Not to make light of the Troubles. Far from it. Going to Belfast was one of the most revelatory and enlightening experiences of this trip thus far. And that includes the city of Amsterdam. But more on both of these things later.
We left off where Maribeth, Scott and Kealey set off to make the epic journey back to the States, arguably made even more epic lately thanks to Mr. Exploding Depends. Some people just want to make life harder for everyone. I wished them luck. But there were other things to contemplate, as well.
When you were a little kid, did you play make-believe with your friends? Were there very involved games with costumes and dialogue and plot twists galore? I did. Of course. I still do, actually, but mostly it's by myself and in the privacy of my own room, where there's no chance that I'm going to be overheard and institutionalized. But I digress. Never, even in my dizziest daydreams and games of make-believe would I have imagined that Ryan, Corbin, Teague and I would be in Ireland by ourselves, just the four of us. I mean, it's been just the four of us plenty of times before... essentially, that's how we grew up (family vacation-wise, anyway), but we've always been on a continent that begins with North and ends with America.
To be in Europe with these three boys brought about another of those crazy moments where I was stuck between the "you'll remember this for the rest of your life" feeling and the "duh we're in Ireland, what's the big deal?" feeling. It was very natural that we should be able to do this, but at the same time... who ever believes something like that is going to happen? And over your birthday, no less! That's right folks, I am officially never going to be too young to drink ever again. Of course, the effect was a little anti-climactic, having been able to drink legally for quite a while now, but we nevertheless made it fun. And I have to admire all three of the boys for putting up with me in an art museum as part of the celebration... that's love right there.
For the sake of everyone's sanity, I'll leave the birthday recap to this: art, prison (historical, not actual), burgers, beer, baby Guiness, WE GOT THE WINE! and some very awkward pictures. Also, Purple Rain at McTurcals Pub. Yummy. And that's all I'm saying.
The fact that we had no real plan going into this week of freedom didn't actually end up being a bad thing. We were going to, for instance, take a tour to Tara, New Grange and the Boyne (I have faith in nothing since the Boyne), but the Big Freeze won out yet again. So, we went to Howth instead. Howth is a fishing village north of Dublin, where we interacted with a lot of wildlife. When I say wildlife, I mean a seal that Teague and I both felt looks a lot like our dog, Sadie, two dogs whom we dubbed Winston and Churchill (they ate my sandwich. It's okay. I gave it to them), and three lobster tails named 3.49 euros each. See what happens when you leave four college kids alone to choose their own diet? They upgrade to lobster. It's a funny old world, ain't it?
Since none of us felt much like going out that night, we needed to find something to entertain ourselves. Solution: cut Corbin's hair. I know that there are probably some of you reading this who don't understand how very earth-shattering this decision was, but Corbin's hair was longer and, annoyingly, much better than even mine. And I love my hair. So cutting it and donating it certainly made some person very happy. Good for you, Corb.
The best result of this little activity was Krissy's reaction when she joined us the next day. Well, it has to be said that Corbin went about it in a very funny way: disguising his lack of ponytail with both a hat and a hood until he presented Krissy with a "Christmas present"... two big hanks of hair. It's always fun to be in on a joke before it happens. Me being in on things happens so infrequently that I relish each time it does. But this little hair-capade was not the most memorable part of the week, by far. That afternoon, with Krissy now making the battle of the sexes a little more even, we headed to Belfast.
A word quickly on money: Ryan disagrees with me on this, but I am fervently in favor of the entire world being on the Euro. It just makes a lot of sense. You can tell which coin is which, the money is easily distinguishable based on size and color, and if we were all on the Euro, there would be no exchange rate kicking my ass at every opportunity. The British Sterling Pound makes no sense at all. The 5 cent coin is as big as my head, and the pound coin really does weigh one pound. It was very disconcerting to go from the rationality and sense of the Euro to hexagonal coins. And so there's my two cents (not tuppence, because British money is nonsense) on the subject.
We stayed at a place called Paddy's Palace. If that name makes you want to vomit a little, join the club. But you haven't heard the really awesome part of this hostel. With two nights, you got a free tour up to Derry and the Giant's Causeway. FREE. Well... with the price of the bed. It was still a good deal. The night life in Belfast is, understandably, a little lacking. When you've spent time in pubs in Doolin and Dublin, renowned for their music (and their subsequent appeal to tourists), Belfast, with its surly bartenders who won't serve you if you're in possession of two X chromosomes, is a little disappointing. So, that first night, we went to Avatar. Now, I'm not going to bore you with my rapturous account of this outing right now (including the FREE 3D... they didn't charge you extra for the glasses!) but GO see this movie (in 3D. Don't bother if it's not in 3D) right now. I'll wait.
You back? Mind blown? Want to move to Pandora? Great. Moving on.
