Travel Log : Manchester

The stench of urine was indeed unbearable. The two girls sitting in front of us were already making faces. Yet the bus drove on…Welcome to Manchester.

Theatre of Dreams

My fourth trip to Manchester to date. A city I personally regard as a second home away from Dublin. Manchester was always part of my pre-adolescent fantasies that soon became an obsession. It didn’t matter what I studied, but it had to be in Manchester. It was the dream. Two words drove that ambition. Red Devils


Fate had other things in store. Enough said.

Shopaholics Anonymous

Shopping would always form some part in any trip to the Mancunian Republic. The strength of the Euro has made almost anywhere in the UK a haven for Irish shoppers. Myself included.

Another random fact: I always end up buying shoes when in Manchester.

The little bookshop...

A quaint shop along the curry mile never fails to be part of my itinerary. The hustle and bustle surrounding the area around the shop belies its quiet interior. The smell of Kemenyan(look it up yourselves) emanating from its embers fills the shop with a certain sense of eeriness and mystery. Islamic books ranging from encyclopaedias to Arabic grammar fills its shelves; not to mention a selection of other Islamic themed products. Often I find myself stocking up on my ever-growing personal library of unread books back home in Dublin.

Buy first. Read like whenever.

The Curry Mile

Rusholme boasts one of the most unique environments one can experience in the land of the queen. The Pakistani influence on this particular area is evident, as is the overall dip in cleanliness around the muslim-populated road. The lack of grandeur is compensated by the abundant cuisine available for tasting. And yes. The curry mile smells like curry.

Lamb ribs anyone?

Man with a mission

My flight home was a memorable experience. Ryanair was as always doing its best to leech off the passengers by imposing a strict if-your-bag-does-not-fit-into-the-box-you-have-to-pay-30euros-fee. We got through though.

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just doing my job”, said the man unfortunate enough to draw the shortest straw. There just had to be a scapegoat. But he did look as if he enjoyed making people pay the extra fee.

Anak Dolah (relevant kepada masyarakat melayu ireland sahaja)

Back to the plane ride. A bunch of anak dollah-s who had just finished their leaving certs decided to get drunk on the flight. Cries of “Spartans!!”, as well as a cute rendition of “Baby when the lights go out” reverberated throughout the journey. One of them also passed out drunk. I doubt they were old enough to drink. Let alone drink vodka.

Poor underpaid Ryainair stewardesses.


“Assalamualaykum to you sir,” said the Irish immigration officer. “Alaykum salam to you as well”, I answered without blinking. Couldn’t help but smile.

Compare and contrast that to the immigration officer who did the following when I was visited by some friends from Ukraine last winter.

1. Detaining all the Malaysians students arriving from Ukraine

2. Interrogation (in a nice way kot)

3. Zooming in all the airport cameras to my face

4. Calling my handset and requesting me to display my ID card to the camera on the ceiling. (much to the shock of the lad sitting next to me)

5. Directing me to wait in front of the Vodafone shop so that the officer himself could come out to meet me (famous kot)

6. Ask searching questions on how I could’ve known people studying in as far as Ukraine. ( I only knew one of them so I had to lie)

7. Re-checking the details and verifying it with the presumed guilty convicts from Ukraine ( thank god I sms-ed them the answers in time)

I still love Ireland, nonetheless….

Menanti Subuh


Leinster Road, Dublin



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