Tuesday 20th August
It's my birthday, number 64, thereby
hitting a famous Beatles song. Two years ago on this day I was
travelling between Riga and Vilnius. This time it was between Dublin
and Belfast. Not quite as exotic but still a long way from home.
Justin was up and gone before the rest
of us were up, heading off to England somewhere to catch up with
relatives. Rose, Robyn and I were due to catch the train from the
Dublin Connolly Station. So, up early, packed, a stroll around to a
local hotel, some drama about getting a cab but we made it with time
to spare.
A number of other fans were also making
the trip up to Belfast, heading to another convention there, but it
seemed that most were taking a bus rather than the train. Northern
Ireland railways were doing maintenance on the track so we had to
change at Newry. This really wasn't that big a deal and even the
final hour on the bus was pretty good.
Robyn and I couldn't get into our
AirBnB house until 3pm so we wended our way into the city on the
Glider Bus, left our suitcases at the Tourist Info office and then
walked over to get Rose checked in.
After that it was a few beers and lunch
in the Crown Saloon and then it was time to check in, or get into the
house, or whatever the AirBnB expression is.
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| Having a drink in the Crown |
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| Crown Saloon entrance tiling |
Finding the street was okay, but
couldn't find the named apartments anywhere. We had an apartment
number, a name of the apartments and a street name. I called the
owner, who were very helpful: “Walk past the entrance to Pizza
Express.” Couldn't find that. “Turn left off Talbot Street.”
Okay. “Walk down about 100 metres.” Okay. “Pizza Express is on
your right.” Okay. “Walk apast the entrance.” Okay. Wait, along
the street or into the square? “Into the square, and the apartment
are in the corner on your left, next to Salt.” Okay, found them. “I
can open the door for you if you like.” No, I need to get back to
my wife and the luggage. Wander back, get Rob, drag the suitcases to
the door of the apartment block, and check the instructions: I needed
to text a four-digit number to a certain phone number ans this would
magically open the main door. Well it would have if I could get the
number to be delivered as a text. After trying all variations of the
phone number I rang back. That got the door open. Surely we were home
now.
Nope. Up the lift to the fourth floor
to try to find the combination lock box which would contain the key.
I expected it to be somewhere on the wall but there it was, attached
to the door nearly on the floor. Don't get me started on modern
designers who think that black, or even worse, dark silver, numbers
on a silver background work for anyone. I couldn't see the
combination numbers from a kneeling position so ended up lying on the
floor so my eyes could be at the right level. Two or three tries
later and the key was obtained, the door opened and we were in.
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| Lock box at ground level |
The plans for the evening were to meet
up with Rose for a few beers in a few pubs and then have dinner. But
we were too tired. A few texts back and forth determined we all felt
that way.
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| View from apartment window - St Anne's Cathedral |
I've got to slow down.
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