It took (rugby) balls.

“Great win, wasn’t it?” he said. “Incredible really, an enormous occasion, much more than just a game of rugby,” I replied, noticing his wide smile and big blue eyes. We were both sat on the 9pm train out of Dublin’s Heuston station en route to Cork. It was the 25^th of February 2007 and Ireland had just beaten England off the pitch in Croke Park in a game that had truly transcended sport.

There was a striking silence in the carriage, broken only by  intermittent rustle of  newspapers, the crinkle of tayto crisp bags, the frizzing crack of (much needed) Lucozade bottles being opened and the sharp snap of another heavenly paracetamol tablet being released from its blistery foil. It was obvious to the world and her mother that a good 99% of the punters on this train had been celebrating the night before and were now happily (albeit with great tiredness) basking in the warmth of the incredible victory.  It was also obvious that a large proportion of them were  hungover, as was I.

Opposite me was a white haired gent, an older man, in his seventies maybe. He was devouring (with some satisfaction I imagine) the sports section of the paper. Every so often I noticed how he would lower his newspaper and sneak a quick glance at me and the blue eyed "joy" sitting beside me.  The boy’s name was Seán ( not real name) from West Cork  ( real place) and he was utterly lovely. A big strong guy, messy dark brown curls framing a strikingly rugged but kind face. The train journey flew by as we chatted and laughed like old friends. There was a frisson of something in our exchanges that could have been mistaken for mild flirtation- whatever it was, it was great and I was quite happy to go with it! Seán had a friend with him too, but he didn’t talk much, listening to his music mainly, and at times it felt like myself and this fine thing were the only two people on the train.

“Oh good for you,” I gushed (a little too much) as he explained that he was very soon due to leave his job in Cork and take flight to Australia. “I’ve just returned myself,” and on went the conversation about travel and its merits. “But the Celtic Tiger is roaring loudly here I said, maybe you should stay around for another bit? His feet were too itchy he explained – “when it’s time to go, it’s time to go, you know yourself,” he confided. Did I ever. No stopping this one I thought to myself. Nor would I want to- kindred spirit and so on. Ah well, timing is key.

“This is me, I think.” Mallow train station. I smiled politely as the gentle giant retrieved my case from the overhead storage. “It was really nice chatting to you, “he smiled broadly at me. “ You too and the best of luck with everything.” And off with me, scarf on, leather jacket zipped up tightly in readiness for the bitter cold that awaited me outside. Waiting by the train’s door I checked my watch, just after 11pm, my body was exhausted and I longed for my bed.

“Will I?  Ah, no way, no, not my style, and there are too many people around and I’m too hungover AND shur what’s the point? he’s leaving the bloody country…! But he was so lovely and they say you should do the things that scare you, but no, I’m not going to , stop Liz, stop now, just leave it”- These were my thoughts. Just as the last thought slid upwards into the ether I decided to go for it. Just do it.

I reached into my handbag, wrote down my name and details on a post it note and began the incredible nerve wracking walk back down the long narrow aisle of the carriage, back to Seán (swoon), the mute friend and Mr. Newspaper man. I stood and looked down at him in his seat.

 “Hi again there…Seán. I cleared my throat. “So, I continued, I just thought I’d give you my name- and email- you know- just in case you ever want to- well- you know- contact me or meet up again sometime, or maybe just let me know how you’re getting on down under or whatever – I just thought…..am, maybe it might be handy (oh my good GOD- what am I doing?!!!), mmm, it doesn’t matter really, shur whatever…”. And with that I all but threw the piece of paper at him in a moment of utter panic and fear.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing came out of his (gorgeously formed) mouth  for what felt like five minutes, (which of course, in reality, was only a few ),  but he did struggle to talk, he was in shock I think. Then at last he blurted out: “Oh right, yeah, fair play, thanks, ok, shur eh, well, shur, I dunno but thanks very much, ok”, he was shifting his eyes nervously from the post- it to me with embarrassed eyes and back again.  Thanks a lot, mmm”, he finished.

With a pounding heart, palms drowning in a sinful bath of vodka and red bull from the night before and lips that felt they were no longer part of my own face, I turned on my heel to flee, and as I did, Mr. newspaper man lowered his newspaper for the last time and like a scene from an old black and white movie gave me that “here’s looking at you kid” smile with a quick wink of his right eye.  I acknowledged his approval with a big smile. Ok, get me off this train…..NOW!

 “Are yiz alright there luv?” quipped a stern but friendly- ish voice from behind me. I was standing, neck craned with cheek feverishly splayed sideways onto the window of the door, willing myself desperately to see that Mallow sign on the horizon. “I’m grand thanks, just getting off now here in Mallow”, I assured him. You’ll be waiting girl, he laughed, shur we’re only in Charleville pet, Mallow is two stops away yet-  so you’ll have to return to your seat there now for another while, no sitting in between the carriages  what with the health and safety  and all ..and the train is full, back to your seat now please –
 “Em actually no, no, I’m grand here,” I said, “honestly, I’m grand.-" Back to your carriage now love, "No, I can’t, I actually cannot go back to my seat.” I’ll say it once more now love, back to your seat, please love”.                        

