Author: mattbolch

Feels Like the First Time, All Over Again

I’ve been to Ireland so many times that I’ve lost track. Tough problem to have, I know, but there always seems to be something new to see or do.

This year, during Georgia State University’s spring break, I had the pleasure of accompanying Marilynn and 12 undergrads for five intensive days in Dublin on a James Joyce’s Dublin study abroad program. They had read “Dubliners,” “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,” and two episodes of “Ulysses.” My unofficial job was mainly to count heads and make sure everyone was walking in the right direction or got on the right luas (tram).

For me, this experience recalled the first time we brought our sons to Ireland, although 12 times more intense. About half the students had never been out of the country, and none of them had been to Ireland.

Dublin is fairly compact, with a great interconnected bus/tram/train system that makes travel simple—especially if you have a transportation pass, which we all did. Jitters and general unease among the students about navigating a foreign city quickly gave way to groups of students shopping, attending a drag show, visiting bookstores, and shopping. Yes, shopping is mentioned twice, because that’s what most of them did during their free day.

Here’s a sampling of what we did:

  • Guided tour of the GPO Museum, headquarters of the Easter Rising in 1916. By the way, it still serves as a Post Office.
  • Literary and musical pub crawls (because, why not?)
  • Walking tour of James Joyce’s Dublin, from the James Joyce Center
  • Tour of the Museum of Literature Ireland (MoLi), pronounced the same as Leopold Bloom’s wife, Molly. Coincidence? We don’t think so.
  • Visit to Sweny’s Pharmacy, where Bloom buys a bar of lemon soap.
  • W. B. Yeats exhibit at the National Library of Ireland, which is worth a look even if you know nothing about Yeats because the building is gorgeous.
  • Talk by Lynne Parker, good friend and artistic director of the Rough Magic Theatre Company
  • Dined like locals in the café at Dunne’s department store and by grabbing meal deals (sandwich, snack and drink for about $6) at Tesco
  • Attended a play (that’s best not mentioned further)

The culminating event of the week was a visit to the Martello tower in Sandycove where Joyce “lived” for six days in 1904. He hated it so much he left in the middle of the night and walked back to Dublin, leaving the country within a month. He only returned to Ireland twice after that, the last time in 1912. He wrote “Ulysses” from memories of Dublin and answers to the pestering questions he sent to friends. The James Joyce Tower is one of a series of towers the British built along the Irish coast in the early 19th century to defend against invasion.

For those who haven’t read “Ulysses,” a scene in the tower opens the book.

Lessons Learned

I learned that students today (especially this group) don’t do much drinking, which suited chaperone Marilynn just fine. She and I definitely downed more pints than the rest of them combined, and a second beer is a big night for either of us. I also learned how to make a Girlie Guinness by adding blackcurrant liqueur to counteract the bitterness of the stout. (Don’t hate on me for the name—that’s what the barman called it).

Unfortunately, the students missed out on two of my favorite parts of being in Ireland: the splendor of the full Irish breakfast that’s only served in fine B&Bs (they could have made their own at the breakfast buffet, but it’s just not the same) and the Irish countryside, which features at least 10 colors of green you won’t find anywhere else.

But they took away fond memories of James Joyce’s Dublin, discovered the thrill of travel, and made friends that will last a lifetime. For Marilynn, it was the culmination of much planning and nearly flawless execution. And for me, hope for the future knowing that the world will soon be in the hands of students like these. While it was the first time visiting Dublin for the students, it won’t be the last time for many of them.

Potential Puking Aside, Real Irish Adventure on Aran Islands

I don’t know whether there is a god for those about to hurl, but I certainly prayed to some deity during a rough, 45-minute ferry ride from Doolin to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands.

After arriving at Shannon Airport, we made our way to Doolin, a frequent stopping-off point for either the Aran Islands or the stunning Cliffs of Moher — or both. Marilynn hadn’t been on the islands since her first trip to the Emerald Isle 35 years earlier, and Declan and I had never been.

We stayed at Fisherman’s Rest, a great B&B run by Danny and Mairead Guerin. Danny was our main host and had adorned the breakfast area with pennants of various, mostly German, football teams. He and Declan had a long discussion about FC Kaiserslautern. We also had terrific meals and pints at Gus O’Connor’s pub, which Marilynn and I immediately recognized from a trip we took with Walker 25 years ago. Walker fell asleep during the music session, and a man named Paddy (naturally) gave him a Euro coin that I still have at home. My mussels were delicious and more than I could eat, so Marilynn helped.

