In 1992, I took part in a student trip to Lithuania. This time I tacked on another 6 weeks to visit my friend, Michael Peng, now a famous actor and director, who had been living in a shack on the south coast.

As one does, I got to Ireland via Copenhagen, London and Wales, where I took the wrong ferry and thus ended up in the wrong seaside town in Ireland. Keep in mind that this was before cellphones, or even phone cards, so I had no way to reach Mike who was supposedly en route from Dublin to the correct terminal.

With nothing else to do, I asked the terminal staff where I could crash, and headed over to the bed and breakfast that they guy recommended. The polite proprietress took one look at me and suggested that I try the hostel over the way. Fair ‘nuff. I probably couldn’t have afforded it.

I checked into the hostel, resigned to rest the night and take up the search for the elusive Michael Peng the next morning. But when I got out of the shower, who was there washing his hands but the man himself. Go way!

I am still not sure how that all worked out, but no worries. We then hitch-hiked for 4 weeks clockwise around the coast of Ireland into Northern Ireland, through Belfast and finally ending in Dublin and then going back as far as London to catch my flight (back to Copenhagen and then home, as one does). .

Having hitchhiked on my own in Southern Africa, it was quite different to be sharing a ride with an even scruffier-looking hippie with an equally large pack — and did I mention, a ukulele? To be fair that ukulele came in handy when we once got a lift with a group of New Age Zippies for whom we performed a song or two before they dropped us off in the middle of nowhere.

But thankfully, Irish drivers must have found us curious and we normally didn’t have to wait too long to get a lift.. Good thing too, ‘cause it was often pissing rain.

But we did alright, didn’t we mate? Fair ‘nuff.