The journey back to St Ferriol was to take a little longer than I had planned. Firstly, a flight from Dulles airport in DC would be twice the price of one from JFK in New York – both to Manchester in England. So, although JFK was much farther away from Greencastle, I opted for the latter route. This choice necessitated an overnight stopover in Manchester, rather than an 8-hour wait had I chosen to go from Dulles. To mitigate this, I decided to fly to Carcassonne from Stansted rather than Manchester which allowed me to claw back a couple of hours. My plan, then, was Greencastle-Harrisburg-JFK-Manchester-Stansted- Carcassonne-St Ferriol, leaving at 0900 on Saturday and arriving at 1600 on Monday!
The first leg went smoothly thanks to Terry who gave me a ride to the train station. Then it was an Amtrak to New York. While at the station, I fortuitously met a fellow biker, from Australia, called Molly. She had travelled with her husband from home in New York to Harrisburg h where her daughter was at University; he had gone back earlier, and she had opted to return by train. She offered to guide me through the station in New York which had me worried slightly as I thought it might be a bit complicated and I still wasn’t fully mobile.
Entering NY, I had a very misty view of Manhattan as we approached from Brooklyn (I think).
Then, with Molly’s assistance I made my connections went smoothly. While waiting on my train – she insisted on seeing me safely on board – I discovered that she lived in up-town NY and that her brother-in-law was a baker in Belfast Bakery in Australia (Belfast, Australia is now called Port Fairy). The train I was catching was going downtown and was the A-train, so in the space of one afternoon, I lived through three well-known tunes 🎶: I met Billy Joel’s Up-town Girl; I took Rod Stewart’s Downtown Train; and, at the same time, I took Duke Ellington’s A-Train – You can watch/hear this here.
The subway was an interesting exercise for a first timer. It was a bit like the London Underground only somewhat more interesting – people would talk to you! I chatted to an older guy who complained bitterly about the fact that he was expected to pay $8,50 to get off the train from the airport, and told me how he managed to avoid it by doing something I didn’t quite understand. Other folk, not easily missed, were colourfully dressed.
Anyways, I got to the airport finally and onto the plane. Here I discovered that a Aer Lingus were using the same planes, seemingly fitted out in the same manner as those they used for short haul flights. In the back of the seat was a small screen on which to watch the inflight movies; unfortunately the seats were so closely spaced that I couldn’t easily focus o the screen! Only by pressing my back into the seat and tilting back my head could I manage this. In addition the headphones were those two-pin things common in the 90s – pretty much useless! That’s what you get for being a cheapskate and opting for a return flight at $700, I guess!
We approached Manchester only to be informed that there had been a blackout earlier which had caused serious delays and congestion at the airport, so we were in a holding pattern, waiting on the decision as to whether we could land or would be diverted to anther airport. At this point I was glad I hadn’t tried to make a connection that day, or any day from Manchester and hadn’t booked a hotel room. In the end we were the last plane to get a landing slot before others were diverted.
So there I was having breakfast while waiting on my bus to Stansted, when I noticed that I had to change buses at Milton Keynes. Now I have friends who live not a stone’s throw from this transport hub and I hadn’t seen them since I passed by on my way to Belfast from Africa. So I waited until what I thought was a reasonable hour – 0900 – on a Sunday morning before calling.
Graeme and Elva were still in bed recovering from Captain’s Day activities at the golf club whee Graeme just happened to be Captain. He was reassuringly pleased to hear from me and we exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, as you do, before I asked if I could have a bed for the night. “Of course,” was the reply, “when are you coming?” “Tonight!” This elicited an amused, but not, I suspect, an altogether surprised, response. 😊
Graeme kindly agreed to meet me at the station, but then due to a misunderstanding went to the train station whilst I was at the bus station. Once we did meet, I asked if he was OK with getting me back to the station to catch my bus at 0700 the following morning. “No,” he said, before informing me that there was another bus that left from much closer to home that I could catch and he would happily drop me there.
What followed was a very pleasant reunion and catch-up over a brain and a few beers, before we had a, relatively, early night to catch up on the sleep we had all missed the night before.
Next morning we were up early to catch my first bus. Graeme insisted on accompanying me to the departure stop at the station as we couldn’t identify clearly which one it was. Finally we did and as we walked towards the stop, we saw the bus with my number, X-5, pulling out of the station. Needless to say, I was got to the other bus station and arrived at Stansted Airport in plenty of time for my flight, which was then delayed for a hour.
I had arranged with my daughter, Roisin, that I would get the train from the airport to Limoux, about 20km from St Ferriol where she would meet me. She was staying at my house with some friends and her younger brother, which contributed to my decision to return to recuperate. Nonetheless, I asked on a couple of WhatsApp groups if anyone was going to be at the airport and could give me a lift. Good friends John and Clare offered, well it was Clare actually who offered, to come and get me and in spite of my protestations that I had a perfectly suitable alternative, the conversation ended with the command, “John’s coming to get you; don’t leave the airport!”
I arrived at the house to find it had been rechristened in my absence; now there are 26 Belfasts in the world! 😊
Since the house was already full, I would be sleeping on the couch. This was not acceptable and Clare had a bed ready for me, John said, but since Luka, my son, would be leaving the next day, and had extended his stay to be there for the night, my refusal of this additional kind offer was accepted. The cushions from the couch, on the floor were actually very comfortable.
Thus ended my unforeseen return trip, and it felt remarkably good to be back home.
It was especially good to see my kids (kids, ha! 😂). I also reflected on how fortunate I was to have such kind and generous friends, from Terry and Rhonda who retrieved me and hosted me after my fall; to Bobbie and Terry who housed, fed and and carried me on to the station, then Graeme and Elva who again housed, fed and carried me from and to the station; and finally Clare and John who went out of their way to get me home.
So there you have it Diana, little did I know what was ahead when I decided to return home. It was a bit of a struggle, and somewhat uncomfortable at times, but underlined my experience to date – that people are genuinely kind and willingly helpful. I keep repeating myself, maybe, but make no apology for this.
So for now I have nothing more to say, save, “Thank you, one and all!”
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 