Locomotion

How was everyone’s St Patricks day? Did we all have good time and celebrate appropriately? Thanks to my good friends Sean and Shona, I had a great day down in Kilkenny City. Let me say, you haven’t lived until you experience the Kilkenny St Patricks Parade. Awe inspiring stuff...

I’m not particularly nationalistic as I’ve said before. If you think Ireland is crap, that’s your opinion and I’m not offended. Personally I think it’s pretty cool, Dublin in particular has the potential to be a great place to visit. Like any other city it has its problems but generally I think the good outweighs the bad.

I recently signed up for the City of a Thousand Welcomes initiative. It is a programme which pairs up first time visitors to our capital city and willing ‘Ambassadors.’ The Ambassador is somebody who is willing to meet up with the tourist and have a chat with them about Dublin over a pint or a cup of tea.

Having been on the receiving end of some spectacular hospitality while in Spain, I always said if I had the opportunity to make someone’s visit to my hometown a bit more interesting, I would.
When you sign up you need to answer some questions about yourself and they test your knowledge of Dublin. No point in having someone talk about Dublin if they don’t know the difference between manure and Moore St.

One of the things they ask you is where you most like to visit in Dublin. I’ve always thought it was St Stephens Green, the fenced park at the top of Grafton St. I always just loved how in the middle of a busy city I could escape to shade of a tree and read a book in silence or just watch the world go by.

However, when I was filling out this section, I actually chose Kilmainham Gaol. Having visited there in the last six months or so, it is fresh in my memory. The former prison is a haunting place to visit with tales of torture, cruelty and injustice, from our not too distant past, resonating in every hallway. Probably not the cheeriest place to send a tourist but definitely worth a visit.

Upon reflection, I don’t think either of these qualify as my favourite place in Dublin. The actual answer is not something I’d ever really considered before my latest trip there last week.

And I’m not sure it’s a suitable recommendation for someone looking to see what the fair city has to offer. In fact it’s a gateway to leaving Dublin. It’s Heuston Station.
Now, I’m not a train spotter. Let’s get that clear from the start. I have no interest in recording the serial number of locomotives or collecting ticket stubs for the 6:45 Mallow to Dublin express.

It’s just some of my favourite memories are tied into the station. When I was twelve I remember meeting there with the rest of my scout troop at seven o clock in the morning to head off for a five day camp on Fota Island. I’d never been away from home for so long and I was as excited as a puppy with a new slipper. Living in a tent, cooking our own meals, it’s unlikely I’ve ever felt as grown up as I did that day.


When I was in college in Waterford it was the first stop on my way back home. Travelling by train was too expensive for a humble commercial computing student but my dad would pick me up at the bus stop outside every Friday. He’d drive me home where I’d have mammy dinner and then he’d take me to the pub for a pint.

Now when I’m in the station it usually means I’m going to visit my friends around the country. It will probably have been a while since I’ve seen them and a good time is usually guaranteed

Of course the train station offers no such assurances. The memories haven’t all been the cheery kind. Saying goodbye to someone I care deeply for on platform 7, two years ago, was one of the saddest days of my life. I left the station that day with my hood pulled low to cover my face and hide the tears. Heuston has surely witnessed thousands of emotional farewells and welcome homes.

I suppose the same could be said for Dublin Airport, the dock where the ferry comes in or the other train stations around the country.

Maybe it’s the 19th century design, with its grand pillars holding up the portico at its front door. Heuston has something special. For me it is a magic train station. And no, that’s not a euphemism.