Breathing Room: Dublin Week 11 

When you’re traveling, or if you somehow find yourself in a strange place, it is easy to get caught up in the cycle of experiencing the next best thing. Your mind goes into vacation mode, while your tired body tries to keep up. The tricky thing can really be enjoying those times when you’re not experiencing something new and wonderful, but rather sitting in a spacious building with coffee and a paper to write. 

After an event filled weekend and student race day, I was ready for a weekend of rest. What I got was another week filled with places to go, people to see. On Wednesday the site I’m interning for hosted the national Student Media Awards. The Irish concept of national was a little strange for me. While presenters from their versions of CNN and American Idol took the stage to announce winners from all over Ireland, it occurred to me this could never even be thinkable in the massive U.S. It was much more like a state in that sense, everyone was more closely connected with “celebrities” and TV’s talking heads than we were in the states. We almost tend to hold them up on a pedestal, or look at them as an elite sect of society. 

The concept of “star struck” was also very relative as I knew almost none of these Irish stars. A bizarre looking set of twins with Bieber-like locks and matching jackets were pointed out to me as the pop duo “Jedward.” I recognized the name from a tattoo my roommate has on her foot-(I will never understand). We also ran into the cast of Ireland’s version of Jersey Shore called “Tallafornia.” Instead of drawing mixed feelings of love and hate, like with the U.S. crew, apparently most Irish people are ashamed of the reality TV bunch. As one girl from the show announced a winner, someone from our table cracked “look, she can read!” 

I mentioned before how I was disappointed with the lack of team spirit shown at the horse races, but I didn’t have to wait long for DCU to show their pride at the Smedias. Students were standing on chairs, whopping with excitement at the mere mention of a nomination from our school. This may have something to do with the special on drinks served. The span of media categories was pretty impressive. One even included short animated films. Its interesting to think students my age will one day become producers, presenters, reporters and write content which will be read all over the globe. 

I was able to meet journalism students from DCU I had never talked to before. It was interesting to get their perspective on major American news networks. Since coming here I’ve noticed the major influence America has in European media. From the outside, it’s easy to see America as a homogenous country where everyone has “Friends” living in New York or knows somebody on “16 and pregnant.” I find myself starting off my sentences with, “well it depends..” when asked about people in America. There are many regions which I cannot speak for or haven’t seen myself. 

By the end of the night I had gained a different perspective not only on Ireland, but on America as well. Later that week I had another chance to find some common ground with some fellow study abroad or “erasmus” students. I returned to the beautiful Glendalough with the DCU hiking club. Although we started along the same path Natalie and I had hit up the week before, we took a turn into the forest which led to a hiking trail with narrower footing and a steep hike up a mountain. It was breath taking and a completely new view from the over 6 hours of hiking Natalie and I had covered. 

There were several Germans who had organized the trip along with a few Americans, Spanish and Irish students. I spoke with one girl from Germany who not only shared my name, but my love of dancing and chocolate biscuits which she termed “hiking cookies.” I found out one of the other Americans was in a modern company at home. One of the girls from Ireland said she liked to Salsa dance and spent a semester studying in Spain. It was interesting getting her perspective on Ireland after traveling away. She noticed the collectiveness of the people and said she found the Irish were definitely their own breed after looking from the outside. 

After making it to the bottom, we quickly made our way to a pub. There I got a chance to use the cards I’d been carrying around and we played a game which was strange to the Germans, but had been mastered by the Spanish girl sitting next to me-bullshit. She introduced me to the phrase “eat it eat it” after someone called a bluff at the wrong time. It seemed odd at first to be playing such a casual game which I had often played with my family in a pub with people from all over Europe. I was pretty confident starting out, calling out bullshits right and left, but by the end of the game everyone had gotten the hang of putting up their poker faces. 

The rest of the weekend consisted of staring at the 4 walls of my bedroom trying to find the motivation to write essays while watching the gorgeous view from my window being lit by the rare sight of sunshine. I mean it’s not exactly a proper skyline, but the tall trees and road always look inviting when I’ve wrestled with the political and cultural aspects of Ireland that seem over my head. I hadn’t seen the last of sunshine yet though, Croagh Patrick awaits me next week!

