During the three-hour journey, I observed everyone around me. People who could afford cabins were inside sleeping. Others lay on the floor and benches or were shopping or lounging in the bars and casinos. I was content to have a bench for free.

The wind was blowing fiercely when the ship ported at Roselare at 6.15 AM. Everyone had already crossed Immigration; all that remained was me and my bike. Surprisingly, the office was empty. A police officer directed me towards where the immigration officer lived. When we got there, he refused to emerge because of the wind.

“Welcome to Ireland,” he said. “Do you need a visa?”

I didn’t since I’d taken one in London. All I needed was a stamp but I nodded yes. He took my passport and asked me how long I planned to stay in Ireland.

“Maybe two weeks,” I replied.

“Come on,” he said suddenly. “You’ve arrived in the most beautiful place in the world. You should see all of Ireland. I’ll give you a month’s visa.”

Although I appreciated his gesture, he wasn’t very thorough. He didn’t check my visa, just flipped to an open page and stamped an entry visa on it. It was marked two days earlier than it actually was and it took him a while to realize what he had done. Finally, he stamped the correct date.

Ireland is truly breathtaking, with green stretches of land and yellow flowers on both sides of the road. All I could see were sheep and cows. Villages were infrequent and although quite a few people dozed in the meadows. It took me three days to get to Dublin, the capital of Ireland.

Suman was the first person I met in Spire, the heart of Dublin and its main attraction. The next day, there was a welcoming ceremony organised by the Nepal-Ireland society in Montis where I met students, workers and even refugees. People consider Suman’s apartment the Nepali consulate in Dublin and think of him as the consular. In my opinion, he is a much bigger person than an actual consular because he doesn’t charge money for all the help he provides. His kitchen and dining room are always packed with people, his couch is never free.

I came across another interesting person there. He’d heard about me and had come a long way to meet me. We dined together and chatted about my journey. Even though he was a Nepali, he had adopted Western trends: he had long hair, which is a pretty common sight, but also a lip piercing.

“Bro, I use G and tabs,” he said confidentially. I know he was being honest and open, but it still made me sad to see a young man from home behave this way. There was nothing I could do.

His advice before we parted ways was: “Bro, don’t forget to lock up your bike when you park it on the street. Bikes keep getting stolen here. I’ve had my own locks broken seven times