Posting from work...
So where to begin! I keep intending to leave a post on my many train journeys to Dublin, documenting so to speak the different people I see and meet. I have always been fascinated by the intimacy of trains. I think I even embarrassingly wrote a short story for the school magazine when I was 11 called 'Carriage 32' ....I did not then realise how accurate my fictional observations could be. From movies, to a desire to travel the Orient Express and fascination at places such as Grand Central station when I have seen them, I seem to have created quite a romantic notion of the railway world which is probably why I sit on the most unromantic train in the world and eavesdrop!
So far I have managed to make my train journeys fairly interesting with the different characters that drop in and out of my life at the weekend on them. I think the first eventful train journey was my first one home. I can only describe it as Miss Tery on the edge. Having danced all day and trying to mentally prepare myself for another Monday in the hell that was my old job, I meet my boss on the train. I have to sit with my boss. My boss starts quizzing me on my work schedule for the week and my life in general. Boss falls asleep, I hit the bar cart for something stronger than my bottled water. 2 hours later and a few train stops along the way I am staggering back to my seat. My 'just one to relax me' turned into about 5 ... I blame my new friends the barman and train manager ... I think his name was Steve. I also blame my new best friend Roger who is catching a plane from Belfast to Atlanta to spend Thanksgiving. I meet Roger's wife, Roger videotapes me and some old man for his folks back home, we talk about sweet potato and how at heart "I'm a Southern girl baby!" This concludes with Roger walking me back to my seat, pretending we are old friends (although at this stage I believe we are) and giving me a glowing review to my boss. Not that it matters, but to insular Northern Ireland folk it makes an impression, Roger is a 6''2 African American with a very strong accent and an Atlanta baseball cap... I'm not sure she buys it. I have been trying to blank this journey from my memory ever since, much like the hours that followed it.
Last night I had to endure a VERY packed train and a lot of people whose enthusiasm for the bar cart even outweighed mine..nightmare. I felt bad for the old Indian couple sitting opposite me. They just looked so exhausted and were not left alone. I had been talking to the woman in the train station, along with some elderly Dublin woman who seemed intent on telling me to quit ballet (she saw my shoes) and get a more reliable job. The Indian woman looked exotic amid the sea of drab in the concrete station. Her golden bangles, heavily kajal lined eyes and emerald silk stunning but with an air of sadness. She was a long way from home, dealing with a stubborn husband and the drunks on the train, her beauty didn't seem to fit with her surroundings. She had an amazing smile though that warmed her whole face and was really keen on practising her English with us. She probably did not see the sadness I felt.
My train TO Dublin however on Saturday was what really provoked me to getting around to writing this post. I rushed on, just making it by the skin of my teeth carrying 101 things - bottle of wine for my family, copious amounts of dance shoes, toothbrush! After I finished busying myself arranging and rearranging everything around me, I noticed the man across the aisle from me smiling. I smiled back, turned away and took out my book. "So where are you going then?"... please just leave me in peace! One quiet train journey with my book would be perfect thanks! "Dublin and you?"
From this we established I was going for a ballet class, he was going to stay with some friends in Newry and he spoke fluent Russian and was an avid fan of the ballet. So much for reading! He launched himself across the aisle into the seat opposite me and so began an hour long conversation with a man whose name I never learnt. He had travelled to Africa, he was trying to learn Chopin on the piano, and we both loved Shakespeare and the theatre. He seemed to have spent a large portion of his life living in Moscow, Kenya, learning obscure languages but what he actually did I couldn't quite get. He said Belfast was home but his voice and heavily weathered face with that deep crease on the brow indicated his life of travel. It was rather intense; I found myself going between polite and fascination as he would mention Africa or ballet both of which have special significance to me. Perhaps this was my biggest mistake but what could I do! I was trapped and at least it was passing the time. I was, however, very glad to know he would not be
travelling the full length to Dublin with me. When we arrived in Newry he had to grab all his bags and began reciting his mobile number at me which I was then obliged to put in my phone. Then! Wait for it! The grey bearded OLD(er) man leans forward and kisses me! So I have been thinking maybe I misinterpreted this... maybe reaching forward to kiss young girls on the lips is just common courtesy in Moscow? I'm beginning to think that combined with the phone number that perhaps I was right. Could I really have been picked up on the train by the strangest old man?! For lack of a better word ew!!! I then had to sit the rest of the journey in a state of shock, resisting the urge to go back to the bar cart and avoid the looks of the other train passengers! The shame! So much for these romantic notions of meeting perfect strangers on the trains and starting mad love affairs ... more like perfect creeps! He even cycled past the window on the platform and waved in! He looked unhinged, I turned my head. It was nothing like the picture!
Fortunately I was able to kiss this trauma away following my train journey and be left with nicer memories than this for the weekend!
This has been a long post… my apologies but between lunch-hour, photocopying and general typing it has taken me a few hours to complete and finally post this. I have answered the phone (and broken the phone) about ten times since writing this, but at least it makes me look tres busy and important typing and answering (breaking) the phone from behind the trellis!