A Taste of Tourism: Dublin Week 10

One of the best ways to experience a place, in my opinion, is through food. In the past few months I had lived on the stale noodle and tortilla creations of a college kid dorm. After stepping outside the dorm for a Polish/French dance class, my friend and I decided to wander even further and tried a Persian kebab, which might have been the best thing I had eaten up to that point in Ireland. We then went to a pub 15 minutes outside city centre to listen to some traditional music. It was cool being in a pub being the only Americans with a little more of a neighborhood feel. We saw a sign for dancing in the back room, and found a group of older Irish folks doing set dances. They invited us to join, but since we didn’t know the dances and would have ruined the flow we watched as a gentleman described what was going on for us. It was interesting comparing the similarities and differences to the other trad dancing we had learned earlier. 

The next day we were walking through temple bar to a coffee shop I had recently discovered when we walked through a book fair surrounded by “hipsters” and with a few young lads playing music. Around the corner we found more good food at the Temple Bar food market which had everything from oysters, to quiche to Indian curry. I felt we were getting a chance to enjoy the diversity of the city that weekend. 

The next week I got the chance to further explore Ireland with my friend visiting from Texas. She is studying abroad in Seville and was excited to see the green Ireland had to offer. We started the weekend with a visit to Glendalough. After missing our bus back later in the afternoon, we hiked for about eight hours straight. The tall trees, lakes and waterfalls were a nice escape from the city. After the ridiculous amount of walking we did searching for the site Braveheart was filmed, we sat down to some traditional Beef Stew. The next day we made it to Grafton Street for some Irish porridge and tea at Bewleys. Whether it was from the exhaustion and walking or not, those meals topped my list for best food in Ireland. 

We then made our way to Wexford for my friend’s 21st birthday. When we got there, her sister 

picked us up and drove us to what is known as the “island.” Although it’s not technically all the way surrounded by water, my friend told us it had something to with the story which made the land a place of pilgrimage. When Oliver Cromwell’s army attacked the cathedral on the island, a young boy saved the crucifix only to be shot down while crossing the lake and the crucifix was later found at the bottom. After arriving at her house I was surprised to see it was bigger than most houses I’d seen in the city and had large windows all around. In her backyard was a cathedral and pub which I found out her parents owned. 

After watching rugby and having a few drinks while people arrived, we went to her pub. A band called “Route 66” played many familiar tunes as we danced and talked with some of the other Irish students. The crowd was a mix of Andrea’s friends and some older people who were friends of the family. I asked what the normal crowd for the pub was she said most hadn’t been born more than 15 miles outside of where the pub sits. After the party was over, we stayed at her house. The next morning we were able to see more of the “island” which had two castles and plenty of beautiful boats along the harbour. Back in Dublin we visited Trinity’s campus. We thought it would seem bizarre for students studying there that people from all over the world visit their campus as a tourist attraction. We also discussed the difference in college prices and how it seems European students couldn’t fathom how expensive it was for us. In Spain, she said she’s seen several protests when the fees rose from 2,000 to 2,400, barely a down payment at most American universities. After a long weekend we went back to sleep. 

The next day after Natalie left, I got to attend the event I had been anticipating since my roommates mentioned it to me, student race day. We put on our nice dresses and went out to the race horse tracks to place a few bets and enjoy the beautiful weather. It seemed odd to me that no one seemed to know who to bet on or really what was going on. Most were just very drunk and there for the “craic.” While I cheered my horse on, I got a few funny looks. The races had brought out the “American” in me and I felt like I was back at a home sporting event, except those around me didn’t quite have my team spirit. I saw more excitement as the crowd went wild (literally several people fell on us) for a local band after the races. I won two of the bets, but was a bit disappointed I didn’t know what I was doing beforehand. After a jam packed few weeks I  was ready to take a break and get ready for all the school work piling in these last few week. 

A Tale of Two Cities: Belfast Week 9

Pulling into city centre, Belfast seemed like a typical European city. Cafes and shops lined the streets with ancient looking buildings and cathedrals. After a short bus ride, we began to see some different sites. The streets were lined with walls which boasted a peculiar type of street art. The history of this divided city was expressed in two different ways, between varying sets of murals within miles of each other. 

