On the platform at Balbriggan, looking out over the harbor in the cold evening wind, waiting for the train to Dublin.

A wave of plaid skirts burst through the turnstiles across the tracks, final bell having rung at the local Catholic girls school. Most of the young ladies are heading south, like us, and cross the bridge causing the platform to bloom with florets full of talk about quizzes and teachers and friends not present. It feels a bit like being in the transition scene of an Irish film.

We pick out words here and there, enough to get vague impressions, but the brogue is thick and fast, and sometimes slips into Gaelic. Any secrets they're sharing stay a mystery, at least to us.

The train comes and we start down the track in search of dinner and the National Art Gallery.