Island Hopping and Wale Watching

"I shall return."
--General Douglas MacArthur

Leaving Dublin was a sad event, for so greatly did the city and the Irish nation as a whole impress itself upon my heart. Yet, it was only bittersweet sorrow for Chris and I knew we would be back very soon--if only for a short while.

We awoke early on Sunday and check out of the hostel, then walked around the corner to the bus station. We had a bit of confusion with what bus to get on, because the ferry service only ran to Dublin Port and I was thinking we needed to get to Dun Laoghaire. The help, if gruff, bus driver straighten me out though assuring me that Irish Ferries (the line located at Dublin Port) went to Holyhead, Wales (our UK destination.) He was correct, and we made the ferry terminal no problems, got tickets, and walked aboard the massive Jonathan Swift. The passenger deck resembled a cafeteria with two little food counters on either side. Large windows gave you a fine view of the sea, and you could walk out onto the topdeck outside if you wished where the wind was insanely powerful.

We made Wales in two hours flat and had some time to explore the quaintly endearing village of Holyhead. As was the case in Ireland with Irish, all the signs in Wales are in Welsh and English and in the little grocery we visited we heard a lot of the local jabbering in the odd, ancient language. In Holyhead we boarded a train for London using our Britrail pass and then proceeded to ride along the north coast of Wales, which is absolutely stunning to see. I made a promise to myself then that I must return and devote a trip solely to Christian Bale's homeland. At some point mid afternoon we crossed into England and the countryside became wavy green fields covered in sheep; pleasant, but boring. The weather was fantastic the whole day, and it was still bright and sunny when we detrained in London at Euston Station.

London was "all bustle and confusion" as we exited the station onto the street and began the short trek to our hostel. We past St. Pancras and King's Cross stations and got our first taste of the awe-inspiring architecture that would keep our mouths agape as we wondered the city the next few days. I had to constantly remind myself that we were now in a city older that even the thought of America. It is truly something to be in a city as at once ancient and modern as London.

Maybe you can't see, but that's the original John Milton.

We found our hostel, The Clink, in the old converted courthouse it occupies in King's Cross. The place is nice, and is definitely interesting to look at with its Internet consoles and TV lounges set up in the old count rooms. We inquired at the desk and learned that finally, against all odds, Hetty White had made it to Europe and was at the hostel that very moment. We also learned that Ashley and Stephanie had arrived safely, and after dropping off my stuff in the room, I went down to find them.

The poor girls were squirreled away in a sweltering basement room that had no A/C (a foreign concept in Ireland and the UK apparently) and no window. They later got moved up to the first floor, but amazingly Hetty remained in basement room the whole time. Stephanie related to me their trials leaving Dublin; apparently their flight was at 6:30am. They got no sleep and flew on Ryanair, which uses planes pretty much cobbled together from old school buses. Thankfully though, they arrived safely. Upon arriving, they were sitting in the Internet room and Ashley checked her Facebook page and saw a message that Hetty had sent only two minutes earlier. Ashley looked up, spotted the only other girl in the room, and then approached her with a casual,
"Hey, are you Hetty?" It was.


That evening we all five went out and explored London, watching the sun from Blackfriars bridge over the Thames. Everything was closed (which is a frustrating reality of Ireland and Britain both, the earlier close up times) and we ranged far south into London before discovering a chippy that was still open. Much to my delight, I was able to get pie and chips wrapped up in a cone of paper the traditional way. The others got fish and chips, or chicken and we all walked back out of the slum-esque area we were in to the bridge.

It gets dark in London in the summer around the same time as in America, so it was good and dark by the time we made it back to the Clink. We planned an early morning of Tube-facilitated sightseeing, and then were off to sleep.