A Sojourn Beyond ‘Miles’

When we boarded our flight from Bangalore’s Kempegowda International Airport, the monsoon drizzle had just begun outside. The air smelled of wet earth and filter coffee, a comfort that clung to us as we prepared for a long haul across continents. Dublin was our final destination, but curiosity and wanderlust made us choose Amsterdam as our transit stop. Neither of us wanted the trip to be just about reaching; we wanted it to be about discovering.

On the flight, Vinod kept busy trying to guess which European football jerseys we would first spot once we landed in Amsterdam, while I, Manjit, scribbled notes in a small leather-bound journal. The cabin was filled with the familiar murmur of fellow Indians heading to study, work, or holiday abroad. A young man next to us was flying to Amsterdam for his master’s in artificial intelligence. He confessed he had never left India before, and his nervous excitement reminded us of our own first trips years ago. We swapped stories, and he said, “If I lose my way in Amsterdam, I’ll remember this conversation and look for two Indians with too much luggage.”

Amsterdam welcomed us with rain, but also with an energy that Bangaloreans can instantly connect to—a city that moves fast but finds time to pause by canals with a bicycle parked nearby. With a long layover, we decided to take a quick trip into the city instead of staying put at Schiphol airport.

The train ride into Amsterdam Centraal was brisk and smooth, almost like a short film shot through a window. Pastures, windmills, and neat houses zipped by as if they were rehearsed for our arrival. Once at Centraal, we found ourselves amid a sea of cyclists and tourists, each going about their way with a kind of chaotic elegance. Vinod tried renting a bike, but within five minutes of wobbling between locals who seemed born on bicycles, he gave up. “I’ll walk and keep my bones safe,” he declared, while I laughed so hard that a Dutch woman passing by smiled knowingly.

We wandered along Dam Square, letting the rhythm of the city dictate our pace. A street musician with a saxophone played a jazzy version of “Imagine,” and we stood transfixed. For a few minutes, Amsterdam was no longer a transit point—it was a world in itself.

Lunch became an adventure when we stumbled into a small café serving Dutch pancakes. The portions were massive. Vinod, who usually claims he can eat for two, surrendered midway through his plate of fluffy, syrup-drenched stacks. The owner chuckled and said, “You Indians eat spice but can’t handle sugar?” That line became our inside joke for the rest of the journey.

By evening, it was time to head back to the airport. At the boarding gate for Dublin, we felt like seasoned travellers already—Amsterdam had left its imprint in just a few hours.

Dublin airport felt modest compared to Schiphol, but there was something warm and welcoming about it. The Irish lilt in the announcements instantly set the mood. We took a cab to our Airbnb in Rathmines, a leafy suburb that looked like it had leapt straight out of a postcard. The driver, Patrick, was quick with jokes and even quicker with his opinions on football. “India should qualify for the World Cup one day,” he said, with a sincerity that surprised us. Vinod promised him that it would happen in his lifetime, though I rolled my eyes at his optimism.

The first morning in Dublin was crisp and cold, a stark contrast to Bangalore’s humidity. We walked to a nearby café for breakfast, and the first sip of Irish coffee felt like a gentle slap of reality—it was strong, unapologetic, and utterly unforgettable. The woman at the counter asked us where we were from. When we said Bangalore, she smiled and said, “Ah, IT capital! My cousin works in Cork for an Indian company.” That was our first taste of how entwined India and Ireland have quietly become through work and migration.

Over the next few days, we explored Dublin with the curiosity of children and the patience of seasoned travellers. Trinity College was our first major stop. Standing in the Long Room, surrounded by ancient tomes stacked from floor to ceiling, Vinod whispered, “If Hogwarts was real, this would be its library.” We saw the Book of Kells, its ornate illustrations glowing softly under museum lights. A child next to us asked her father why people wrote in such “fancy handwriting” back then. Her innocence made us chuckle, but it also reminded us of how stories travel through time.

One evening, we joined a literary pub crawl—a guided walk through pubs that once hosted writers like James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, and Oscar Wilde. The guide, with the theatrics of a seasoned actor, recited passages from Joyce while holding a pint of Guinness. It was as though Dublin itself was narrating its stories through him. Vinod, who isn’t much of a reader, whispered to me, “I came for the beer, but this guy makes me want to buy a book.”

Our trip wasn’t without its small misadventures. On the third day, we took a bus to Howth, a fishing village just outside Dublin. The sea was wild, the cliffs dramatic, and the air heavy with salt. While walking along the cliff path, Vinod decided to take a shortcut down a slope. Predictably, he slipped and ended up with muddy jeans. An elderly Irish couple nearby came over, helped him up, and the woman said with a wink, “Don’t worry, love, the sea likes to baptise visitors in its own way.” We couldn’t stop laughing at Vinod’s new “initiation.”

But it was the conversations that stayed with us the most. From taxi drivers to pub owners, every Irish person we met had a story, a question, or a joke to share. One night, at a traditional pub in Temple Bar, we struck up a conversation with a local musician. He played the fiddle with a passion that filled the room, then sat down at our table for a pint. When he learned we were from India, he said, “Your music and ours are not so different, you know. Both tell stories of love, loss, and longing.” That line lingered with us long after the music faded.

As our time in Dublin drew to a close, we realised this trip had been more than just miles covered. Amsterdam had given us a glimpse of Europe’s vibrant chaos, while Dublin gave us a slower, soulful rhythm. From the canals to the cliffs, from pancakes to pints, from hurried strangers to kind storytellers, every moment had stitched itself into memory. On our flight back, Vinod leaned over and asked, “So where next?” I didn’t answer immediately. Sometimes, journeys don’t end with answers but with the comfort of knowing there will be more. Dublin had given us that comfort—the assurance that the world is vast, welcoming, and always ready to surprise.

The writers are freelance travel journalists