By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Tuesday, I woke up sick. My ears were pulsing, and my head ached, but at least the fever gave me some warmth as I walked through the snow to the 371 bus at the end of the street. The driver knew me well enough now, holding out his hand, asking “into town again, sweetheart?”, as I’d drop my two-pound coin into his palm. He was old enough to be my grandfather, but the way he spoke mostly to my chest told me he wasn’t interested in playing a paternal role. The only chemist I had noticed since my arrival in Belfast was away from the main drag, between a tattoo studio and an antique jewellery store. The branding that lined the shelves was still unfamiliar, but it had stopped making me feel so isolated and new – it was all the same under the plastic. “Alright love? What cannae do for ye?” the chemist’s bright red beard matched the shine of his nose, and the thick, rounded sound of his vowels told me he, too, was not native to these parts. “I need cold and flu tablets. Something for a fever. Please.” I turned away to breathe out, not wishing this illness on the man behind the counter. We chatted for some time. Firstly about my accent, which was noticed by nearly everyone, and he told me of his trip to Australia back in the early 90’s. “Lotsa commotion aboot some uranium mine. I cannae remember if went ahead or not, but a lot o’ people were out there fighting it. Good times, they were.” His belly laugh was infectious, but my chuckle ended in another coughing fit. Belfast was full of kind, chatty people, but until now I didn’t really feel as though I’d made a connection. I had visited every tourist destination and taken every tour, but this middle-aged man watching me noisily blow my nose was the closest thing I had to a friend. “What? You travelled here on your own? You’re a brave thing aren’t ye?” I’d told him it was my first trip overseas and I’d come to visit my brother. I didn’t feel brave. I thought back to my last days in Australia, when my friends were calling me courageous for doing nothing more than sitting on a plane by myself for twenty-something hours. In Dublin I’d purchased my fifteen Euro ticket and sat on the bus to Belfast where my brother picked me up and dropped me at his place. I travelled by myself, but I wasn’t travelling by myself. Eventually I grabbed the white paper bag and water bottle and retreated through the store, passing the make-up and DIY pedicure sets, and slipped into the cavity of the tattoo studio's stairs. I reefed open the bag of drugs. The water was warm compared to the weather outside, despite the condensation soaking through my glove, and I leant my forehead against the cold glass, willing the medication to take effect. A new flash sheet was hanging in the window of the studio. It was covered in different Celtic patterns with their meaning written below in shaky blue biro. “Connection” I smiled and walked back into the chemist. “Thank you. Really. I’ve been so lonely, and you are just… so kind.” “Oh darlin’.” He placed a hand over mine on the counter and squeezed it. “You’re a treasure. Come back and see me again, won’t ye?” I loved Belfast. As lonely as I was in those first few weeks, I shook off the nerves and home sickness, and embraced the experience. I’ve been back to Northern Ireland since and I will go back again. The history and people are like nowhere else on earth, and my list of countries visited has grown significantly since my first trip abroad. My chemist friend wasn’t there on my next visit twelve months later, and the short woman who replaced him didn’t know who I was trying to describe. I hadn’t even got his name, but I’ll always remember his kindness. Maybe next time I’ll find him restocking shelves in some other country, making another woman feel a little less lonely.