So where to begin! I keep intending to leave a post on my many train journeys to Dublin, documenting so to speak the different people I see and meet. I have always been fascinated by the intimacy of trains. I think I even embarrassingly wrote a short story for the school magazine when I was 11 called 'Carriage 32' ....I did not then realise how accurate my fictional observations could be. From movies, to a desire to travel the Orient Express and fascination at places such as Grand Central station when I have seen them, I seem to have created quite a romantic notion of the railway world which is probably why I sit on the most unromantic train in the world and eavesdrop!
So far I have managed to make my train journeys fairly interesting with the different characters that drop in and out of my life at the weekend on them. I think the first eventful train journey was my first one home. I can only describe it as Miss Tery on the edge. Having danced all day and trying to mentally prepare myself for another Monday in the hell that was my old job, I meet my boss on the train. I have to sit with my boss. My boss starts quizzing me on my work schedule for the week and my life in general. Boss falls asleep, I hit the bar cart for something stronger than my bottled water. 2 hours later and a few train stops along the way I am staggering back to my seat. My 'just one to relax me' turned into about 5 ... I blame my new friends the barman and train manager ... I think his name was Steve. I also blame my new best friend Roger who is catching a plane from Belfast to Atlanta to spend Thanksgiving. I meet Roger's wife, Roger videotapes me and some old man for his folks back home, we talk about sweet potato and how at heart "I'm a Southern girl baby!" This concludes with Roger walking me back to my seat, pretending we are old friends (although at this stage I believe we are) and giving me a glowing review to my boss. Not that it matters, but to insular Northern Ireland folk it makes an impression, Roger is a 6''2 African American with a very strong accent and an Atlanta baseball cap... I'm not sure she buys it. I have been trying to blank this journey from my memory ever since, much like the hours that followed it.
Last night I had to endure a VERY packed train and a lot of people whose enthusiasm for the bar cart even outweighed mine..nightmare. I felt bad for the old Indian couple sitting opposite me. They just looked so exhausted and were not left alone. I had been talking to the woman in the train station, along with some elderly Dublin woman who seemed intent on telling me to quit ballet (she saw my shoes) and get a more reliable job. The Indian woman looked exotic amid the sea of drab in the concrete station. Her golden bangles, heavily kajal lined eyes and emerald silk stunning but with an air of sadness. She was a long way from home, dealing with a stubborn husband and the drunks on the train, her beauty didn't seem to fit with her surroundings. She had an amazing smile though that warmed her whole face and was really keen on practising her English with us. She probably did not see the sadness I felt.
My train TO Dublin however on Saturday was what really provoked me to getting around to writing this post. I rushed on, just making it by the skin of my teeth carrying 101 things - bottle of wine for my family, copious amounts of dance shoes, toothbrush! After I finished busying myself arranging and rearranging everything around me, I noticed the man across the aisle from me smiling. I smiled back, turned away and took out my book. "So where are you going then?"... please just leave me in peace! One quiet train journey with my book would be perfect thanks! "Dublin and you?"
From this we established I was going for a ballet class, he was going to stay with some friends in Newry and he spoke fluent Russian and was an avid fan of the ballet. So much for reading! He launched himself across the aisle into the seat opposite me and so began an hour long conversation with a man whose name I never learnt. He had travelled to Africa, he was trying to learn Chopin on the piano, and we both loved Shakespeare and the theatre. He seemed to have spent a large portion of his life living in Moscow, Kenya, learning obscure languages but what he actually did I couldn't quite get. He said Belfast was home but his voice and heavily weathered face with that deep crease on the brow indicated his life of travel. It was rather intense; I found myself going between polite and fascination as he would mention Africa or ballet both of which have special significance to me. Perhaps this was my biggest mistake but what could I do! I was trapped and at least it was passing the time. I was, however, very glad to know he would not be
travelling the full length to Dublin with me. When we arrived in Newry he had to grab all his bags and began reciting his mobile number at me which I was then obliged to put in my phone. Then! Wait for it! The grey bearded OLD(er) man leans forward and kisses me! So I have been thinking maybe I misinterpreted this... maybe reaching forward to kiss young girls on the lips is just common courtesy in Moscow? I'm beginning to think that combined with the phone number that perhaps I was right. Could I really have been picked up on the train by the strangest old man?! For lack of a better word ew!!! I then had to sit the rest of the journey in a state of shock, resisting the urge to go back to the bar cart and avoid the looks of the other train passengers! The shame! So much for these romantic notions of meeting perfect strangers on the trains and starting mad love affairs ... more like perfect creeps! He even cycled past the window on the platform and waved in! He looked unhinged, I turned my head. It was nothing like the picture!Fortunately I was able to kiss this trauma away following my train journey and be left with nicer memories than this for the weekend!
This has been a long post… my apologies but between lunch-hour, photocopying and general typing it has taken me a few hours to complete and finally post this. I have answered the phone (and broken the phone) about ten times since writing this, but at least it makes me look tres busy and important typing and answering (breaking) the phone from behind the trellis!
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