I don't even really know where to start this... Perhaps on Friday the 30th March, when I began at Ulster Uni? Orla (the recruitment agent), obviously detecting an unworldliness about me, had, in her efficient way, phoned up and found out when and where the bus left from and how much it would cost, so all I had to do was make it there by 8:15am. After speaking to her on Thursday afternoon, I decided that it would be as well to go and find the bus stop before Friday morning (when I was likely still to be asleep). Grand so. But could I find my way out of town towards the university? Could I hell! (As I mentioned earlier.)
Then on Monday morning I caught the bus in to Uni, getting a return trip. There were a whole three of us, both on the bus and waiting to catch it home at 5pm. So we waited, and waited, and waited... Eventually the woman got bored, and phoned up Ulsterbus, who told her that there wasn't any service this week. Gargh. So there I was, in Jordanstown for the second time in my life, about £3 in the bank, and with neither the price of a pint nor the faintest idea how to get home. The woman who called Ulsterbus proceeded to call a taxi, and the lad who was also waiting got up and strode off into the sunlight. With my day and a bit's experience I calculated that I might walk home, but I'd arrive at the time I should be starting work, so I sauntered off in search of a local (person, not pub). I found a lovely old lady walking her elderly retriever, who told me that there was a train station in the opposite direction from that which I had been walking (well, natch), or a bus stop down the road to the right, but she didn't know the timetable at all. I plumped for the train (harder to miss), and located it about 20 minutes later. What's more, it wasn't on Easter/no student time either. Not knowing where I wanted to get off, I asked the ticket man, who suggested Belfast Central. This sounded all good, except in my wanderings around town I hadn't ever come across any trains... I got off successfully (this isn't as silly as it sounds), and negotiated my way out - the station isn't that big, but it compares to small Kiwi airports I've been in. Fortunately I hadn't thrown my ticket away, because I needed it to get out. Good to know. Having escaped I realised that I had no idea where I was in town. At all at all. However, there was a free (if you had kept your ticket) bus into town. I felt so stupid three minutes later when it deposited me outside City Hall. (Not that this is to say I recognised any of the streets we passed through.) I did manage to find Ormeau Rd. from the bus stop, and arrived home about twelve hours after I had left.
So Tuesday morning I was foolishly listening to David Bowie (Let's Dance, seven minute version) as I walked in to catch the bus, completely missed Fitzroy Street, and had to double back. I'm pretty sure that had the bus been there I would have caught it, but it wasn't and I didn't. My first thought was to call Sarah at the Uni to let her know I would be running late, but, of course, I didn't have any credit on my phone. Eeeep - this was getting close to travel money! She was very understanding when I called, as I power-walked into town, looking for the Belfast Central station. I realised that it would be stupid to endeavour to find it myself, so I went into a nearby Post Office, and asked the woman working there. She directed me to the Europa, which even I knew wasn't correct (this being where I first rolled up). Still, they sold me a return for Jordanstown, but told me the next train was at 9:30am. They took pity on my shock, and gave me instructions for getting to Belfast Central and changing trains there. This was surprisingly easy, and is no doubt the cause of half my problems since. (Sorry, I'm reading Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White at the moment, and I absorb styles like an aubergine. Be thankful it's not Dickens again...) I just got out of the first one, walked about three paces and got into the next. Coming home I got out at Belfast Central, having a) thought that I might try catching it from there the next morning, and b) looked it up on a map.
The rest of the week I amused myself by catching and alighting from the train at different stations, working out times and costs - the train costing £3.60 (from all the stations nearby) as opposed to the bus's £2.80 had thrown my fiscal calculations out considerably.
On Wednesday morning this week I was convinced I had the trains sorted out. I made it to Botanic in plenty of time. I got off at Central. I changed platforms (mistakenly, as it turned out). I put on Portishead's Dummy (very apt, as it turned out). I started reading The Woman in White. I heard the loudspeaker say something about the Portadown train, and I panicked and leapt onto it. I sat down, and looked at the revolving writing which lists the stations the train stops at. I leapt back up and tried to get off the train, but in vain. I remained on the train all the way back to Botanic, where I caught the next train back to Central. I called Sarah to explain that I was going to be late.
Yesterday I was very careful about trains and times, and I double checked anything before I got into it. So far so good. I got as far as Jordanstown, and literally couldn't get off the train. You wouldn't believe it. After struggling unsuccessfully with two doors, I ran into the next carriage and kind of squawked at the two passengers there. One of them seemed to understand me, and jumped up to help me open the door, but it was too late, and the train had left the station. I nurtured a hope to begin with that I might be able to walk back, but it's miles between Jordanstown and Greenisland (which is by no means an island). When we arrived at said non-island the man helping me still couldn't open the door (which is managed by sticking your head and arm out the window, and twisting the handle from the other side), but the guard saw us, and came to our aid. He was most apologetic about my plight, and apologised about four times, but frankly I thought it hilarious. The next train was in about five minutes, so I phoned Sarah again. She's becoming used to the calls.
Today everything was fine, but I wanted to call Sarah to tell her I was going to be on time. I'm become blasé - just in time to start catching the bus again...
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