Homeless in Dublin
When I arrived in Dublin it was about 8pm.
Not being the type to plan ahead, I used the airport wifi to get online and search up the cheapest option for somewhere to get some rest.
The best I could find was a hostel in the city with a bunk available in a in a 28-bed shared dorm-room.
60 euro per night…
60 Euro! That is 90 Australian dollars… To share a room with 27 other people.
I’ve stayed in dorm rooms a fair bit recently, for much cheaper mind you, and with a room of 28 people, the odds of being kept awake to some loud snoring or other frustrating scenarios are exceptionally high.
No thanks.
It was already getting late, so instead of venturing into Dublin city, I killed time at the airport cafe while my body approached a level of drowsiness that told me it was time for bed.
My first plan was to find somewhere quiet in the airport, but after rolling my things around in a squeaky wheeled trolley, I discovered there was no great spots for an undisturbed sleep. I know there is better spots in departures, but I would have had to go through security points to get there, and I was not in the mood for that.
I went back to the cafe and used google maps to check out the airport. I scanned the screen for patches of green, eventually locating what looked like an area of trees up beside the “Aer Lingus Training Academy” building.
10 minutes walk.
I rugged up, strapped on my bags, and ventured into the smoggy damp Dublin night, memorising the directions before I left the warmth of the airport arrival building. I had grown used to memorising directions from my laptop, since losing my phone in Spain. An added challenge to my journey.
I found the trees I was looking for and was happy with how well they hid me from the road. Within minutes I’d set up my tent, brushed my teeth and climbed into my toasty little sleeping bag.
I slept a healthy 10 hours that night.
When I woke, I lay for a little while, enjoying the warmth and putting off the work I knew I had to do once I climbed out of bed.
My morning peace was undisturbed until the rain drops started lightly hitting my tent, and I decided it was time to pack up.
Packing a dry tent is much more convenient than rolling up a wet one.
—
I went back to the airport, which was now my living room, grabbed a coffee and got on with some planning.
Without anything to go off, I picked the hostel offering the “bargain" value of 60 euro per night and aimed for that.
A bus from the airport took me straight there.
Just to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood, I walked up to the hostel counter to double check the price.
Turns out the internet was working perfectly fine, and the woman confirmed the online price was in fact correct.
Horrifying.
“Camping again tonight” I thought to myself.
With too much weight and valuables to carry around, I asked if I could leave a bag with them for safe keeping.
6 euro to do so.
The price felt a worthy cost to lighten my load while I went on the hunt for shelter.
I put everything I wouldn’t need into my little backpack and anything useful into my trekking bag, including my camping gear.
I gave the hostel my bag, they gave me a receipt.
—
I took myself for lunch, and afterwards, towards the alluring sunshine that was resting on the impressive O’Connell monument statue in the city centre.
Close by to where I sat was a small group of people, who clearly possessed the same intention as I did.
To soak up the precious end-of-day sunshine that had managed to break through the wall of grey clouds.
I observed them as I rolled a cigarette.
There was a young bloke who looked about my age, a regal older white haired lady, and a rough-around-the-edges middle aged man.
Rough-around-the-edges leaned towards me, with a sparkle in his eye, to ask if I had any spare tobacco.
I passed him some.
This is one of the things I enjoy about smoking cigarettes… You meet people.
After the connection was made, we got chatting.
I opened with a question:
“Are you local to Dublin”?
He was, he said.
I told him my situation, the unexpected and overpriced accommodation options, and asked if he had any suggestions of where I could set up a tent for the night.
He explained that the Dublin police are not very kind to the homeless, nor are the public. “Camping in the city is risky, and difficult to find good spots” he said.
“But we’re homeless” he nodded his head towards the other two, “and me and Roman have been camping in a good spot for the past 2 month without any problems. It’s just on the outskirts of town”, he told me.
“You can camp with us if you like”.
I thanked him for the offer, careful not to accept or reject it before giving myself some time to consider.
He introduced himself, Conor, and then introduced me to the younger bloke, Roman, and the woman, Jill.
I told them a bit about where I’d been recently, why I was in Ireland, and where I was going next.
Conor told me historic stories of Irish revolutions, Dublin, and the fairly recent political issues that the city has been up against.
Globalisation, economic crash, rise in homelessness.
Conor was “homeless by choice”, he told me. Having been a web designer, working for big name companies, he grew tired of the tedious and soulless work, and eventually decided to live a free life instead. Outside of the matrix.
