Brussels was soon left behind, the flight passed quickly and uneventfully, except for a slight mishap with the salt & sugar packets supplied by the attendants.  It seems the contents had been invariably switched, giving a wonderful taste to one’s tea or coffee.  I wasn’t the only one who noticed – when I commented wryly to Claudia, I felt, more than heard, the laughter of someone behind who had already caught the mistake.

I had seen many of the same faces on the flight as on the earlier train, which confirmed my suspicions that others shared our travel plans.

As we flew into Dublin I admired the lights: to me, there has never been anything so beautiful and intriguing as a city skyline in the night.  The endless streams of traffic spun threads of glowing light through a silken blanket of darkness, patches cut from the velvety blackness of the parks interspersed with the twinkling squares of the city’s nightlife.  This was a familiar sight to me – I had seen it many times before from my night trains, and I pulled this comforting familiar blanket around my shoulders with the sense of having worn it before.  But now the plane has begun its descent – look out, inhabitants of Dublin – the girls of Wellington Square are among you.

Dublin has proven as interesting as it originally promised.  The city seemed to put on its most attractive face for us as we wandered through its streets and alleys.  And yet, through the entire day which now lay behind us, every brick, every stone, every wisp of air seemed to breath the word ‘Achill’ into my ear.  The others felt it too – I could see their excitement – covered and smothered by the trappings of 20th century mannerisms.  It was building by the minute, as was mine.  What would we learn tomorrow, the next, and the next?  As soon as our physical journey ended on the island, the real psychological journey would begin – and who knew where it would end?

We passed the last evening in a small pub just around the corner from our hotel.  The interior was quite dark, the air heavy and smoke-laden from the generations of pipe- and cigar-smokers who had graced its benches.  Trying to relieve our stress we finished pitcher after pitcher of brew, our own heads growing heavy with the weight of it all.  There were few interruptions at our table.  I was silent, watching the usual crowd of would-be artists and writers that always flocked to quaint little corners like this.

A typical Irish folk band -- at least they sounded Irish -- strummed their way through the evening in the far corner, and I recognized some of the melodies, remembering with longing the words my grandfather had once sang along with his guitar.  Oddly enough, earlier in the day I had seen a six-string just like his laying in the luggage rack in the train… the sight had brought with it a swirl of memories long stiffled.

I noticed another who seemed to share heavy thoughts -- or at least I assumed so, by the amount of whiskey he was consuming... My mood was lightened however, as we girls giggled at the scraggly little dog in the corner that was howling along with the singer...

People came and went, accompanied by cold gusts of air each time the door would open.  And once, from a dark corner I heard the sound of a cell-phone ringing, quickly squelched as its owner pulled it from his bumble-bee striped backpack, punched some buttons and glanced apologetically around.  ‘He looks like he would fit in well with the others on my night train,’ I thought to myself.  Like us, he was a foreigner, but more than that, somehow, you learn to always recognize those of kindred spirit.  People with secrets always notice those of others.

Part 3

And now, what will we find?  The evening had passed so quickly I hardly remember it, and the journey on to Achill was moving just as swiftly.  More and more faces were becoming familiar as the same people from our train and flight also appeared to be traveling on to the island, our shared itinerary.  I knew it.

When we came within view of the island I could see the coastline and the tree-covered outlines of the hills, and I realized, in spite of the clouds and dreariness of the late afternoon weather, or perhaps because of it, that they were even more beautiful than all the web-pages and travel brochures had promised.

We had arrived.  The moment of truth could be put off no longer.  Our taxi, along with many others was just pulling up outside the art gallery. As the doors opened and the taxis’ contents spilled  out, I saw again the same faces – there was the woman (link to Alex' final story) who had sat near me on the plane, along with her seat companion, and many more.  What would we all find out now?