Jetlagged and fuelled by a paralysing fear of failure, I had spent my first two days in Ireland looking for jobs. I had applied for around fifty by the time I collapsed in a mentally exhausted heap from it all. The job application blitz had paid off, however, as I landed a temporary job working for customer service at summer events in Galway. My new job started at the end of July, and I decided to head west the week before it started.
I checked out of Binary Hub on a Friday morning and said a fond farewell to Kievagh at reception, giving her a thank-you letter and a box of chocolates. She had helped me so much during my stay, to the extent of writing a reference letter confirming my address for my PPS number application. I walked the short distance to Heuston Station, pushing my suitcase loaded with a duffle bag and winter coat. From there I caught the train to Galway. Boarding the service I quickly realised I should have pre-booked my ticket.
On Irish Rail, if you don’t pre-book your ticket online, and someone comes along who has booked the seat you’re occupying, you have to vacate the seat and hope to find another. It was a stunning summer’s day, and the service to Galway was packed to the rafters. I had to change seats twice, leaving my luggage in a different carriage.
My heart began to race as the train approached Ceannt Station. After seven long years, I was so excited to be back in Galway. The weather was wet and windy, typical of the west of Ireland, but it didn’t dampen my spirits.
Shortly after my arrival, I received a message from my Airbnb host informing me she was arriving back from holiday and wouldn’t be home until 5.30pm. I replied that I was already in Galway and asked if I could at least leave my bag at the property. I went ahead and caught a taxi to the house, where I was greeted by the host’s brother, who let me in out of the rain. I settled into the single room and had a nap, and met the host and her husband when they arrived home later that evening.
At almost $100AUD a night, the room was not much bigger than a broom closet. The host couple were nice, but not particularly welcoming. The TV volume was loud, doors were being slammed, and the host was talking to Alexa and making late-night phone calls in the next room.
On Saturday I ventured back into the city centre, where the International Arts Festival was in full swing. There were thousands of people in the winding cobbled streets, including musicians (including Australian Tim Scanlan), circus performers flying high on a trapeze strung up in Eyre Square, street performers juggling firesticks and knives while peddling a unicycle, and tarot card readers spread out on the sidewalk. No wonder there had been no available accommodation.
The city centre was busy, but the congestion seemed to flow, and buzzed with excitement at the festivities. The streets were much cleaner than Dublin too. I was delighted to see that wheelie bins were in use instead of rubbish bags dumped on the kerbside.
Wandering around, I noticed several jobs advertised and took pictures so I could apply for them later. I strolled along the Long Walk to the Spanish Arch, over the Wolf Tone Bridge to the West End and the Claddagh waterfront. I spotted a seal swimming in the River Corrib, and a silent disco walking tour dancing their way through the streets.
At 6pm, the crowds parted to make way for a giant animatronic Pegasus horse and his mythical escorts. After a busy day capturing all the activity of the festival, my phone battery was flat. I wasn’t yet familiar with the bus times and routes, and my battery lasted just long enough to get me back to my Airbnb.
Sunday was wet, wet, wet. I wandered aimlessly around the streets of Galway, watching street performers contend with the rain. But I had no real direction. I had brought my clipboard with me to write some letters and start work on a new short story, but I couldn’t find anywhere that I felt like I wanted to sit and write. I eventually settled on the Merchant’s Cafe and ordered myself an Irish Breakfast.
Writing in my journal, I started to wish I had stayed in Dublin for the extra week after all. Done some day trips out of the city, had a room with a desk and a private bathroom at Binary Hub instead of the overpriced broom closet at my Airbnb. There had been a comedy festival at Iveigh Gardens that I had been interested to go to. But I had wanted to get out of Dublin, and I did. The next day, I would go to the library, where I would complete my Australian tax return, apply for jobs, and of course, write.
Kate Kelsen 