The little things 3: The Irish Pub

For this title, I could have inserted the name of any country, because everyone’s sanctuary is different.

You’ve had the travelling day from hell. Last night mosquitos ate you until you had no idea how you were going to stay sane. This morning the shower went cold, a tour salesman ripped you off, and you are pretty sure you’re developing the symptoms of Dengue Fever.

Then you see it. The place (as an official actual traveller) you swore you would avoid. Home to people whose idea of a holiday is somewhere like home but warmer.

And it’s heaven because, as you sit down and hoof into a beef burger you can’t really afford, you realise that it’s just like home but warmer. Everyone speaks English and the beer is warmly familiar. The flags and shamrocks only serve to remind you that actually there is sanity in the world.

Every embarrassing mistake in the local language you’ve been making is forgotten, and suddenly life seems easy to deal with again. You chat to people from home, and laugh off the things which make travel tricky sometimes.

And then you leave, safe in the knowledge that you are ready to face adventure again, because somewhere out there is still a bed which is safe and familiar.

Thanks Irish Pub!

Actual photo of home, not the worlds best Irish Pub.

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