MONDAY, JULY 29
It’s hard to believe but my suitcase died. For the last four journeys, trains, plane and ferry included, I nursed it along. The zipper has hesitantly turned corners for about two months. Less than a month ago, the zipper’s threading became weirdly twisted, and the sewing holding the zipper to the suitcase ripped. In order to open or shut it, I have had to tug and pray and nudge and pray some more. Until we got here, and the zipper wouldn’t budge, the rip was over six inches.
Out came my scissor because I had to cut the zipper in order to open my suitcase.
I love this suitcase. We’ve travelled so far together — fifteen countries, eleven months. I’ve learned how to pack it perfectly, and know in my head where everything is kept. It’s many pockets make me happy. I love that I can keep my raincoat and umbrella and sunscreen in outer pockets, easily accessible . How could it leave me with so little distance to go?
And I’m superstitious. It feels like a bad omen. Changing things up this late in the game is unsettling. It’s like the nightgown I’ve worn the entire year. It’s black silk and belonged to my mother. She wore it as a slip, but I’ve always worn it as a nightgown. It started to deteriorate in Milan. First the strap broke. I sewed it. Then it ripped off where I sewed it so many times, that I just tied one strap to the other. The other strap then ripped from the slip. I cut a tiny hole and tied it back in place. While I was making all these DYI repairs, the fabric became so thin that tiny holes appeared on the side. Chloe couldn’t stand looking at it anymore…told me time to buy a new nightgown.
As I retire my suitcase today, so too I retire my nightgown.
(On a practical note, I checked the warranty details for the suitcase. They won’t replace or refund suitcases that have been damaged by wear and tear, the obvious culprit while travelling so that warranty makes no sense.)
The bus to downtown Belfast took about 30 minutes. Our sole purpose for going downtown was to buy a new suitcase and some rain boots (or wellies, as they call them here) for our return to long walks in West Cork. Missions accomplished: the suitcase, though gigantic, is very nice, Adrienne Vittanni, and we hope to sell it when we get back to Vancouver. It’s not practical for our type of travel but we figured with only two more travel days (boohoo) and it would be fine. We unpack in West Cork anyway so no need for my tidy suitcase configuration. Rather than buying one we would throw away, we thought this a wiser plan.
The afternoon was spent in department stores and malls. Not only were we able to find the replacements we were looking for, but we picked up some warmer clothes (the temperature has been hovering around 17 C) along with some jeans and school clothes for Chloe.
Chloe is still sick.
I got my haircut. It’s awful, but as everyone knows, it will grow.
Oh and about my first impression of Belfast. I was wrong. It was dreary either in Belmont, East Belfast, where I got my haircut, or downtown. Downtown Belfast reminded Chloe of Edinburgh. It reminded me of Glasgow. It reminded both of us a bit of Crawley and Cork. Dublin also came up. Finally we settled on the idea that it feels like an Irish town (duh) that’s slightly non-descript. People rushed about. There wasn’t the lightness of pace and lots of smiles.