Hurling (and Not the Irish Sport)

The next morning, after a full Irish breakfast and a Dramamine, it was off to the Doolin Ferry for the longest water leg of our trip. We thought we were fortunate to snag topside seats for the journey. The sky was blue with nary a cloud in the sky. Until it started to rain, and the seas began to roil. Or was that my stomach?

I don’t remember much about the trip, except for holding my umbrella just over my head to ward off the worst of the rain; the water washing over our luggage and splashing me; prayers to the anti-puking god; the single piece of someone’s luggage across the aisle I focused on while waiting for this interminable trip to end; the placebo power of many, many antacids; and the overwhelming desire to kiss the ground once we reached dry land.

More Time to Explore Inishmore

Most tourists do day trips to the islands, scurrying around for a couple of hours before hopping a ferry back. We took our time, spending two nights on Inishmore (Inis Mor) and one night on Inisheer (Inis Oirr), the smallest of the main islands.

We spent the first day orienting ourselves amid the continued spitting rain, checking out the dining options and making plans for our main day of visiting. The island empties at 4 p.m., leaving just 800 residents and however many intrepid visitors book rooms on a particular day.

Declan and I watched the opening Euro 2024 match at Tigh Joe Mac, where Declan made friends with a local named Tommy, who told his friends that Declan was a cousin from America when Declan returned to the pub the following evening.

The following morning, after the rain finally stopped, we rented bikes, which are essential for exploring the island. We packed a lunch and made for the ruins of St. Benan’s Church, supposedly the smallest church in Ireland. After cycling for about 20 minutes, we ditched our bikes and headed through cow fields and broken walls to the highest point on the island. The church dates to the 7th century and measures 11×15. The grounds also include the remnants of a Celtic cross that the cows were lounging around and the base of a round tower about halfway up the hill.

After enjoying our lunch near the church on some flat rocks, we made our way back to the B&B via a graveyard near the shore that also contained the remains of St. Enda’s, a 6th-century monastery that had sunk into the ground.

When we got back on our bikes that afternoon, backsides burning from sitting on tiny seats, we pedaled against near gale-force winds to the ruins of St. Ciaran’s, an 8th- or 9th-century church. Our ultimate destination was the Wormhole, a supposed naturally rectangular blowhole that sits on land reportedly posted as “no trespassing.” Amid spotty cell service that made navigation treacherous, tired asses, and a desire for dinner, we gave up our search for the wormhole and settled for a glimpse of Dun Eochla, a large hilltop ringfort that is free to visit and not as crowded as nearby Dun Aonghasa.

Music Session and Nighttime Church Visit

The next morning after breakfast, it was back to the ferry (!!!) for a smooth 20-minute journey to Inisheer. We beat most of the day-trippers, dropping our bags and snagging a donkey cart ride around the island before the general tumult of the day.

The donkey ride is a great orientation to the island, winding through narrow roads bounded by dry stone walls at every turn. The first stop was the wrecked ship Plassey, which went aground on the island in the 1960s, its cargo of yarn, stained glass, and whiskey lost to the elements. Then it was on to O’Brien’s Castle, the remains of a 15th-century tower house that’s now a national monument. The castle offers stunning views of the Atlantic Ocean on one side and the island itself on the other.

After lunch, we lounged in our room at Tigh Ruairi, a pub/B&B. At one point, Marilynn and Declan checked out the sunken church a short walk away. In the evening, we went to a music session at a local hotel. While Marilynn stayed there, Declan and I retraced his steps from earlier to visit Teampall Caomhán, which dates from the 10th century. Despite it being past 10 p.m., the church was perfectly visible.

The church is dedicated to St. Caomhán (Cavan), the patron saint of the island. We visited just after his feast day (June 14), and candles still burned in his honor. Over time, the church fell into disuse, and drifting sands covered what remained of the church. Dedicated islanders dug out the chancel area of the church and continue to keep it clear.

With the Aran Islands behind us, it’s now on to Limerick.

Go Team! Declan and I Bring Luck to Home Football Squads

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: Declan loves football. You know, the kicky kind the world plays and not the tackle-y kind that Americans obsess about.

In addition to the diversion to Manchester to watch the England men’s national team crush North Macedonia, he found three Irish Premier League matches to attend during our 2023 trip, featuring the top teams. In every instance, the home side was victorious, although the outcome was very much in doubt for much of the last match between the Bohemians (Bohs) and Dundalk.