“I’m just want to do my own thing, and if I can get by without anybody bothering me, well then I’m light and happy”.
I quickly warmed to these guys, and accepted the offer to join them for the night.
—
The spot was a 30 minute ride on the Luis, which is what they call the tram in Dublin.
I left them at the O’Connell monument to quickly grab some food and water from the Lidl Supermarket.
After we linked back up, we all walked to the tram stop, and along the way, Conor answered a called from a man named Liam.
“Ay Liam, what’s the craic?” he answered.
I couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but it sounded like Liam was concerned about Conor and Romans well being.
Mid-conversation, Conors phone died.
When the tram pulled up, we said goodbye to the older lady and began our journey home.
During the ride we got to know each other a little more. I broke up the time evenly between chatting with the guys, and watching Dublin pass by out the window.
“A city here is a city there” I thought to myself. Familiar.
Roman was sitting beside me. In big font I saw the name “Liam Shamrock” appear on his phone screen as it started ringing.
Liam had called again to check in and make sure everything was ok. Apparently Conors phone hanging up suddenly had worried him. He told Roman that he was coming out to visit.
The second last stop of the “Bridies Glen” line was where we got off.
Laughastown.
The sun was going down at this stage, so in the dim light we walked.
Not far from the tram stop, down a wet lane, there was a short brick fence with overgrown shrubs coming up behind it. On the left hand side, a little hole was made from frequent foot traffic, and a little walking path led us into the darkness of the canopy.
Through the other side it opened up into a field, with flat grass amongst long, indicating the well-used path ahead.
I followed through the field, around a bend, past an old burnt down stable and across more grass to a little nook in the fields corner which these men called home.
There was 3 tents, a washing machine fire pit, bench seat, pile of pots and pans, 5L water bottles and a fold out chair.
Conor confessed to me, “we haven’t done much with the 2 months, but it was too hot to work when we arrived, so we lay about, and now it’s too wet to get anything done”.
A paradox.
They were both very welcoming, offering me different patches of grass to set up my tent, and then the rain started falling.
No time to think, I decided to start setting it up before it became to wet.
Roman helped me, and we got it up quickly, unfortunately without being able to avoid water getting in.
Once it was set up I used the last of my toilet paper, and then a sock, to mop up as much water as I could.
Dry enough, I continued to build my bed and organise my things while the rain kept pouring.
—
After some time, the rain stopped, and one by one, we emerged from our individual means of refuge.
“Better make some tea” Conor said.
I looked around, there was no pile of dry wood, in fact, no pile of wood at all.
“Gunna be hard to make a fire” I said, “Do you guys have a gas cooker”?
They didn’t.
“No no, we use ancient Gaelic fire methods” Conor mused.
I waited in anticipation, detecting humour, but open to surprises…
He fished through a bag and pulled out a packet of “fire-lighters”.
Placing a brick in the washing machine, he put a piece of fire-lighter on top, lit it, and then balanced a pot on some wire above the flame.
When the fire went out, the water must have been about luke-warm.
After a few rounds of hie Gaelic fire methods, the water began to sigh, and moments later, the tea began to pour.
We were chatting the whole way through, as the night painted itself across the sky.
I can’t remember exactly what was discussed, but there was much interest from the two in secret societies, ancient wisdoms and the inhuman control that the worlds governments have over the masses. They were against the grain type-a-guys.
“Liam’s here” Roman said, looking towards the burnt down horse stables.
I looked up, and spotted a light and a large silohuette looking towards us.
The light turned away and the shadow disappeared around the corner.
“I’ll get him” Roman said, and got up to walk over to Liam.
I wasn’t sure who Liam was, but I felt that seeing a new person (me) at this spot might have spooked him, regardless of the intimidating size of his shadow.
Moments later both Roman and Liam came walking towards the fire.
“Hey Liam, I’m Patrick” I said reaching out my hand.
He shook my hand, and with a very thick Irish accent said “Nice to meet you Patrick”.
He was a big friendly man, I could feel this from him instantly.
He was taller than me and stood with a wide solidness (in a strong kind of way), big hands too.
Liam was wearing black gloves and a face mask, so all I could see below his cap was his eyes and the black hair that popped out from beneath his hat.
Liam was very talkative, and incredibly observant. He continually pointed things out.
I can’t remember what exactly he would point out, but one example I recall was when he said.
