Dublin

I’ve checked in at Shoreline this evening in a place called Donabate near Dublin. I’m staying on the top floor for my last night in beautiful Ireland. Unlike my pricey accommodation in the inner city last night, there’s nothing flashy about this place. Shoreline reminds me of an Australian surf club with its patterned carpet and waiting lounge at the entrance, its large restaurant, and its paved outdoor area that overlooks the beach, with its inviting narrow dirt trail summoning people down the embankment. The building is sizeable yet humble, which I like because it's cozy. But let me tell you, the location is nothing shy of magical. I bet this place is buzzing during summer.

My room has a nice big window that opens to incredible sea views. Under the window inside my room is a cute little old-fashioned dark green velour chase lounge where I’ve happily sat and finished reading my current book: Confessions of a Forty-something F#%k up…. uncanny, right? This lounge under its big, breezy sea window is a case of - the perfect thing at the perfect time, as I was feeling city-fatigued.

I should clarify that today wasn’t all about kicking back and lying around, though. I took a cliff-top and beachside walk and passed a place called Portrane. This place was full of that depressing boarding-school-red brick. It was big with a castle and clock tower, among other buildings. This interesting place is historic, but I noticed it was a bit unloved, with nothing mowed and windows that were boarded up. So out came the map, and Mr.-all-knowing-Google and I discovered it was an asylum. No wonder it felt depressing…who paved paradise to put up an asylum village? Oof, no wonder people abandoned it! It's a shame because this would be a very cute and interesting spot if it were now a historic yet functioning town or restaurant district.

So, I’ve returned to the Shoreline restaurant for dinner, I look up every now and then from my prime corner position and take in another look at that vast sea view before the daylight disappears.

Maybe it's something about travelling alone, but I’ve done it before and remained oblivious. My usual insensitive self is somehow acutely aware that my grandfather's body is still out there somewhere, as it has been since he was torpedoed onboard HMS Whirlwind D30 and sent to his water grave on the 5th of July 1940. This left my Nan Ailee and my mum Cynthia behind; Mum had just turned two the day before. George went down with Mum’s little birthday present; hopefully, it comforted him. So, I sigh and say my final goodbye as the sun goes down on me in Ireland for the last time.

The restaurant has been playing music. I’m listening to The Piano Man by Billy Joel, which I dislike as it usually gives me miserable vibes, but tonight it's okay. I think it's the dream that tomorrow I’ll be lying on a Portuguese beach that makes the world feel fine.

Anyway, peeps, that's all from me in Ireland. See you next in sexy Lisboa!

Portrane Ireland