Rushing across the busy road, dodging the traffic, I leapt up onto the curb. I was making a beeline for the hotel. It was with great relief that I had spotted it as my bus pulled over to let a few of us off at our prearranged final stop. I was desperate for a toilet. I am now getting more comfortable with saying toilet. When I first arrived in Ireland this wasn’t the case. Saying, “Do you have a toilet please?” felt jarring to my ears. It seemed harsh compared to the North American equivalent: bathroom, washroom, or restroom. Actually toilet does makes sense. It makes it clear what is needed. I don’t need to bathe, wash, or rest. Anyway…, my bladder was about to burst. Thinking I should have paid more attention to those kegel exercises in post natal classes I prayed my muscles would hold. My bus companion whom I had sat beside for the past three hours assured me she would look after my suitcase. “Just go,” she said, fully aware of my situation. “I will look after your case.” At that point all I could think about was getting to the other side of the road as I dashed off yelling back to her, “Thank you. I won’t be long.”  A fleeting thought that maybe my suitcase might be gone when I got back but my brain was focused on one thought only. I would deal with a missing case later.

Guzzling down my full litre bottle of water on the bus had turned out to be a bad idea. First lesson on bus travel in Ireland- not all coaches have a toilet. I was feeling quite dehydrated after last night so I was craving the water. The home owner where I had just finished a house sit treated me to a wonderful evening to express her gratification for coming home to a well cared for dog and home. Lots of good food, great conversation, accompanied with a fair consumption of delicious Spanish wines. It was an amazing experience and I was definitely feeling it today.

Rushing through the first set of doors at the end of this sprawling hotel I am met by a group of 6 or 7 men. With their lack of reception I guessed that I was in the wrong place. I was in a huge space. Some sort of venue. To my far left were pulsing coloured spot lights, red and blue. Muscle bound half naked men silhouetted against the light. The smell of sweat enters my nose. My goodness is that a wrestling ring ? Studying it intensely each time the light hit it. My god it is.

A voice of authority speaks. “You here for the wrestling match?”

“Who me?” noticing my voice had an odd pitch to it. Clutching tighter onto my knapsack. “Sorry. I must have come through the wrong doors.”

“Yeh you did. I don’t even know how you got in here.” This man was scary looking.

“The door wasn’t locked,” as I swing around pointing back to it. “Is this not the hotel ? I am just looking for the toilets.”

Not amused, he replied, “Go down to the very end of the hall and out through the double doors, that is the hotel.”

Hardly able to reach the doors fast enough I urgently push open the double doors, eyes set to scan for the toilet sign. I was met by a massive roar, people standing in a huge line up held in by blue rope that snaked through the expansive lobby. All eyes were on me. The noise level was crazy. Shouting, talking, laughing. People of all walks of life. Some faces painted red, white and blue, some dressed in costume, heavily made up girls skimpily dressed tottering on stiletto heels. Cameras poised, some flashes going off. I could see their disappointment with me in their lenses. Me, conservatively dressed in my navy blue coat, rose coloured scarf, hair neatly clipped up. Not at all what they were expecting. Two tough looking security men appeared. One on my right. One on my left. They had ear pieces so I am sure they knew I was coming.

Looking up at them, feeling flummoxed, “Sorry. I came through the wrong doors. I am just trying to find a toilet.” I had almost forgotten that. My body was preoccupied with getting ready to flee.

“Yep! You are in a no go zone. There is an important all star wrestling match about to start.”

Geez I need to get out of here. Tightly gripping my knapsack, “Excuse me, excuse me,” I attempt politely to cut through the heaving lines of impatient people who were now even more edgy after expecting one of the wrestlers or crew to be coming through the doors; certainly not me. Some people obviously talking about me. Peering at me. Who is she? Who does she think she is?

Spotting a toilet sign in the far corner of the lobby I made a dash for it. Thank goodness for that. Feeling like a new person I hastily crossed  the hotel lobby and out through the main revolving doors- the doors I should have come in through at the beginning. Breathing in the outside air, letting out a big sigh, there to my right on the step is a huge standing sign ‘ WWE American Wrestling Tournament’ . That explains the red, white and blue get ups. I thought if my children could see me now. Jason would say, “Yep, that’s my Mom.”

Heading back to the bus stop I see my friend, her hand on my red suitcase. I felt so relieved in every sense of the word. Seeing my friend’s worried look I realised I must have looked just a tad frazzled. Sitting down on the bench I told her all about my experience. Of course now it was very funny that I had ended up in the middle of a wrestling venue. We had a really good laugh. It was wonderful to see her letting go, her voice fuller and louder, having a relaxed belly laugh.

My bus companion was from Cairns. She described her home to me. She was finding Ireland so cold and damp. It had been very hot and dry when she had left home. There was something fragile about her. Over the three hour journey she began to reveal some of herself to me. I was happy to be the listener. She quietly told me that she was taking an indefinite break from working, from her life. Everyday was the same. She felt stuck. Although things did change from day to day in her work life- in her head it was always the same and repetitive. The world was closing in on her as she gestured a narrowing with her arms and hands. My heart fluttered. Here is a young girl intelligent, highly educated, pretty, fashionably dressed, the whole package or so it looked and her world is closing in just like mine and here we are separated by maybe 25 years or so and at the same crossroad. Of course she had no idea of my circumstance. Giving each other a hug as we parted, we continued on our individual paths, alone.

I feel enriched by the people that I have had exchanges with while travelling to my housesits. It gives a sense of hope. It could be just a simple exchange or a revealing of lives. Whether sitting on a bus, waiting for a bus, waiting on the platform, airport….  I have had conversations that have sometimes been the most poignant words exchanged. Upon telling someone that I felt like I was floating- their response, “Floating is good!” , is repeated often within. Hearing that made me feel that everything was ok. I was ok.

Maybe it is the safety of us being strangers but yet you don’t feel like strangers. There is a connection and an unexplained energy, almost like I was supposed to bump into this person and then you may never see them again.