Fishguard & The Ferry
Today we go to Ireland
Leaving Wales & England, The Heart Of Our Journey Begins
The Glendower hotel proprietor is a bit testy with a curious grin, as if testing our wit. Almost as if demanded, we replied with a hint of sarcastic humor. His response was rewarding.
He called for a taxi and we told the driver that “We are going to the ferry, but can you take us to lower Fishguard for some photographs?”
“Of course”.
Lower FishGuard a classic old port village with a few shops on the waterfront and homes cascading up the hill.
Featured in numerous films, Moby Dick was perhaps the most famous.
We arrived at low tide, and the harbor boats were stranded in the much anticipating the tidal rise.
Catching the ferry
With time clicking away, our driver took us to a little café close to the Stena Line Ferry entrance.
After a delightful rested lunch, we are told “Just take this path to the ferry”.
We followed some pedestrians about 250M toward the terminal, following a sign “pedestrians & bicycles only” only to end at a dead end viewing point.
With time now getting tight, we backtracked and asked a lady at the car toll for directions. She told us to go around to the left — not up the hill — and that we would enter through the train depot. She assured us we “probably still have time”.
Another 250 meters later, we found ourselves at a customs checkpoint at the depot and were directed toward a bus.
Once again, we were the very last passengers to board.
The bus took us directly onto the ferry, which was much more like a small cruise ship than we expected. There were theaters, duty-free shopping, restaurants and comfortable lounge areas. We settled in for the 3½-hour crossing to Ireland.
Entering Ireland
For those of us traveling as foot passengers, arrival in Ireland was a little different from the experience of those who had brought their cars onto the ferry. We were shepherded onto another bus and taken toward customs.
As we approached, an Irish customs agent checked our passports, asked a few questions and then, rather unexpectedly, took only our passports into a building.
Naturally, we wondered why we had been singled out.
A few minutes later, he returned, with our stamped passports and handed them back. Nothing more was said.
At the next checkpoint, a woman in what appeared to be a military-style uniform boarded with a security dog. She looked each passenger directly in the eye as the dog methodically sniffed every person and their carry-ons.
We made it through.
The Final Hurdle
At the terminal building and, following the hotel’s instructions, we were told to get a taxi from the terminal to the hotel.
We asked a Stena representative for help. She replied, “I can only dial them up, and ye need to talk to them, love.”
We found that the women in Wales call everybody “love” if they know you or not, such a kind gesture.
One call failed.
Then another.
After three attempts, she finally said,
“I have one more number.”
I spoke with the gentleman who answered.
“Twenty minutes”.
Relief set in.
After a long day, several wrong turns, a bus that we almost missed, two sets of customs and a search dog, we finally had a taxi on the way.
One lesson learned…
Never blindly follow a crowd , read all signs.
