How to Almost Not Make It: My Quest For Waves in Ireland
How to Almost Not Make It: My Quest For Waves in Ireland
Dear reader,
As I had two months free from work and school this summer, I embarked on a new side quest in my so-far, very fulfilling life: I would learn how to surf. I randomly applied to a bunch of surfing hostels across Europe, offering my help in exchange for a bed and surfing lessons. A small hostel on the Irish West Coast responded positively. Only after confirming my stay did I realize just how remote the place was. To get there, I would have to fly to Dublin, take a bus, ride a three-hour train to Westport, catch a second bus to Louisburg, and, finally, hitchhike the last stretch. Nevertheless, I was determined to go and become a surfing girl .
Chapter 1 - A Hopeful Departure
The motto of this trip was 'saving money.' To start on the right foot, I booked a Flixbus from Rotterdam to Amsterdam instead of an over-expensive train. I woke up at 6 AM to the faint sound of my alarm to catch my early flight. As I had moved into a new flat the previous day, my room was crammed with suitcases, tote bags, Albert Heijn bags, and other random things that could fit all my belongings. I turned off my alarm, stood up, instantly tripped on one of the bags, and collapsed on the floor. To say the least, I was properly woken up.
I rushed to the metro station, but there was no metro for 20 minutes. Brave as I was (and out of options), I started walking to Central Station. Only I did not consider my substantial backpack, which had me sweating like a prepubescent boy. I eventually made it to Centraal where I waited for my bus. It was running late, but I didn't worry much as I am familiar with Flixbus's unreliability. After a 20-minute delay, I double-checked my ticket to see if I had the right time in mind. Turns out I was right about the time. However, my ticket was for September 3rd instead of July 3rd. I was annoyed but barely surprised by my own mistake. I opened the NS app with a sigh of despair, booking an over-expensive train for Schipol.
Chapter 2 - Something had to go wrong
Once at Schipol airport, I passed through security easily and settled comfortably in the waiting area. I glanced at the departure screen every five minutes, waiting for my boarding gate to open. Finally, something appeared in bright letters next to my flight number - ' DELAYED .' I couldn't afford to be late in Dublin. Dublin was only the beginning of my journey, the first step in an endless trip to the middle of nowhere in Ireland. The trains and buses to go there are very limited, which means that my travel was planned to the minute. A delayed flight was not part of the plan. A delayed flight meant I would miss my train. Missing the train meant I would also miss the only bus scheduled for that day. I couldn't do much about it except patiently wait and try to fix that delay the best I could: by buying an overpriced breakfast and scrolling through Instagram.
At last, we boarded. The flight was faster than expected, which gave me hope about catching my train.
Chapter 3 - The Rise of Hope
As soon as I landed in Dublin, I grabbed my backpack and sprinted through the airport to the buses. For once, luck was on my side: a bus was leaving in five minutes, just in time for me to reach the train station. I bought a ticket and started queuing. But the bus was filling up quickly, and a bus employee closed the line right before I could step in. As I couldn't let that bus leave without me, the negotiation struggle started: begging, charming, crying, I tried everything I could think of. He didn't blink once, and I had to declare forfeit.
Surprisingly, the next bus went fast, and I arrived at the train station exactly when my train was supposed to leave. I ran, dragging my heavy backpack and light hopes that I would make it in time. Alas, the train had left already. With my now-useless train ticket in hand, I headed to the desk office to try and exchange it. Once again, I bargained with a grumpy employee whose resistance was unwavering in front of my beaming smile and French charm. He sold me a new ticket, with an extra fee, because of the last-minute purchase. I started to rethink my motto; something like 'how to lose all your money in less than 24 hours' suddenly more appropriate.
I had three hours to wait until the next train and no scheduled bus for the rest of the journey. Instead, a long hitchhiking ride was waiting for me. I decided to head toward a cute park and enjoy my lunch in the sun. Despite using Google Maps, I still managed to get lost twice on my way. I sat down on the grass, spreading hummus on my bread with a pen (I had forgotten cutlery, but, at this point, I could not have cared less).
Chapter 4 - Embrassment
Once on the train, I sat across two friendly-looking girls and eyed for an outlet to charge my soon-to-be-dead phone. It was only when staring at this three-hole outlet that it hit me - I was in the UK. Which meant my EU charger was useless here without an adapter. I asked around for one, and a kind soul handed me their UK charger. Immediately, I started yapping through voice notes with a friend, complaining about my love life and my stinky smell. I was feeling extremely comfortable, assuming that Irish people could not understand a word of French.
The two girls sitting in front of me were staring at me, and I smiled at them, presuming they were charmed by the beautiful French language. Out of the blue, one of them started talking to me. In French . These two girls were French. I realized they had understood everything I had said in my voice notes, and I could feel my cheeks burning from embarrassment. Desperate to put an end to that awkward interaction, I stuck my bright pink earplugs into my ears and pulled my yellow bear eye mask over my eyes.
After a blissful nap, I woke up to the sweet sound of a woman shouting on her phone, 'YES, HONEY, YOU SHOULD PACK MORE THAN TWO UNDERWEARS!', with such a powerful voice that my earplugs were utterly useless against it.
Chapter 5 - At last, good karma
Finally, I arrived in Westport, still clinging to a faint hope of catching the bus. I got off the train and silently contemplated my bus leaving from the platform where I stood. Resigned, I was about to start hitchhiking when I received a text from the hostel's manager. “I can pick you up in Westport.” Overwhelmed by joy, relief, and a feeling of happiness, I realized I would be peacefully sitting in a car for the last leg of this journey. At last, my luck had turned.
Luckily,
Alice Raffegeau