I have arrived back home! The past three months have been a blur, especially the last few weeks. I have nothing but time now so I will write a blog describing my last month and concluding the experience as a whole. Thanks to anyone still reading!

Northern Ireland

I have now had the opportunity to visit Northern Ireland twice. My first visit was through the study abroad program and was over the Halloween weekend. We spent the first night in Derry (Londonderry if you are loyalist) and thus the adventures began. The following is part of a reflective paper I had to write for history:

The tensions behind the people of Londonderry-Derry are seen immediately in the name of the city. Driving into the area, most of the signs for Londonderry were spray-painted or vandalized so only Derry was visible. History hundreds of years old is a sense of identity for both Catholics and Protestants, and in this case identity is as simple as the name of a city. The tension behind the name is not a thing of the past for the people in Derry. Talking with a college-aged friend, Christy, I had met at a pub, I realized how important names are for individual identity. Christy, having grown up in the Catholic ‘Bogside’ neighborhood refused to acknowledge the name Londonderry, and even claimed that there is no such thing as Northern Ireland, because it is one island and one Ireland. His viewpoints were developed from his experiences growing up in Derry, and were not specially packaged for our group as visitors.

The murals are a clear tourist attraction now that visitors feel safe in Northern Ireland, but the history behind them, the blood and tears that prompted them are still a part of everyday life for many people. Seeing the ‘Bloody Sunday’ mural in Derry is a moving experience that captures the chaotic murders that took place in 1972. I questioned whether this mural is a memorial to the massacre or a spot for tourists to take pictures and make a connection to the U2 song. My question was answered by John Kelly, brother of Michael Kelly, who died at the age of 17 by British gunmen. Mr. Kelly led a tour of a museum dedicated to ‘Bloody Sunday’ and gave his time to answer questions from our group. Coming from a man who had watched his brother die, it is impossible to say that the murals, bullets, letters, and other memorabilia collected in the museum were packaged for tourists. I stood where Michael Kelly was shot, and I saw where his mom witnessed the events not knowing that her son would soon be dead. The ‘Bloody Sunday’ shootings and ‘troubles’ are so ingrained in John Kelly’s life that it is clear history lives through him. The cause of Michael Kelly’s death was likewise directly influenced by 400 years of history between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland. Although peace has made leaps and bounds, the ‘troubles’ will always exist through people like John Kelly, who have been shaped by personal connections with historical events.

After Derry we spent a day at Bushmills Distillery, which is the oldest “legal” distillery of whiskey in the world. A small tasting session was followed by a trip to Giants Causeway, a geological wonder made up of hexagonal rocks that form unique formations. Both sights were great, and although a little touristy they were part of the essential “Ireland experience”.

Belfast was the next stop, and arriving at 6:00 p.m. (the dark of night over here) I could tell we were in for an interesting two nights. Belfast Youth Hostel was located close to Queens University, but closer to a Protestant stronghold called Sandy Row. Immediately across the street from the hostel was a bar sporting numerous Union Jack flags and various loyalist flags of Ulster. For those that are not familiar with the symbolism of these flags, they can be translated to “Welcome to Protestant Country- Catholics Enter At Your Own Risk”.

(Mural at Sandy Row, about a five minute walk from our first hostel. Didn't see this one until the second time around. Yikes!)

The first night our group went out to celebrate a friend’s birthday, and in my infinite wisdom I wore the Gaelic Football jersey that I had on all day. Gaelic Football is part of the Catholic tradition so much so that it probably was about as smart as wearing a confederate flag into North Minneapolis. The very first pub we went to the entire group was let in while the bouncer insisted that I either take off the jersey or move on. I took off the jersey and wore my undershirt the entire night, a small price to pay all things considered. The next day we had a group tour of the city by bus, but the tour was poorly done and tough to hear. That night was Halloween, and everyone, I mean everyone, was dressed up and hit the streets. I was a Rastafarian. The people we talked to that night were either fun and outgoing or realized we were Americans and tried to get a rise out of us by pretending to be IRA (Irish Republican Army) or UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force) members. One such young man came up from behind me and pointed his toy gun (he was a cowboy) at my knees, claimed he was with the UVF and pretended to kneecap me. I knew this guy was trying to get a rise out of me, but it like having someone in any American city mock stab and mug you. Instead of playing along, I tried to ignore him and walk away, because this was right outside our hostel, and the Union Jacks were flapping proudly. As I began to walk away, this guy grabbed my fake dreadlocks hat, which at this point seemed like the best 10-pound purchase of my life and was an integral part of my costume. He danced away wearing my dreads, and as I began to walk after him to grab the hat, two of his friends dressed in hooded sweatshirts (the only two in Belfast not dressed in a costume) came up to me and insisted that I should not mess with this guy and that my hat was a lost cause. Mess with the guy? I had just been the victim in a fake kneecapping and now was missing my Rasta cap. I tried to explain this to these two ‘hoods’ but they insisted I turn away from my friends who was now shaking his dreads and belting out a Bob Marley song. Two middle-aged men had watched the whole incident take place and came over and grabbed it from the culprit and returned it to me. Needless to say that I was out of the scene of the crime ASAP. The next day was an early departure and my Northern Ireland experience was over. Until this last weekend…