“I’ve got two jackets, a big one, and the one I am wearing. I’m not wearing the big one tonight. I’m, wearing this one”.
I appreciated him a lot.
”Want some gloves? It’s cold” he said to me as he pulled a spare pair of gloves out of his pocket.
I gratefully accepted.
“You know why I am here Patrick? I’ve come to charge Conor and Romans phones” he told me while he held out a power bank charger that he was very proud of.
“It’s got every cord you need, iPhone, android, Nokia… All attached to the power bank, and it can charger multiple phones at once”.
He demanded the guys to give him their phones so he could charge them.
I observed these interesting men, and the dynamic between them, as I worked on building the fire…
I made it my mission.
I’ve built fire in some challenging places, and this was one of them.
I collected soggy sticks and dried them on the grill while I added bit by bit to the coals.
Roman and I collected some bigger dry pieces from inside of an abandoned house close by.
The fire grew throughout the night, as did the rapport amongst us.
The fire held space for us to chat, most often it was Liam talking, and us listening.
Liam moved around a lot. I felt a sense of gentle anxiety in him.
“I have 274 DVD’s at home” he told me.
We spoke about his favourite movies.
“Who’s your favourite actor” I asked.
“That’s easy” Liam said, as he stared down at me, while I tended to the fire.
There was a good 5 second pause before he said “That’s easy” again and waited in silence for me to ask “who”…
“Clint Eastwood” and without a moments pause, “and my favourite singer is Big Tom”.
“Who is Big Tom” I asked.
He was surprised, and almost offended that I hadn’t heard of him.
Without hesitation, seconds later he was showing me a YouTube clip of Big Tom on his phone.
An old white haired man, singing in a slowed down country story-teller style was playing infront of me. It was a very unexpected video, which showed “Big Tom” singing to fans, flicking through records and sitting in his living room with his wife. It was a very “normal” video to go with the song. Big Tom looked like an old relative I might have met at a Christmas party as a kid.
“Kind of got a Johnny Cash style” I said.
“No he certainly does not” Liam insisted.
After Big Tom, Liam played us his favourite “Crazy Frog” songs.
—
I could go on about Liam, and his sweet, peculiar ways, but I think from here you get the picture.
He was a big and very generous person who came out to visit Conor and Roman often.
Liam wasn’t homeless himself, he had an apartment and a car, but he found friendship in these guys and came to help out and spend time with them often.
Whilst we all talked by the fire, Liam pulled out about 5 pre-rolled joints, one after the other.
Conor and Roman gratefully helped Liam smoke them.
I turned down the offer each time a joint was held out to me.
After my experience in Spain, I’ve decided not to get high with people I have just met, if I am not 100 percent comfortable.
I felt comfortable, and safe, but there was still an element of risk where I was, and with that risk, I wanted a level head to navigate.
—
Liam left, Conor pulled out the guitar and me and Roman got chatting while the music washed over the campsite.
Roman was born in the same year as me, and I could sense a familiarity between us that I rarely come across.
I noticed it first on the tram, the particular way that a mouth sometimes sits on a person who has a history of drug addiction.
I saw some of myself in Roman, and I think he too, saw some of himself in me.
We opened up about our past with drugs, and talked much about the world and our ideas of where it may be heading.
Conor mused in from time to time with historic facts, quick-wit humour and old stories.
It was a nice night, and the rain held off long enough for us to choose to go to bed when we felt ready.
—
I camped with Conor and Roman for a week.
We had a great time.
Roman took me for walks in the forests.
We salvaged forgotten treasures in the abandoned houses that surrounded the camp.
Started a wood collection, stacking it in a way that kept it dry.
With my arrival came fresh energy, which was injected towards improving the campsite each day.
It really began to feel like a home for me, and on the day I spent away, I looked forward to returning.
With the money I was saving on accomodation, I silently nominated myself as the food provider.
Each day I’d venture off, and when I’d return I came with groceries and dinner plans.
It was fun for me.
These guys has opened up all they had, and I wanted to give back.
Cooking them meals was special.
The packet snacks that Liam brought each day often went untouched, now that there was more wholesome food on offer.
Liam came often, and each night we sat around the fire and deepened our connection with one another.
The men had great insights and wise words.
I indulged in the joints that were passed, and we laughed like mad men into the night, illuminated by flames as our shadows danced behind us.
Although it was a brief stay for me, it was a precious time for us all, and one I look back at with a fond warmth in my belly.
I have changed the names in this story out of respect for privacy.
—
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