OH.JESUS.CHRIST.

After fruitless pleading for a few  more seconds but to no avail, I  very slowly returned  to my seat and through mortified silence sat there for another half an hour, clinging to my case, waiting. Nobody spoke a single word for the rest of the journey.

                                                                                     ***

I finally got home and clambered, exhausted, in to my lovely safe bed. Sleep came easily I can tell you. As for Seán, lovely, strong and blue eyed Seán, well he did go to Australia and emailed me to say he was having the time of his life and didn’t think he would ever come home and “wasn’t it a pity we hadn’t met earlier?.”  I never heard from him again.

God damn him to hell.

                                                               

                                              WORLD NOMADS TRAVEL COMP ENTRY

      "There is one thing which gives radiance to everything. It is the idea of something around the corner." GK Chesterton.

 We can roam to each and every corner of the globe and find many stark differences but essentially we are all the same. We are life, I am life. I bring it everywhere with me and to everything I do. It courses around my body and keeps me moving forward. I was created as a result of the desire that my parents shared to create life and as a result of life's longing for itself, perhaps. My earliest memories of them both is how hard they both worked in our pub in the Republic of Ireland. It was a place that teemed with life- I’d watch on from behind the counter, still too young to participate fully but always immersed. That place taught me some of life’s earliest and most important lessons- listen to people, be kind to them, be curious, travel far and wide and have as much fun as you possibly can. The years rolled on and life’s ups and downs came and went. I went to college, got a teaching degree and life felt mapped out. Life was safe. I had a loving boyfriend whom I thought I would marry, a pensionable job, a little car and I felt fiercely protected but there was a problem - I was unhappy. I wanted adventure! I had a lot to entice me to stay but I didn’t really want any of it at the time. It was too soon and I was too young. I wanted to be free. In one grand swoop I pulled the rug from under my feet and in what felt like the blinking of an eye I found myself on a one way flight to Sydney… and petrified. I will always remember the beautiful guy sitting beside me, on that my first flight into the unknown. He had just left the wilds of rural Galway (and the only life he'd ever known) to begin a solo adventure in New Zealand, one way ticket also. He looked as nervous as I felt. His strong, tanned arm touched mine as we shared an armrest. It was too close for comfort considering we were perfect strangers but we didn’t readjust. We both needed to feel it. I had to stop myself from lifting his arm and wrapping it around me just to feel that comfort again… We didn’t talk at length- no need.  When we stopped over in Singapore for our connecting flights we hugged for longer than strangers should. “Best of luck with everything, now”, he whispered and walked to his gate. I took a long deep breath in and took lead to mine. It was 2005 and I was alone now for the first time and living this unforgettable thing we call life.

                                                                                ***

I have taken many more flights since that momentous one to Australia in 2005. I have worked and/or travelled to Asia, Africa and Central America. Each place is well remembered in my mind and now on the walls of my new little home as treasured framed photos. These places however have become so much more than just coloured pieces of squared paper thoughtfully placed in a hallway. They have become part of who I now am. I've had so much fun and could write many stories about the people I've encountered: Solomon Maverick the guy who brought me back to life (romantically!)in Thailand, Nepalese families making me rice wine up the Himalayas during a knee trembling storm, Big Jim, the hallucinogenic cane toads and the crazy Russian in Costa Rica, Michael Jackson tribute act in the remote villages of Kenya's Rift Valley, losing every single last thing I owned in New Zealand and giving away every single thing I owned to a stranger in Cambodia, dancing and romancing in rooftop pools in Sydney. The fun journeys take you, the challenging ones make you. Holding a dying baby in Africa changes you forever. Of course, there are also moments that I will just keep to myself, in my own heart to help me remember what true strength really is, moments where I felt as close to whatever God, Buddha or other that may be out there in the firmament. Almost on some sort of neuro molecular level a little  piece of each place I've roamed to  has been added to the essence of me. The sounds, smells, colours, tastes and above all the people have created new links in my head that are easily plucked from the recesses of my consciousness by simply taking time to remember them. So what would it mean to me if I won this opportunity? It would add to my very existence and enrich my mind, body and spirit. And in turn using the best and most evocative words I can muster up I will  try my best to enrich the lives of those who read my tales.

Why should I be chosen you ask? I should be chosen because I have come to understand and live life in two ways. I live it once in the moment and again on paper. I will spend the rest of my days doing that regardless. But to be given the opportunity to help others understand life, by reading about how others live it, in different faraway places, around this globe, would be a memory for which there would be no frame big enough.

Our Father’s Love

Some humans yell from rooftops on high

Of the great love they feel for a precious new child.

Any why not?

Let them declare it, if the feelings be so.

Shout it out loud and let the universe know.

Some take pen and paper to hand

To write of deep fondness- the type speech can’t command.

Others find it too hard to say

Those three words I love you- it is just not their  way.

Your love for your children was shy but true

And this is what we’ll remember of you.

You’ve soared away now

To that “haven of rest”

Over Cork’s charming hills

In “the land of the west.”

But before you departed

As I kissed your pale brow

A realisation emerged

That still stays with me now:

Each father’s love uses a different  colour,

And no one canvas dyes better than the other.


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