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.