours were spent shuffling from one area to another.  It would have been taxing enough even if we done it according to the original plan, at midday with our energy levels still high.  By the time we boarded the ferry, we were merely shells of the people we had been earlier in the day.

The boat was packed with people and we looked for someplace, any place to rest or sleep.  Unfortunately, it seemed everyone else onboard had the same idea.  I couldn’t say how many others of them had also spent the previous day subsisting on alcohol and a little pub food, but everyone was tired nonetheless.  There were people literally lying everywhere: on floors, on chairs, in the stairwells, on the deck.  It looked as though a chemical disaster had wiped out the passengers and bodies lay where they had fallen.

Eventually Ellen and I found a little room in what appeared to be the main lounge area.  The chairs rocked backwards and were difficult to sleep in.  Much of the floor was taken by bodies and I finally succumbed to the idea of sprawling out on the floor to get a little shut eye.  Ellen stayed seated while I lied down and closed my eyes.  However, it seemed that every time I had managed to drift to sleep, someone tripped over me, bumped a table or chair into me, or spoke loudly and woke me from my sleep.  I gave it up as a lost cause and we went in search of a new place.

Climbing the stairs was difficult, because so many people had taken to sleeping on the platforms between flights and on the stairs themselves.  We finally found a section on deck where we could lean back, remain awake, and wait as the day dragged on.  We watched the sun rise over Ireland en route, but rather than joy at the new day, we were bleak from the day that wouldn’t end.

We were anxious to get off the boat and an overheard conversation filled us with more anxiety.  We had heard several people talking about how happy they were to have secured accommodations.  The speaker had said that he had called several places before he finally located a room, days in advance.  The prospect of still not being able to sleep filled us with as much dread as the idea of having to turn around and travel back by boat from whence we came.

In time, we disembarked the ferry and nervously looked around the terminal while we awaited our luggage.  Many of the passengers headed out into the parking lot to waiting cars and buses, so Ellen and I agreed that I should head out to reconnoiter the parking area.  On my way out, I passed a small stand manned by a short, older Irishman with red curly hair.  The stand reminded me of what Lucy from Peanuts often used, but instead of psychiatric advice the man was offering rooms.  He had several photo books of large suites and the price quoted was a mere pittance.  He also said that he had a shuttle bus and would drive us to Dublin.  The offer seemed too good to be true not only to me, but evidently to many others who walked away in disbelief.  I summoned Ellen from the baggage claim area to hear the pitch and she, too, was doubtful, but since we had no other resource at our disposal, I reasoned that we should give it a try.

We claimed our luggage and our guide led us and several other tourists to a passenger van parked nearby.  He explained that our destination was the University College Dublin, known as UCD.  In the summer months, the college rents its dormitory suites to visitors to keep costs down.  Our driver also told us he runs several youth hostels in Dublin, but when he’s full his arrangement is to refer renters to the UCD and they in turn refer people to his hostels.  He was at full occupancy, but if things didn’t work out at the UCD, we could call him to see if a vacancy had opened.

We were told that each suite has three bedrooms, so Ellen and I would be able to have our own bedroom.  If we didn’t have someone to occupy the third bedroom, one would be assigned to us.  That wasn’t necessary, because we met a nice German girl on the bus ride and she agreed to occupy the third room.  The driver dropped as off in the college parking lot and pointed out the main office where we could arrange accommodations before he drove back to check on his own business and prepare for the next pickup at the shipping terminal.

The campus was very nice and the dormitory suite was even nicer than we had seen in the photos.  We had three bedrooms, a bathroom and separate shower room, a common living area, and a full, working kitchen.  I’ve since paid regular rent to live in apartments that offered less.  Our German roommate only stayed one night and set off for the Irish countryside early in the morning.  She left us a nice note and some wild flowers she had picked.  Ellen and I kept expecting the college to move in a replacement, but it never happened and we had the suite to ourselves for the rest of our stay.

To be continued…

When we were ready to move on from London, we decided on Dublin for our next destination.  We made inquiries and found a package deal which would take us by train up north through England and into Wales where we would catch a ferry boat to Ireland.  The thought of seeing so much of the countryside appealed to us both, so we booked our trip by this route and headed out early the following day.  The train trip was a smooth ride and indeed gave us some fantastic views, several of which I managed to capture on film through our passing window.  I would like to retrace much of the route by automobile so we could linger a little longer at the castles and tented fairs we spotted along the way, but even brief glimpses were better than none, I suppose.

When we reached our destination, we found ourselves in Holyhead, Wales (pronounced as if there were two L’s).  We had a couple hours until the boat disembarked, so Ellen and I set out to explore the area a bit.  Not far from the train station, we found a large pub called The Boston.  What better excuse could there be to stop in for a pint?  Not as if we needed any, though.  The townspeople were friendly and got a kick out of our American accents and tales from Boston.  They shared some stories from their town and talked of the burgeoning drug trade popping up, mirroring the plight of many other similar shipping, fishing, and mill towns in America.  We only stayed about an hour and a half, said our goodbyes, and headed back to the train depot ready for our next adventure.

When we got to the depot, we main lobby empty, so we made our way around back.  We only found a handful of employees moving forklifts and maintaining the yard.  When we asked about the ferry to Dublin, one of the men asked with alarm, “You mean you missed the shuttle?” Unbeknownst to us, the hours between the train’s arrival and the ship’s departure weren’t left to our discretion after all.  We had missed the last shuttle from the depot to the ferry.

We in and found someone at a customer service desk where we were told that we had missed the ferry.  The next shuttle to the ferry wasn’t until early the next morning at 4am, roughly sixteen hours away.  We also found out that there was a high speed ferry which left at the same time, but made the same trip in about a third of the time.  We had already paid for the other ferry though a package deal, but we made note of it in case we find our way back through there again.  In retrospect, I should’ve splurged for the faster ferry.

We set out to look around town and see what we could do for the day.  We walked in a different direction than we had originally ventured and came into the main part of the town.  Our first problem was that it was Sunday, so the banks were closed.  Although we still had some English pounds, we didn’t have much because we had just left London.  The bulk of our money was in traveler’s checks, but we couldn’t cash them anywhere.

We weren’t really sure what we should do to pass the time.  We considered going to see a movie, but that would only kill two hours at most and would eat up a moderate portion of our available currency.  After passing a phone booth, we decided to call home and check in, but that only killed fifteen minutes at most.  Downcast and downtrodden, we decided on a pub where we could spend some idle time cheaply and possibly get a bite to eat.

We found a traditional European pub with lots of dark wood, dim lighting, and no neon signs.  It was noonday, so although not empty, the pub wasn’t exactly a hot bed of activity either.  However, as afternoon headed into evening, the pub became livelier and was nearly filled with people.  A whole group of younger people, people our ages, came in together, dressed in suits and dresses.  Somehow we struck up a conversation with two of them and they told us what brought them out together.  They had come from a funeral for a friend’s baby boy.  If I remember correctly, he was only two months old when he died suddenly.

It was a difficult day and they had gone to the pub to assuage their anguish.  In spite of the morose circumstances or maybe because of them, they took us under their wing, introduced us around, and shared some interesting facts, gossip, and language from the area.  One drink led to another and another, and to many more, so much of the remainder of our night in Holyhead is a blur of people, faces, and places.  I remember his name was Marc and I think her name was Thalia, but I’m not positive.  I’ll have to call Ellen and see if she can confirm it.  What I do remember is that they were kind, generous, and friendly.  The two-thirds day sojourn we spent in Holyhead was probably my favorite time of the whole trip.

To be continued…