Beep Beep Beep.
It’s 2:10am and surprisingly its dark.
The English summer is so deceiving to let you think that the sun actually disappears.
I get my bearings.
What bed I’m in? Hannah’s blow out mattress.
What clothes I’m wearing? I’m in my clothes that I’m going to wear for the day.
Actually what city I’m in? London.
I got out of bed, still weary from the 12am sneaky mid week drinks with Hannah.
I’m out the door in 5 minutes straight and walking by myself in the dead of the night toward a bus station 20 minutes away.
Dublin – you are only a hop, skip and four bus trips away.
I walk in the middle of the road.
My bag is noisy.
I’m trying not to disturb the sleepers, but I’m also wondering if this is a good strategy to avoid any unwanted attention on the side walk should I come across it.
I hit the mainstreet and the anxiety stops punching my chest.
Bus 1 trip down.
The next station is full of people.
Bus 2 trip down.
The people are normal.
Night workers, the girl crying about breaking up with her boyfriend, the drunk revellers and the travellers.
It was the 3rd bus that was problematic.
The stop I hoped off at looked like a construction zone. There was no ‘shelter as such’ and five men – all of who I sized up and thought I could potentially beat in a fight if they did gang up on me.
I wait in the doggy dim.
Twenty minutes later; number 15 is yet to be seen.
“Your at the wrong stop,” says bus driver from N551 “walk round the corner.”
Thanks city mapper – you have been brilliant up until this momentary lapse of judgement that could have had me using my travel insurance way too early into the trip!
The rest of the trip goes off without a hitch and I make it to the airport at 4:37.
Note to self: Never book a flight out of London City Airport before the trains are running.
Now bring on Ireland