An Amusing Solo Travel Experience in Dublin, Ireland

I have to say, it was really quite liberating. I arrived in Dublin and headed for my hostel in Temple . The area, basically a maze of small alley ways with a pub and tattoo parlor on every street corner, was vibey and unique I thought. I was excited. When I found my hostel I paid my money for both nights upfront, which was possibly the smartest thing I had done since I decided to take the trip, I dropped my bags in my room and immediately headed out to check out some of the sights. It was getting late as I wondered the streets and decided that even though I was starving, I would wait to have dinner later and rather go and grab a Guiness.

I was warned that visiting Dublin and not tasting their finest brew would be an outright sin so I headed into the closest pubb. One Guiness down and I notice a rather strange looking man staring at me from across the room. The tall, pale, bald man, with a long 1920's style ginger moustache, dressed in black from head to toe, saunters over to my table. Just my luck, the strangest looking man in the place. He asks me in his most polite, yet most annoying Texan drawl whether I would care for another beer. After about ten seconds of thought, I came to the conclusion that I would and accepted the offer. As he went to get them from the bar I reassured myself that this was okay, I was alone after all so conversation would be nice and really, who turns down a free drink?

The conversation was not exactly anything to write home about, mainly about places we had been and places we wanted to go. I soon found out that he was traveling alone too and as soon as he started mentioning that he was staying in the same hostel as me and that he had an extra bed in his room I promptly rose from my seat to get another drink, casually avoiding the blatantly obvious hints. I swayed up to the bar and confidently ordered two Guiness.

Searching through my bag I realised to my delayed disgust that my wallet was gone! I didn't panic at first, until it hit me that without it, I had not one penny to my name, I was starving, I was in a foreign place and worst of all, I was alone. I didn't mention earlier that my mobile phone didn't work in Ireland as in my excitement to leave I hadn't remembered to get roaming added to my package.

Without explaining the situation I ditched the Texan and ran back to the Hostel. As soon as I saw the receptionist I burst into tears, the type of sobs that hinder your breathing and don't allow you to get one full coherent sentence out. Surprisingly she got the gist of what I was telling her and called the police immediately. I had stopped crying by the time they arrived but of course as soon as I saw the two young men I began to blubber all over again. The two men were clearly at a loss with what to do with a hysterical woman so they did all the practical things first.

They cancelled my bank cards, they got me to call my friend back in London to book me on a flight home first thing in the morning and then they spoke nicely to the hostel, who agreed to let me stay there the night and refund me my second night's money to get me to the airport. The Garda then decided that they couldn't just leave me in the state I was in so they took me down the road to a nearby pub, got the barmen to line up 3 shots of tequila and kindly insisted I drink them one after the other. They then bought me a Guiness to chase them down.

The barman soon got in on the act and bought me two more beers which I don't even remember. Let's just say that by the end of the night the tears were dry and my problems had disappeared into my subconscious. The policemen escorted me back to the hostel, their job was done. I passed out in my bed and woke early to a superb hangover and a tiring trip home ahead of me.

I hadn't eaten in 42 hours, thanks to my wanting to wait for dinner the night before and I didn't have a penny to buy anything so I just sat tight and decided to try and see the light side of it all. It worked, until I got back to Gatwick where I realised I didn't have any money to get from the airport home. Shamefully I visited The Travel care Centre, shared my horror story and got a £10 travel card for my plight. I was home. It had been exactly 23 hours since I left my house the day before to embark on my journey of independence and I was back in the very same place, not even 24hours later.