(Queens University)

First and for-most I owe a thank you to my Irish relatives, who housed, fed, drove, and entertained my two friends and me this last Wednesday and Saturday. On Wednesday my friends David, Kyle, and I left Galway, which was consequently in the midst of severe flooding, for Dublin, which is usually about a three-hour bus ride unfortunately stretched to nearly four hours due to torrential rain. From Dublin we caught an hour-long bus to Newly, the nearest city to Rostrevor, the home place of my Irish relatives John and Veronica Murray and their five children. From the moment we got there we were treated with everything from delicious food to access to their washing machine, which was badly, BADLY needed. We had a slice of home with take out pizza while we watched Ireland play France in soccer match that will inevitably go down in history as one of the most controversial games in the history of soccer. If you have not seen or heard the outcry from the Irish soccer world, google or youtube Thierry Henry’s handball and the Ireland-France soccer match. This soccer game is on the same level as the Potato Famine or 800 years of English occupation to the Irish people.

The next day my uncle drove us up to Belfast on his way to work and we listen to the outcry of Irish soccer fans calling for anything from a rematch to a ban on all French goods. It was Kyle’s birthday, and we ended up walking around the city and shopping for cheap (for once! Belfast is an escape from the disastrous prices of the Republic of Ireland) clothes and food before going out to celebrate the big 21. The hostel this time around was about five blocks closer to Queens University campus, and this made all the difference in the world. We ended up meeting groups of students each night, both Catholics and Protestants, that showed us around town and invited us to house parties afterwards. During the day we walked through the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods of the city and visited the Ulster Museum. Belfast was a totally different experience, the people were all friendly and we actually had time to explore the city. Belfast has something about it that is very likable. If Ireland is so well liked because of it’s “underdog” appeal, than Belfast is the “loveable loser” of the “underdogs”. I really enjoyed my time in the city and would still like to go back… Grad school at Queens?

After two nights adventuring Belfast, we were headed back to Rostrevor for more home cooking and creature comforts that are lost or ignored for the poor college traveler. My uncle John picked us up at the historic Crown Bar where we had a pint and watched a little Rugby, a sport I have caught on to since coming to Ireland, and headed back to Rostrevor. Rostrevor is one of my favorite Irish cities and it was great to stay with family, I feel refreshed going into the last stretch of my trip. That night after more food we headed into Rostrevor for live music and a couple pints, and although a couple songs at one pub were a little politically motivated, they were outdone by beautiful traditional music with a surprise twist of Sweet Caroline. The next day John drove us down to Dublin to catch our bus, which ended up saving us a very pretty penny. Thanks again to the Irish Murray’s, and I guess Belfast, it was a fantastic trip.

My writing is tailing off right now, as I should be working on papers and projects that have shocked me with a sudden sense of reality, especially stinging after six hours of classes just wrapped up. Not complaining, but I didn’t get to see the sun today. The next couple of weeks will be busy and I will try and update the blog, but might run out of time. I will be staying in and around Galway until the end of classes and then will travel back to Rostrevor for six more days before my departure. Many more stories to be told upon my homecoming.

Hope things are solid for friends and family back home,

Love,

JCM

(Clonard Monastery in a Catholic stronghold of West Belfast)

The craic is mighty. I just got back from two hurling games in Galway. Hurling is comparable to a gang battle in which both sides promise not to bring firearms. The clubs that are used to play the game are capable of killing, and the players have no problem swinging them aimlessly. Helmets are optional, but for some reason only about half the players wear them. There was a team of six medics that would rush on the field every five minutes and tend to a players who had been severely maimed. The game was a blast to watch, but ended up in a blowout. Blogging has become a bit of a challenge due to numerous papers weighing me down. I'll try and maybe post a couple papers for anyone who is truly bored out of their heads.

