I’d had an unexpected great ten days in Ireland because no matter where I went, people were friendly. In Cork, a woman joined me in a restaurant, and I heard every detail about her perfect son who never drank. No matter who sat next to me on trains and buses, a conversation broke out. It reminded me of growing up in Australia where, travelling with my mother on a tram, she would always talk with strangers around her.
So, on the last leg of my Irish journey as I headed by train to Dublin, the woman opposite talked non-stop to the man next to her whom I knew was a stranger to her. She eked out his history and then during the ride when she’d hardly taken a breath, mentioned the Italians. They talk too much, she had said. I had to bite my tongue on that one; my last happy memory before I boarded the ferry for Liverpool.