bealach isteach

Coming off a 10-hour flight to London, a 4-hour layover at Heathrow, a 2-hour flight to Dublin and an hour's drive on the left side of the road at rush hour, I was intensely relieved to have Frank, my new landlord, and his son Loman meet me at the pub to lead me into Trim, my first stop here. 

Over tea at the pub I told Frank and Loman about the grilling I received by the agent at the Dublin immigration desk, who must have been having an otherwise tedious day and was lying in wait for a non-Polish-speaking visitor with whom he could spar. I had to justify my visit in terms of my planned work, give him my cousin's name, phone number, and specific relationship to me (I made that up; later we established that we are second cousins), name an amount of dollars I could lay my hands on to prove that I wouldn't immediately become a ward of the state, give a 'permanent' Irish address as well as the address of my lodging, and demonstrate that I was aware that I didn't need a visa for a three-month's stay. In the end he cleared me until July 1st, which is exactly how long I intended to stay. He wished me well and I passed through into the land of my mother's birth. Next time I'll know to travel on an Irish passport.

Frank and his wife Rita have two tiny apartments attached to their stucco house which sits just at the outskirts of Trim town center. Each apartment consists of an entry, a galley kitchen with a kettle, a toaster, a microwave, a cooker and a dorm-size fridge but no surface on which to prepare food, a bathroom with a shower pod that looks like something out of a 1980 science fiction movie, and a very small bedroom that overlooks the parking area at the front of the house. I am in the downstairs apartment; Loman, who has moved back home temporarily, is above. It is immediately apparent that the place is entirely too small, but for now the place is warm, the bed looks comfortable, and there is plenty of hot water as long as I remember to put a two euro coin in the electric meter.

Over tea (already I have been offered more tea than even I can manage) Rita tells me that the name of the house, Breffni, comes from one of Ireland's ancient kingdoms, near where she was born. Frank and Rita are proud of their house and their hospitality; I don't have the courage to tell them I will be moving soon.