Like Major League Soccer, the Irish league plays more of a calendar year schedule, as opposed to the August through May schedule of the English Premier League. Interest in the sport is growing, with average attendance rates climbing 29% from pre-pandemic numbers.

Shamrock Rovers v Derry City

Somewhere in the haze a football match is taking place at Tallaght Stadium in Dublin.

First up were the Shamrock Rovers, who play in Tallaght (pronounced “tal-a”) Stadium in south Dublin, a 45-minute tram ride from our lodgings. Declan and I were in the supporters’ stand behind a goal, and the atmosphere was frantic. There was no sitting in the stand, and one extra bloke joined our row, pushing me out into the aisle for the first half.

Apparently, shooting off flares in the stands was OK because the fire brigade was there in turnout gear and helmets to collect the smoldering fireworks in stainless steel buckets. The Rovers scored in the 20th minute and hung on for the remainder of the match to beat Derry City 1-0 and go seven points clear at the top of the table. We only saw three stadiums on our visit, but Tallaght was a first-rate facility, with 5,800 in attendance on a Friday and a new stand being built opposite the supporters’ stand.

St. Patrick’s Athletic v University College Dublin (top photo)

St. Pat’s play at Richmond Park in Inchicore, along the same tram line to Tallaght but 15 minutes’ closer to Dublin city center. The stadium is cozy, nestled against a rowhouse of flats on one side, which adds character to the grounds. However, I’ve seen much better American football facilities at local high schools.

Marilynn accompanied us to this one, and we arrived early so we could enjoy a pint just outside the grounds, like the locals do. We thought we had front row seats, but for some reason the A row was at the top, and our assigned seats were not attached to each other or were mangled beyond use. In an adjacent section, two columns of seats were cordoned off for similar reasons. Thankfully, we found unoccupied seats.

The crowd was enthusiastic and had every reason to be because St. Pat’s pummeled UCD 7-0. Admittedly, UCD is a bunch of college students, but the football was still a joy to watch. Jake Mulraney, who played three seasons at Atlanta United, is a star at St. Pat’s, earning a penalty that led to the first goal, then providing the assist for another goal during the 60 minutes he played.

Bohemian F.C. v Dundalk

The Bohemians play at Dalymount Park

Although the Rover fans definitely were enthusiastic, I must tip my cap to Bohemian F.C., known familiarly as the Bohs. Dalymount Park is just off the main thoroughfare in Phibsborough, where Declan and I enjoyed a pint prior to the match.

The team is owned by the fans, who are very much into social justice. The flags at the end lines were rainbow flags during Pride Month. The scarf I bought for Declan has Jamaican trim, to honor Bob Marley’s last outdoor concert, in 1980 at Dalymount Park, 10 months before his untimely death. Upon entering the stadium, nearly a dozen people could be seen with small buckets for donations to various causes. The club has both a climate justice officer and a social responsibility manager.

To be honest, the grounds are sorely in need of an upgrade. You enter the stadium through a short corridor tunnel that branches to tunnels leading to either the grounds or the restrooms/bar. Those tunnels are tight and were packed with people — for a stadium that seats just shy of 5,000. A bloke we met at a chip shop after the game said plans had been made to demolish the grounds and rotate the pitch 90 degrees. This change couldn’t come too soon.

For much of the match, our home football winning streak looked perilous, as Dundalk took an early lead. While I didn’t have anything against the opposing teams in the other two matches, I hate anything named Dundalk after a bored cop took Marilynn off a bus at the border in 2017, an incident that’s still causing us immigration trouble upon entering the UK. The Irish apparently don’t give a toss.

Anyway, the Bohs squeaked out a 3-2 win, much to the crowd’s delight and keeping our perfect home team win record intact.

Bohs! always believe in your soul…

Finally, talk about ear worms: the main chant Bohs’ fans use is a rip-off of the 1983 Spandau Ballet hit, “Gold.” So, it’s “Bohs! / Always believe in your soul / You’ve got the power to know / You’re indestructible / Always believe in / Bohs!”

If you’re familiar with the song, I apologize for any aural injuries knowing this connection might cause. I hummed the damn song for three weeks, finally got past it, then finished this blog. “Bohs! Always believe in your soul” …

Up Close to Oxford’s Bridge of Sighs and Other Bits from Abroad

Random observations from two weeks in England…

We spent an educational afternoon at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, taking in the exhibits. One highlight was tea and dessert amid the opulent surroundings of the world’s first museum café, built in 1852. Europe has America beat hands down in terms of offering plenty of places for folks to gather, with varied food and drink offerings at reasonable prices.

