Thursday, June 21, 2018

I don't remember how I got to Ireland (updated)

I don't remember how I got to Ireland.

It was almost 20 years ago, but I have an excellent memory for that kind of thing. I remember how I got back from Ireland, down to the stares from a couple on the Cork-Swansea ferry as I curled up for the night in an open area in the lounge. You're theoretically not supposed to, but people do it. I remember getting off the ferry and on the bus, and giving another passenger a pound or two so they could take the bus (they didn't have any UK currency). I remember the bus ride from Swansea vividly. But I can't figure out how I got to Ireland. I remember that it was Columbus Day Weekend (and probably a bank holiday, since I had a long weekend).

I remember flying from London to Bonn and back a few months later, and months after that taking the ferry to Cherbourg and driving down to central France with a friend. I remember it down to noticing the thatched roofs on the way and having a banana shortly before we got to Clermont and singing along to 'sex bomb.' I remember taking the train back up--I even remember my friend calling the ticket agent 'provincial' (in a friendly way--and I remember changing trains in Paris and enjoying the walk between stations. I remember changing stations in London as well. I remember pretty much every conveyance I've taken, but I couldn't tell you how I got to Ireland.

I remember being unimpressed with Killarney and falling in love with the Dingle Peninsula. I must have flown, but where would I have flown from? I don't remember ever flying out of Cardiff, and I doubt I would've gone to London from Wales to get to Ireland. This isn't the kind of thing I forget, but I've forgotten it.

So I checked my old passport—this was two passports ago—and it was Cork. I must have taken the ferry over as well and taken the train or a bus to Killarney. I’ve no recollection of any of that. I guess the Cork-Swansea ferry shut down in 2012. End of an era.

Family reunification: where to donate