this week I flew with Aer Lingus to Dublin. It’s the second time. The first time was when my parents sent me at the tender age of 15 to Ireland. They thought at the time it was too dangerous for me to go to England. Too much trouble there. So, I ended up flying for the first time in my life back then from Paris (where I was first sent to learn French before embarking on the English) to Dublin. I had a very memorable summer in the Tipperary town of Cashel with the Savage family, that sunny August. My friends Emer and Donal have since long moved to Australia and Spain respectively. Equally memorable was the return journey, which took me from Cashel by bus to Dublin, boat to Liverpool, coach to London, underground, train to Dover, boat to Calais, train to Brussels and finally Munich. I can’t remember thinking much off it then.
Yesterday I went for a speed visit to meet Guilherme Luiz Vergara and Jessica Gogan who came over from Brazil. We were to discuss the Fernweh programme which we plan together on the train. A lot of talking around what openings there are for perception from both an insider’s and outsider’s view point. Can a foreigner ever become a local? Our parleys cruised across the globe from Scotland to Brazil, via Ireland, the US, Spain and back again before we settled for a few pints of Guinness with Jessica’s dad in the very notable Kehoes pub (first licenced in 1803 when the winds of revolution were blowing through Dublin’s air). Off to Sheffield the next day via Ryan Air. And oh, I just remembered: I was once on an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin in between. It was some 15 years ago, with Nick when we sent our wee girls on a flight to Munich to see Oma at the tender ages of 5 and 7. I wonder what they thought much off it then. I must ask them.
The next day I went to Parson Cross in Sheffield. A very different kind of experience there.