Chapter One

Belfast to Paris

 

The dull grey skies of Belfast momentarily gave way as a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds when I boarded the ferry to Cairnryan.  Feelings of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation filled my senses. My journey had begun. I was determined that I wouldn’t fly at all. I had purchased an interrail pass covering me for 10 journeys over 2 months. I would travel overland by train and bus when necessary and by ferry when required.

I was on this ferry just two years previously with Carmel by my side as we made our way to Ayr for a birthday party. Carmel and a friend had worked at a Butlins Holiday Camp there over 50 years previously. Her friend had met someone who worked there and had a fleeting romance with him. Unfortunately he was from “the wrong religion” and parental pressure would have proved too strong in those days so they drifted apart and like many similar types of liaisons at that time, they were thwarted by circumstance and prejudice. He subsequently emigrated to Canada, made his fortune in real estate, settled down, got married and had a family. Yet he never forgot Carmel and her friend. Many years later widowed and approaching a birthday milestone, he tried to track them down but with little success. Finally as an act of desperation he placed an ad in a local paper in Tyrone and somehow Carmel’s sister in law spotted it, notified Carmel and contact was finally made. We were invited to his birthday party which took place in his home town of Ayr. I always marveled at how fate can bring people together despite the obstacles of time and distance.

I settled into my seat with a cup of coffee and stared out the window as the ferry slowly left Belfast harbor. The first leg of my journey had begun. I struck up a conversation with an elderly lady sitting beside me. She was from Pomeroy in Tyrone and was travelling to visit her sister who moved to Glasgow many years previously. She said that this would probably be her last trip as she was becoming more frail and any future journey would prove too much for her. I began to wonder at the many people who have made similar journeys over the years to visit loved ones and have now given in to old age and ill health to cease making that journey ever again. I thought to myself how fortunate I am to have that choice to travel where I want at this time. The words “Live for the moment” came into my head.

We docked at Cairnryan where a bus was waiting to take us to Glasgow. I would spend the night in that city and then take the midday train to London. One of the stops on our way to Glasgow was Ayr and as we pulled into the bus station where we had alighted only two years previously, an overwhelming sense of loss came over me like a wave of desolation reaching the shoreline of my senses. It was brief and momentary but overwhelming nonetheless.

It was late afternoon as my bus arrived at Glasgow Central Bus Station. The sun was shining as the last vestiges of summer were struggling to maintain its presence. Autumn would soon be coming which would possibly bring uncertain weather but I was looking forward to staring out the window of my train in whatever country I was travelling to note the changes in light and color as the sweeping vista of the countryside passed me by.

I am not the greatest expert when it comes to technology. I had been half dreading my mastery of the Interrail app on my phone with its Journey Planner, Train Reservation and Seat Booking controls. But practice usually makes perfect and needs must often trumps failure to get on top of the maze of settings on the app itself. I have a similar dread of Google maps which is also downloaded on my phone. Most times I would get to my destination quite easily and efficiently but now and then I would end up on a wild goose chase being sent down blind alleyways and cul de sacs. Then I would resort to the old tried and trusted method of stopping a stranger on the street and politely asking for directions. On this occasion as I proceeded to leave the bus station I keyed in my hotel and the street it was on. After 30 minutes literally walking in a circle I ended up where I started from in the first place! So therefore I found the good old fashioned way of asking directions eventually got me to my destination.

I had been to Glasgow on a number of occasions over the years. Our daughter, Maeve, studied physiotherapy at university there and stayed on as a physiotherapist for a number of years after she graduated. So there were plenty of opportunities to visit her and get to know the city accordingly as well as the surrounding countryside. Glasgow has changed considerably over the years. Some people would regard it as a second cousin to Edinburgh but due to investment and vision, the city has come on as a thriving metropolis which has attracted many visitors and tourists as well as providing a home to those who choose to live there.

Whenever I visit a city I often choose to wander its streets looking for quaint restaurants and bars in the process. Glasgow was no exception. I came across an inviting looking establishment and had a lovely meal there. Given I had been travelling all day I was quite tired and opted to go straight back to my hotel and go to bed. My first night on my journey.

The next morning I made my way to Glasgow Central Train Station to get the train to London.

I arrived at the train station early. My train was at 11.36am and I got there in good time. It was a very pleasant journey travelling through the Scottish countryside which eventually gave way to an English landscape. We made a few stops along the way including Motherwell, Carlisle, Wigan and Warrington. There is something magical about staring out the window of a moving train, headphones on my head listening to a piece of music that I like and watching the landscape unfold before me.

My train slowly and gently pulled in to Euston Station in London, one more step to the Continent. But first an overnight with my brother and his wife and then continue the journey the next day.

All Eurostar trains leave from St. Pancras station whether to France, Belgium or the Netherlands. It is an imposing building which was opened in 1868. It was in danger of being demolished in the late 1960’s but after a passionate campaign by various well known figures including the Poet Laureate John Betjeman, it was awarded Grade 1 listed status just 10 days before demolition was due to commence.

I boarded my train and we glided off through the Kent countryside into the darkness of the Channel Tunnel with the sea yards above us, then out into the French countryside. In 2.5 hours we arrived at Gare du Nord in Paris. I had arrived!