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Bridge of Sighs

We were fortunate to spend two nights in guest quarters at Hertford College in Oxford, where Marilynn gave a talk. We stayed about 15 feet from the Bridge of Sighs, a famous decorative bridge that connects two parts of the college and is modelled on a similar (and older) structure in Venice. That was the good news. The bad news is that from about 8:30 a.m., tour groups gathered under our bedroom windows for a history lesson. Then from about 10 p.m., loud students spilled from the alley leading to the Turf Tavern, a semi-famous pub that offers “an Education in Intoxication.”

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My apologies to the young woman on the train from Birmingham to Oxford who was either copying passages from the New Testament or writing her impressions of scripture while I was reading horror master Clive Barker’s novel “The Scarlet Gospels” about Pinhead, the demon from the “Hellraiser” movies. Heaven and hell, indeed!

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Many European hotels still don’t have air conditioning, including the hotel in Birmingham the Friday we attended the Elbow concert. I couldn’t figure out how to defeat the device that only allowed opened the window about two inches until we got back at past 11. Consequently, we kept the windows wide open that night. By 6 a.m., however, we felt like we were sleeping rough by the motorway, the traffic noise was so bad.

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When traveling, we always find something to climb, something to ride, and a drunkie cab. Fortunately, we saw no drunkie cab in Oxford, but Marilynn and I did climb Carfax Tower, which dates to the 13th century and offers nice views of the city. I was most impressed it wasn’t named for the company that sells wreck reports on used cars. According to displays in the tower, “carfax” is derived from the Latin word “quadrifurcus,” meaning four. The tower is still near the intersection of four central roads in Oxford.

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We traveled many miles during our two weeks in England, much of it to catch up with colleagues and old friends. Our sincere thanks to everyone who hosted us, met us for a meal, or let us stay the weekend in the Cotswolds (thinking of you, Michael and Aleksandra!).

Aubergine What? Adventures of a Novice Foodie

Marilynn and I are definitely not foodies, so I was surprised when she wanted to dine at a particular Israeli restaurant in London. I had no idea what Israeli cooking entailed and no expectations whatsoever when we arrived at Bala Baya, located south of the Thames and a 10-minute walk from the Tate Modern and the Southwark Underground station.

But what a meal we had!

Bala Baya is tucked under a railway arch, and we walked past the alley entrance once before backtracking. After the hostess checked our reservation, we were directed upstairs to an expansive dining area that overlooks a spacious alcove where al fresco diners gathered.

I have an unusual allergy: onions and their cousins cause so much intestinal distress (no, you don’t want the specifics) that I have to declare them as an allergy. The staff was extremely helpful, conferring with the chef and producing a menu tailored to my needs. Unfortunately, all of the meats were marinated in vegetable stock that contained onions, so we had to limit ourselves to vegetable plates. But that was perfectly OK by us.

The highlight of the meal was a dish called aubergine mess that consisted of blackened aubergine (that’s eggplant, to us), oregano, tahini, pomegranate molasses, and lychee. It’s a dish best served cold, with explosive flavor combinations I’ve never experienced before. We devoured the dish, then soaked up the juices on the platter and our plates with soft, warm pita.

We also enjoyed the shawarma-rubbed Jerusalem artichoke, with labneh, harissa and rose, and chervil. Don’t ask me what any of these ingredients are besides the Jerusalem artichoke (which was HUGE, and nothing like what we had previously known as artichokes), but the combination was delicious. We also had fire-roasted cabbage and a selection of olives. Marilynn capped off her meal with a lemon and rose Israeli soda, while I had my first-ever glass of Israeli red wine.

Working together, three female waiters provided impeccable service, constantly running up and down the stairs, keeping us informed of any waits, and apologizing profusely when a dish deemed safe when we ordered it was later declared out of bounds for me. The service was every bit as good as the food.

We visited London twice this May. Two days of touristy pursuits in London early on was followed more than a week later by another night near the end of the trip when we met friends. We made sure to catch an early train from Oxfordshire to London so we could eat at Bala Baya a second time. We had aubergine mess (of course) and a round of hummus, delicious memories we will have to content ourselves with because we don’t get to London that often.

A ‘Fine Mess’ of a Time at Elbow Concert

Rock concert or Laurel and Hardy convention? Across a two-week adventure, I only had one request of Marilynn: to see one of my favorite bands, Elbow, which released its 10th studio album in March and was touring the UK while we were in country.