This Wednesday I will be voyaging back to Northern Ireland with two friends. We are planning on staying in Rostrevor for two nights (at the home of my Irish relatives) and Belfast for two nights. When I get back I hope to write a blog about both my North Ireland experiences. Until then, working away on papers in Ireland

John Murray

Sorry I haven't been able to relay my adventures (multiple) in North Ireland or any other updates on my life. I have been writing an essay on North Ireland so I need some time to get away from academia before I write my experience. I snuck into a Delorentos concert in Galway the other night and had an incredible time. They are a young upcoming band from Dublin and are growing fast in Ireland. They put on a fantastic show. Check out one of their songs at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vDs22k5yjo&feature=related

Before the concert I was at a Galway United soccer match. Ireland doesn't have much of a soccer league because any player with professional talent is playing in England or throughout Europe. The game was funny to watch as I was older than at least half the team and probably could have suited up and played, and honestly might have excelled. Fans from both teams brought drums that they would beat throughout the game and the opposing fans, Cork City, brought street flares that they would light and throw throughout the game. A frantic chase would ensue in which the Gaurdi (police) would try and catch fans throwing the flares. A police officer in the States would have a field day with a taser in a situation like this while the Gaurdi would dispose of the flare and wait for the next, usually about every 15 minutes. The downfall of soccer is that a game can end in a tie. Nearly every soccer game I have seen thus far has been a tie, a major source of frustration in my life (life is good). More to report once I finish up some essays.

One of many flares at the game

My North Ireland pictures are on the same slideshow as the cruise pictures. It might not pop up at first. Try clicking the green 2009 tab on the side and scroll down to the first slideshow. Good luck!

Picking up where I left off on my 10-day break cruising the Mediterranean: We missed our flight on day 10 back to Ireland. In a groupthink situation similar to the Kennedy administration’s Bay of Pigs fiasco, the eight of us on the cruise booked a 7:20 a.m. flight from Gerona airport in Barcelona because our boat was to arrive at 5:00 a.m. in the morning. What we didn’t consider was we needed to board the flight at 6:50 a.m., Gerona is roughly an hour and fifteen minutes taxi ride from Barcelona, and our boat had to go through security and we wouldn’t be let out until 6:00 a.m. To complicate and confuse matters, daylight savings set time back an hour. That morning our traveling troupe woke at 4:00 a.m. in hopeful anticipation that we would pull of a miracle. By 5:00 a.m. the boat had docked and security began their check. This was a heart-wrenching hour experience. I literally watched a group of five Spaniards security personal take place in a push-up contest followed by a jumping-jack tournament. Meanwhile I was preparing a 50-foot jump past the ship’s Nepali security guards into the Atlantic Ocean.

Needless to say we missed the flight.

We proceeded to book a flight through Easy Jet into Belfast leaving Barcelona at 7:30 p.m. This was a tough situation but we really lucked out. The flight was not too expensive, and our next best options were to pay a fortune to get into Dublin our stay in Barcelona until Wednesday, effectively missing three days of class. I tried to keep an even keel about the whole situation pretending I was competing on the Amazing Race.

I watched a transformation in our group’s attitude happen that can sum up my entire experience in Ireland thus far. The entire day was stressful until arriving at the terminal. I immediately walked to the first person I saw with an Irish passport and explained our situation and asked for advice. I ended up talking to Eugene, an older man who first gave us advice, and then consulted with the other Irish round him and called his son back home to look up information. At this point the entire terminal was huddled around us in what had become an emergency rescue situation, and he looked at the eight of us and told us if all else failed we were all welcome to spend the night at his home in Belfast. I kid you not he even told us we could crack open a bottle of whiskey.

With the help of Eugene at the Belfast airport, we managed to figure out a series of busses and taxis that would get us back to Galway. Let me tell you dear reader, this is no easy task on a Sunday night, especially because Monday was a bank holiday for some unknown reason. This ended up taking roughly eight hours, but hey, we were in Ireland. After a 3-hour ride from Dublin to Galway, we called up a cab for what should have been a fifteen-minute ride into Spiddal. This ended up taking close to an hour, as we were forced to share a cab with five heavily intoxicated people who first could not find the cab, then could not find one of their friends, then needed to stop and get food. This was on a Sunday night at 3:30 in the morning mind you, God bless the Irish. After more than 24 hours (we went through a time zone coming back to Ireland) of traveling with little to no sleep, we arrived at the Park Lodge Hotel and said good-bye to our cab mates who had broken into song at that point. Adventuring slash exploring can be taxing, but I managed to make a good time of the situation.