    Our journey started on the west side and was guided by our program director who had once lived in the area during its most tense moments. We stopped at a memorial garden which commemorated members of the IRA who had died in the troubles. There were pictures of women and children shouting and holding up trashcan lids, which our director explained were to alert others when the police were raiding houses. While another showed a withering man being held by a woman. Flowers were placed on the memorial in bright oranges, greens and white sporting the colors of the Irish flag. Through the rest of the west side we saw murals showing international leaders for civil rights, leaders of the IRA who had died in hunger strikes, and language which told the story of a victimized people who were fighting for justice and held ties with other groups in the world who have and are pushing for the same thing.

    The east side held a very different sentiment. The first memorial we saw used language such as “murder gang” to describe the IRA. There was a sense of unshakable pride in the murals and displays. Although a peace process is underway, the past is still remembered in different ways and each side reflected a different identity. We discussed this with a group of students who are studying in Belfast. We talked about ways US cities are divided in less visible ways such as by political association and social economics. We then went to a funky pub down the street with the small Belfast group and they told us more about their experience studying there. They said they hadn’t really seen any riots and people on the outside perceive it to be much more dangerous than it seems from day to day.

    We learned more about the divide on a trip to Derry on the second day. Even the name of the space is debated, while unionists insist on calling it “London Derry” most nationalists refer to it simply as “Derry.” After walking along the walls of the enclosed city, we went to an area known as “Free Derry.” During one period, the area was a “no-go” because the area was under no police control. There were many violent episodes that took place in the area, one remembered through various murals and a museum is known as “Bloody Sunday.” At the Free Derry museum, a woman whose brother died in the attack of the British police on what has now been proven were innocent civilians shared her story. She said she was away when he died, and her family never really talked about it. An inquiry was underway after the events to see the responsibility of the British government and the innocence of those involved, some speculating they were members of the IRA. The woman said her father said regardless of the results of the inquiry, nothing would bring him back and he knew his son was innocent. The British government formally apologized for the event in 2010. The museum also held pictures of those shot when they were younger. There was a letter written the week before the event by one victim, as well as a letter from a member of the Ulster Volunteer Force to a family of a victim stating their son was “happily killed because he was a terrorist.”

    After the emotional and somewhat shocking visit to the museum, we went to a museum for the Apprentice Boys which are a Protestant group which commemorates a much more distant event, the siege of Derry. While the man presenting us with videos and history of the siege was very nice, because the siege had taken place in the 1600s there was less of an emotional tie to the Protestant defense against attack from a Catholic king. It was harder to connect to their story and the demonstration seemed a little fishy.
    The next day we got away from the city and took a visit to a sea side castle which has fallen in and out of British rule. The castle was originally under Norman rule in medieval times and after periods of British rule has now been returned to the Northern Ireland government. It seemed bizarre seeing a castle complete with cannons and princesses still standing in modern times.

 It seemed picturesque compared to the world of violence we had just learned about. We then returned along the lovely Irish countryside back to Dublin away from the conflict but still remembering what I had learned.

Where the West is Windy: Dublin Week 7-8

A group of sheep flocked together in the corner of what is now a deserted house. The hillside is covered with the network of stone walls which remind me of the dwellings I used to build with jenga blocks growing up. The now bare and simple structure used to be full of life. You can almost imagine villagers stepping out between the narrow walkways greeting each other on their way to collect food or water. The reason they are still standing even though they are blatantly deserted and hold none of the modern conveniences is a very different picture. These deserted villages are reminiscent of a time when these cottages housed starving people and few animals. The chilling wind which we only had to endure for several minutes would have cut like a knife to those left with little to fend for themselves in the time of the Irish famine.

As part of our trip to Western Ireland we were greeted rather harshly by its extreme weather. Besides seeing the scattered stone remains on the hills of Achill island (you’ll get more than “a” chill visiting there), we got a feel of what living during the famine times and the poverty which followed was like by visiting a house. The man who owned the house pointed to the corner of the room where he was born as we all huddled around the fire in a space no bigger than a child’s bedroom. The small dwelling is where he and his family lived. Small mementos including a picture of JFK lined the walls and a loft and two other small rooms were attached to the sides. The owner explained that paying land lords for this humble house was often a struggle for families. The rocky terrain we saw pulling in on the bus did not always come through for the people who relied so heavily on agriculture. Despite the struggles he accounted, the house felt did not feel neglected, but filled with pictures of life. Although much smaller, it reminded me of being at my Grandmother’s house on her farm in Iowa. As he showed us his old school house and a replication of an old shoe shop, he emphasized that although they were poor, they were never short on love. Unlike the estate we had visited earlier that day which had felt more like a living history farm tour of an old house that once belonged to a top land lord, his accounts were personal and gave us all a sense of the story of his people.