If you haven’t heard of Elbow, I highly recommend a listen (or two, or three). The Manchester-based band has been together since the members were teenagers, and I became aware of them by listening to the totally free and eclectic Internet radio station Radio Paradise (more on that later). Elbow is, in a word, magnificent, something you will understand figuratively and literally after clicking the link in this sentence.

We traveled by train from Oxford to Birmingham, walked from the station to our hotel near the venue, entered the lobby—and saw a bunch of people in fezzes and brightly colored tropical apparel. We had unwittingly intruded on the England convention of Sons of the Desert, an appreciation society for the comedy duo of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, who made 107 film appearances from the late 1920s to the mid-1950s.

Although Laurel has the English connection from his birth in the Lake District, apparently it was the American Hardy who approved creating the society. He didn’t want it called a fan club, according to my new friend Bob, who was nursing a pint in the hotel lounge when I peppered him and his mates with questions about these odd-looking people.

“Sons of the Desert” is their 1933 film where they join a lodge (hence those fezzes), and each chapter of the society, named after one of their films, is called a “tent.” Hardy was born in Harlem, Georgia, where the Laurel and Hardy Museum of Georgia is located. Harlem, about 20 miles west of Augusta, also hosts an annual Oliver Hardy Festival. The next festival is on Oct. 5.

Elbow Not to Be Missed

Meanwhile, back in Birmingham, we relaxed at the aquatics facility attached to the hotel and had a quick dinner before heading to the venue, a short walk away along a footpath next to the motorway.

While the opening act wasn’t to our taste, Elbow delivered a hit-packed, audience-friendly two-hour set that left everyone fully sated and breathless after singing the refrain from their biggest hit, “One Day Like This.” Despite the limited tour, Elbow created a full rock ‘n’ roll experience for the 8,500 or so people in attendance.

Elbow is the third performer we have traveled to listen to as a direct result of listing to Radio Paradise, a listener-supported internet radio station. We also are great fans of Vienna Teng (we saw her in D.C. before she played at Eddie’s Attic in Decatur), and Mindy Smith (ditto Eddie’s Attic but also saw her at City Winery in Nashville). I’m still waiting for Dengue Fever or Zola Blood to play in Atlanta, though.

Radio Paradise is programmed by a former FM radio station disc jockey from a time when DJs played whatever the hell they wanted. He has great taste in music across a wide variety of genres, so you’ll hear Kings of Leon, then Billie Holiday, First Aid Kit, Mozart, and world music you likely won’t hear anywhere else. It all works beautifully, but if something isn’t to your liking, you hit a button and something else plays. The station has a mainstream rock mix, mellow mix, world mix, and a favorites mix if you register and rate at least 100 songs. It’s great, it’s free, and you should check it out.

As the RP T-shirt says: Eclectic as F**k.

A study in Contrasts: Imperial War Museum and Pitt Rivers

The Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford has long been a family favorite, interesting as much for the building and display cases as it is for the artifacts contained within. Although the shrunken heads have been taken off display and some of the language on the exhibits has been updated to reflect current thinking, the museum retains its Victorian charm.

It contrasts nicely with the Imperial War Museum in London that Marilynn and I visited for the first time last week. Established just after the first world war, the museum grew in scope and size over the next century to cover British military engagements from WWI to the present and expanding to five sites. We visited the main museum, about a 15-minute walk from Waterloo Station.

Personal Tales Amid the Horrors of War

The War Museum intertwines the implements of war with the universal struggle for survival among combatants and civilians down to the individual level. Although I’ve seen plenty of fighter planes, guns, and grenades at other museums, I had never seen the family air raid shelters the government gave residents during WWII, including indoor ones for people who didn’t have land and an enclosed cage resembling a small iron lung used to protect pets from a gas attack.

Most interesting, to me at least, were the personal tales connected to items on display, such as a pack of “morale-boosting” cigarettes a woman sent to troops during the second great war (she sent 10,000) or the coat a U.S. Navy officer wore when storming Omaha Beach on D-Day.

The museum also does a great job explaining how the settlement of WWI and its aftermath inevitably led to WWII two decades later. The museum is free to visit, which is a great activity rain or shine.

Pitt Rivers a Throwback Museum Sure to Delight

I love what I call Man-and-His-Crap museums, rich dudes (and you know this type of collecting is dude-specific) who collect stuff that interests them and then put that stuff on display. The Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia (impressionist art) and the Mercer Museum in Doylestown, Pennsylvania (pre-Industrial Revolution tools) were my first glimpses into this subgenre of museums.

