A bit of craic

We had to leave Belfast all too soon. The very definition of a whirlwind visit, I felt that this is a place I need to come back to. Belfast itself was fascinating, the rest of Northern Ireland promises to be more. Names swirl in my head: Derry, the Giant's Causeway, Lough Neagh, Armagh and what delights could we find on Rathlin Island?

But time pushes us to Great Victoria Street station and Dublin. The station was only a block away, the train was comfortable, the four of us sharing a table on which to pile all our toys. A couple was seated across from us, pleasantries exchanged and we watched as the lush Irish landscape presented itself for our review.

Sarah broke out her treats, the snack car came up the aisle on time and we settled in. I knew the trip was only a couple of hours, so after a while I began to wonder if we had left Northern Ireland and entered the Republic of Ireland. There was no big marker, no dour looks from immigration officials looking for terrorists, no announcements, nothing. Well - were we in Eire or not?

The couple across the aisle had been joined by two men, and being Irish, they were enjoying a bit of craic, the hometown word for an enjoyable converstation. Laughter was shared, frowns punctuated forays into serious subjects, but they led me to ask, "Excuse me, but are we in the Irish Republic yet?". My flat American accent confirmed my origins, but one man looked me straight in the eye, not smiling, "You can tell when we go to the Irish Republic when you feel the bump!". His eyes searched. Me, not quick in these situations, pondered for an instant, then smiled. He smiled, he knew he had a live one.

The converstation at one point turned to collecting. The man sitting kitty-corner from me declared his interest in coin collecting. This was mostly a converstation between him and his friend but soon it spread to the group.

My barber in Eastlake gives change in $2 bills. Remembering I had one, actually two, in my wallet I was pleased to note that it was fresh and crisp. I handed it across the aisle and asked if he "had one of these?". He carefully looked at the bill, turned it over, appreciated the good condition of the bill. "No", he said. Although he goes to the US from time to time, and getting a $2 bill is always on his list, he went on to say that he when he is on the plane going home, the item on his list was not scratched off. Motioning to the bill, I said "that one is yours". In a most elegant way, he said thank you, not protesting that he give me something for it, just enjoying my improptu gift. Pretty nice.

The converstation continued unabated. The coin collector mentioned at one time that he had had a heart valve replacement. This presented an opportunity to talk about Sarah's heart transplant, accompanied by a full round of congratulations and genuine wonderment at such things.

Occasionally the converstation would break into smaller groups. Religion was touched on, politics came into sight and then rolled away. Ireland was never far away. The bank crisis, the wars in the middle east, all took their turn.

The Irish Sea swept by and the outskirts of Dublin decorated the windows. I gradually turned and watched the green hills, the carefully tended suburban homes, the factories chugging away. Traffic, stores, people. We were in the built up area and the train was slowing. Soon we would be in Dublin.