The stories of the famine are ones that have been hushed and often suppressed amongst the political turmoil in Ireland. We visited a memorial of what were known as “ghost ships” which carried often sick and starving famine victims to other parts of the world. The monument which appeared as a ship from a distance depicted skeletons holding onto one another to form the ship’s base.

The location of the memorial was in County Mayo, one of the worst areas affected by the famine, near the harbour. Towering above the harbour is Croagh Patrick, a mountain where St. Patrick allegedly drove out all of the snakes in Ireland and where barefoot pilgrimages are still made to the top each July. We hiked to the statue of St. Patrick at the base, but didn’t make it much further.

Due to the weather we didn’t see a whole lot else, but we were treated to several nice dinners which were a nice retreat from the cold. The week since our return has seen spats of snow and sunshine as this bipolar weather makes its way into Spring.

While the races were snowed out, we were still able to get out for a round of kareoke at Captain Americas. The restaurant which held all the familiar decor was filled with fellow Irish students who praised our singing (may have had something to do with the student price cocktails). I’m starting to feel more settled here after hitting the halfway mark. Although I still occasionally get lost, I’m starting to fall more into a pattern of living and getting around in the city. After a weekend of searching, finally finding a coffee shop with free wifi and comfy seating has helped this adjustment.

    The dark and cold weather can sometimes overshadow the real beauty of this place. When we had some better weather this weekend I went on a run and stumbled across a breath taking park that had been right down the road from me the whole time.

I also discovered a new way to engage in the community through Greek dancing. Instead of the stiff hand by side approach taken by Irish dancing, Greek dancing is a communal process. On slippery wooden floors we all linked hands and learned some steps. If one person stopped or slipped, it affected everyone but they were also supported by the group. I’ve always struggled with being in close proximity to other people(I like my space) but I really enjoyed dancing with the group of strangers who were all kind and welcoming.
    Since it was Easter weekend I was a little nervous about being away from my family and home church. I decided to dive into part of the Irish culture and went to my very first Easter vigil. The service was relatively small and started off outside. The priest lit the pascal candle and with surprisingly no rogue flames the light was transferred from one person to the next. The priest read several readings from the old testament by candle light until we blew out our flames and sang alleluia as the harp sounded at the alter. The service was full of subtle tradition and was a very peaceful way to recognize such a joyous hope. What I missed most was the worship I enjoyed back at home. The next morning my friend came with me to city centre and we found a church my other Christian friend had recommended. We were unsure if we had walked too far when we heard the singing in the streets. A smile broke out across my face and I swear I almost cried. The church was small and relatively informal, filled with a diverse group of people and a choir of ten which had managed to be heard from the streets. Just as I had enjoyed the calm observance of the vigil, the morning praise service brought me back to  Texas for Easter. What topped off the morning was when the children’s choir took the stage. Expecting a cute rendition of Jesus Loves Me, I was surprised to hear the familiar beat of a song I’ve often heard played in clubs. “Don’t you worry, don’t you worry child. See heavens got a plan for you,” rang out from their small voices as they pumped their fists in the air. It was great to be part of a service that was so full of life. It really did feel like I was in Texas, and it wasn’t until the pastor proclaimed “now in the year two tousand-and -tirteen” that I knew we were still in Dublin.
    After church, we came back to O’Connell street to see why it had been closed off that morning. A commemoration of the 1916 Easter rising was taking place and the president and taoiseach were there. We stood on pillars to try and get a few pictures. It was cool to be part of a ceremony that has had such an affect on the shape of Ireland. While there were some other tourists there as well, I can only imagine what it feels like for those in Ireland who remember some less than peaceful times. 

    Speaking of unrest,for the next few days we will be leaving Dublin again for the northern city of Belfast. I’ve been researching the split identities of the British and Irish in the area, and will be updating you on what I learn while I’m there next time.