Technically, the Pitt Rivers in Oxford doesn’t fit my definition, because British Army officer, ethnologist, and archaeologist Augustus Pitt Rivers merely gave 22,000 items to the university in 1884, with the proviso that a permanent lecturer in anthropology be named. But, as in the Mercer Museum, items are arranged around a common theme, rather than the age of the artifacts.

Want to see sewing supplies from around the world? This is your place. How about opium-smoking equipment? Ditto. Visitors can investigate tools, foot-binding techniques, weaponry, locks, writing utensils, tattoos, surgical implements, and much (much!) more amid the museum’s 500,000 objects.

The Pitt Rivers is accessed through the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, which exudes modernity despite being constructed in the 1850s. The open floor plan and large central exhibit space contrast with the dim, tight quarters of the Pitt Rivers. When we visited the natural history museum a decade ago, it was undergoing refurbishment, with the walk of animals pushed to one side of the central hallway. In addition to the large display of articulated animal bones, young and old alike will enjoy the many cases of dinosaur fossils. Adults should take special notice of the evolution displays, as well as the columns around the building made of differing types of stone from around the region.

4,100 Miles to Try Saka Sauce

It’s no secret Declan and I are fans of the English Premier League team Arsenal. The team’s leading scorer (and all around great lad) Bukayo Saka loves Nando’s, and the restaurant collaborated with the prolific winger to create his own brand of Nando’s sauce, which is fiery with heavy paprika undertones. Declan isn’t on this trip to England and the sauce is only available during football season, so I had to enjoy some for him. Sacrifices a dad has to make for his son, huh?

Journey to London Fraught with Delays

Half-day trip turns into all-day adventure.

A clusterfuck enclosed in a shit sandwich and baked in a sardine tin. That aptly describes what should have been a routine train journey from Penrith in the Lake District of England, where we visited friends, to London, our next destination.

Yes, another end-of-semester and another European adventure, this time two weeks in England for Marilynn and me. She’s giving talks in Oxford and Manchester and meeting up with literature colleagues and friends. I’m along for the ride, but after this day I may want to just stay put.

Little did we know when planning our itinerary that the national railway would want to work on nearly 500 train projects over a long weekend, what’s called a bank holiday here. It’s the equivalent of closing I-75 during spring break.

A direct train from Penrith to London became four separate legs, starting with a bus to our first stop. The 60-seater bus to Oxenholme traversed the M6 motorway before exiting on a goat-trail-sized roadway that corkscrewed its way through sheep fields into a sleepy town on an early Sunday morning. Although I wasn’t driving, it was clear this route wasn’t meant for a large bus. I dubbed the road Beelzebub’s Bunghole, which our driver handled with aplomb.

An Oxymoron, Or Just a Moron?

We successfully made the first transfer to a train bound for Manchester, where the trip we’d planned (and made reservations for) fell apart quickly. At least we’d packed a lunch, but the next train was cancelled due to “overcrowding.” Isn’t it an oxymoron (or just a moron) to run fewer trains because there is an excess of demand?

Marilynn handles the travel planning, checking the national rail journey planner on her phone while muttering under her breath about scheduled trains that suddenly get cancelled or the app showing trains the day before the date she’s specified.

After an hour’s wait, the train that had been sitting on the tracks the entire time suddenly became the next train on our journey, and we exited at Sheffield. With apologies to the fine people of Sheffield, I’ll always remember the city from a previous journey when Marilynn, Declan, and I were eating an early morning breakfast at a Wetherspoon’s pub, where four blokes were having pints — apparently before a day’s work. Gotta love pre-work drinkies!

Following another wait, we managed seats on a direct train to London, even snagging unreserved seats in a carriage where 90% of the seats were reserved for some part of the journey. We shared a carriage with far too many others, including a hen party of women in bright pink cowboy hats and some bloke directly behind us who apparently had been in a stage production of “Shawshank Redemption” because he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it.

Although this train journey was crowded, it didn’t compare to the trip we took last summer from Belfast to Derry, full of fans from the North who were travelling to Croke Park to root for their favorite hurling teams. People were jammed into the carriage with little room to move. Again, we all managed seats, and Declan and I shared Moretti beers with a couple of hurling fans who had come prepared.

Nearly 10 hours after we started (and five hours later than planned), we finally reached our hotel, tired but ready for our next European adventure.

You’d think at this point that our travel troubles would be over. But we also didn’t know that various train operators were planning an industrial action (British for labor strike) for various days next week. Given our travel luck so far, there will be more to this tale soon.