This little story is from the time we had moved to Dublin, a little less than two years ago. When we moved to Dublin from Reading, UK, we were first put up in a service apartment in Sandyford. Every day we were frantically looking for an apartment to rent.
When we finally found the one we are currently at, it was almost four weeks into the country, and we were aching to unbox our belongings and settle in.
The night before we were to check out of the service apartment, we took a cab to our new apartment, taking with us a few supplies like bed sheets, pillow covers, dustbin liners and such before we moved the next day with our suitcases and cardboard cartons. The idea was that we would make the apartment a bit cosier and easier for us settle in, so that even if we did not start unpacking on our first day, we had a few things ready – like a carton of milk in the fridge, tea leaves and sugar in the kitchen cabinet and towels and bed sheets and the like.
When we got into the cab, it had stopped raining but it was still windy and fierce outside. This was November and the skies looked forlorn and melancholy.
Once we reached the apartment, my husband who was seated in the front with the cab driver, asked me to get out of the backseat first. I tried opening the door and it wouldn’t open. I tried a second time, and it still wouldn’t.
I thought it was the child-lock.
“Excuse me,” I said to the driver. “Could you please turn the child-lock off so that I can open the door?”
“It’s not the child-lock, lady,” he replied, “it’s the wind. That’s the Irish wind for you. It’s blowing too hard and right against the door and that’s why you cannot open it.”
Oh, I said.
The husband laughed. I laughed and so did the driver.
The husband got out of the car and tried opening the door. I got one foot out and then, the door shut again. My foot was stuck. I gave out a little yelp, not so much in pain but in surprise and shock.
The driver quickly got out and he and the husband pushed the door open for me.
I had never experienced a wind like that. Now I experience it often, and sometimes when it is super windy and I am walking down a street, I feel I am being pushed and shoved by an invisible hand.
I was reminded of this particular incident from our early days in Ireland because I have recently had a haircut and I wear my big hair open. When it is windy, my hair flies everywhere, sometimes like a halo drunk on electricity, at other times an unruly being with hundred long arms.
This photograph, was shot over the weekend, as we went to the Blackrock Park, and the hair left to its devices and aided by the wind, went berserk like a toddler in a candy store.
Do you have a story to share about the Irish weather and its funny ways as well?