The trip to the Giant's Causeway and Derry was memorable, to say the least. Any time that you go to the Giant's Causeway is going to be memorable, because it's one of those places that makes you wonder how the world came to be. It makes you all at once believe fervently in science and know deep down that it really was a giant in Scotland who built the thing, wanting to come over to Ireland and kick Finn MacCool's (Anglicized spelling) ass. It's a place so improbable that it makes even the most improbable explanations for it seem possible, if not likely.
It was a beautiful, clear day by the time we got to the Causeway, and we enjoyed a rare glimpse of the Scottish coast, only a few miles away. Apparently it is rarely clear enough to see it, but we did. It was treacherously icy and probably really dangerous to be crawling all over it like we did, scrambling go get into a timed picture, but what's life worth if you're not going to take it into your own hands once in awhile? In any case, it's a place that makes you really stop and appreciate how cool the planet we live on really is.
It was not, however, beautiful and clear when we left Belfast in the morning, or when we got to Derry. On the contrary, Derry (hah. That rhymes.) was freakin' freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth. It was so cold, and foggier than I thought it was possible for a place to be. This was a little sad, considering the whole reason the Paddy Wagon (gag if you will, but it was fun!) tour stops in Derry is so you can walk along the walls and see the murals from during the Troubles. We could make out some things, but I was under the impression that what turned out to be a guy's shirt on one of the murals was a white jack o' latern... so it didn't quite have the emotional impact that it might have if there hadn't been a bank of clouds between me and the murals.
The boys did find a lovely international lunch at Subway, however, and I got over my point-blank dislike of the place through the introduction of a concept called Sweet Onion Chicken Teryaki. Sometimes it takes Europe to give you a new perspective on things.
The next morning, before leaving for Dublin again, where we would shortly have to say goodbye to Ryan and Teague, we did the one thing that you're absolutely supposed to do when you're in Belfast. It's called a Black Taxi Tour, and it takes you through the history of the Troubles and some of the most turbulent areas of violence. What was so jarring for me was to see all the evidence of continuing violence around the city.
Growing up in Bush-era Amuhrica, I've grown used to thinking of war zones as places which inevitably have a lot of sand. Seeing a city which is clearly Western, with people who speak English as a first language and to whom I bear a striking physical resemblance (in general terms... I don't think I particularly look like an IRA operative) that has been so obviously influenced by a very violent not-at-all-distant past and present was very eye-opening to me. Devastating, senseless bloodshed knows no geographical bounds, I suppose. The tour was extremely worth the money, and gives you the opportunity to see parts of Belfast that you wouldn't really be able to see otherwise. It's a must for anyone looking to broaden their conception of the world and become more aware of the devastating things that people do to each other, and not only people in distant parts of the world.
It was also very strange to go to certain places and be hyper-aware of the fact that, conceivably, my religion and religious background could get me in really big trouble. I never felt at all unsafe, but the simple possibility that there might be people around who might want to hurt me because of a few differences in creed (and, of course, a lot of political and economic oppression) made me really think about what it must mean to live in constant fear for your safety and the safety of those you love because of something as trivial (and, frustratingly, as all-important) as whether or not the Pope can make mistakes. He can. I've heard him. Can we all be friends now?
I don't mean to trivialize the intense beliefs and convictions on both sides that lamentably brought about the Troubles. It just really brought the senselessness of war and the stupid reasons we trump up for killing each other home for me. It made me sad, but I think it also has made me more resolved to be as tolerant as I can for other people's differences. Except Rush Limbaugh. He can burn in the deepest pit of Hell.
Back in Dublin, where being a Catholic is sort of like being a homo sapien... we hung out and watched It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Sometimes, that's what you need to do. Having Ryan and Teague in Ireland and getting to travel around with them, Corb and Krissy was truly a dream that I never thought would come true. It was a little odd to think that we're old enough to do that... it makes Real Life seem ominously close, but at the same time it's a memory-filled week that I'll never forget. So, thanks to everyone who made that adventure possible!
My sojurn in Ireland ended not long after Ryan, Teague and Krissy left for their respective homes (Krissy's being much closer than Ryan and Teague's. This is why study abroad is so nice sometimes). Corb and I hung out, I walked around Dublin by myself a bit, and we went out with some of Corb's Trinity/ND friends. I can totally see living in Dublin. It's really an incredible town and I wish I had more time to get to know it. Well, there's a whole life ahead for that, I guess. And I don't think Dublin would be conducive to the same mushy style that my writing exhibits when I talk about Rome, so it would probably be good for my range to spend more time there. There's my reason, and I'm sticking to it.
I'm making it a point to stay in places with Internet access now, so the blog should be getting updated fairly frequently. I've got plenty to document, from London to Copenhagen to Prague and all the places in between. Stay tuned!
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