Two Popes and JFK... Yup I'm in Ireland

Last Saturday I climbed Croagh Patrick Mountain, on our County Mayo excursion in the west of Ireland. This was an experience that I will never forget, because it truly was a cleansing, meditative, spiritual pilgrimage, that I remember every 20 seconds when I either sniffle my nose or cough. Our group woke up in at 8:00 a.m. in the morning in the nearby town of Westport, a beautiful little city that is the defending champion of the “small town contest” held annually in the Republic of Ireland. Croagh Patrick loomed in the immediate landscape as we woke up and ate free bread at the hostel, trying to stuff some sort of energy into our malnourished diet. This isn’t to say that I’ve been starving myself, but rather I was eating while looking at a massive mountain that I couldn’t even see the summit, as half the mountain ascended into the clouds.

Our group arrived at 8:30 and were the only people at the mountain, which was a blessing because this climb was one thing that I wanted to do by myself and make it my own experience. The climb up is once again nothing that one would experience back in the States. The trail is very steep and is made up of a series of loose rocks. For every two steps forward, one can expect to slide at least one foot back by getting caught up in a small avalanche of rocks. Just this week a 70 year old women fell towards to the summit and had to be airlifted to a hospital, and apparently this is not an unusual mishap at all. I guess this is why it is still called a pilgramage and not a hiking trail.

For those that are not familiar with this mountain, it is a famous pilgrimage because St. Patrick “apparently” climbed it multiple times, “supposedly” spending the entire lent season in fast at the summit. I use the words “apparently” and “supposedly” because I just finished reading in my history textbook that if St. Patrick did everything that is recorded, he would have lived to be at least 450 years old. Regardless there is something very spiritual about the mountain, as if each person leaves part of their intentions or prayers with the mountain and this has accumulated over the last 1500 years to make it holy (I still have faith that St. Patrick climbed it also). Friends and family reading this know that I have prayed for all of you so in a sense you all are connected to this mountain.

(Statue of St. Patrick at the start of the climb with Croagh Patrick over his shoulder)

About half way up the mountain, I could see for miles, but only another 100 yards further and I continued the rest of the climb through a cloud. The wind picks up and blows at an incredible speed, plastering the moisture of the cloud to every hiker’s clothes and body, which feels great at the time but not so much the next day. The hike turns very steep at the end and forces one to use hands and feet, especially because each rock is loose and slippery. I reached the top and was blasted by wind. I couldn’t see more than 15 feet off of the mountain so there was no real view, but the sleet blowing at such a speed over the small chapel and rock formations on the summit into a total abyss thousands of feet from the ground is beautiful in its own way. I met some Irish natives on the top, one that was trying to make the climb 100 times before he turned 70 years old. He was about 65 and said he was going to have to make the climb once more again that day, which is incredibly impressive. These Irish said an Our Father with most of our group that had reached the summit. This was a perfect finish to the whole experience, about 25 people holding hands in prayer at the top of this mountain as if this was the one way that we wouldn’t be blown away.

The climb down was scarier than they way up. It was almost as if each rock was a surf board and I just had to find the right one and ride it a couple of feet before jumping to another sliding rock. The way down I ran into hundreds of people of all ages, nationalities, sexes, and thought to myself a helicopter rescue was definitely in order for the day. There was even a family gasping for air just feet from the car park. I think they were fellow Americans.

This experience was something that I was looking forward to coming into this trip, and it surpassed all my expectations and hopes. As for my cold… I guess I’m a tea drinker now.

Love from Ireland,

John Murray

Arthur day was a blast. I've really grown to love the city of Galway. It is one of the most compact yet vibrant cities that I've ever been to and because it is a port city it reminds me a bit of Duluth. A Duluth that is populated by college students and immigrants. The city has a very young feel that makes it lively and often rowdy. To my surprise, Galway has a large African-Irish(?) population. There is a large community of refugees from Rwanda that really never assimilated into the Irish culture, but seem to have found a home with the college students who only have the black of Guinness on their minds. Last week I checked out at Tesco, which is something in between a grocery store and soup kitchen, between a woman wearing a Sari and a woman wearing a Burka. The man that checked us out was Polish. There is a definite sense of racism that can be seen and felt here in Ireland, especially because of the state of the Irish economy, which is God-awful at best leaving many Irish who flourished five years ago utterly broke. Just a couple of more tangents before I get back to Arthur's day.

The economy is totally shot. The exchange rate sucks. Our bus drove by a McDonald’s today and they were advertising the double cheeseburger moving to the new special 2 Euro menu. In America, any fast food fiend knows that the double cheeseburger is on the special 1 dollar menu. Calculate the exchange rate and you will realize you would be paying three times the American cost of the double cheeseburger if you bought it in Ireland. Now I didn't come over here to go to McDonald’s, but you are lucky if you can even find that rate. Guinness in a pub is 3.80 Euro. A 15-minute cab ride into Galway is 5 Euro each way. A plain Nike sweatshirt is 70 Euro. 30 Euro cents to use the bathroom anywhere besides the pubs. There are some ways to beat the system. Dunnes is a great clothing store comparable Target. I bought a decent looking, warm winter jacket the other day for 15 Euro. Tesco is an incredibly (and suspiciously) cheep grocery store, proof being that I was able to buy a full weeks worth of groceries for 17 Euro. Moral of the story the economy is an absolute nightmare but I'll survive.

To give a precursor to Arthur's day, drinking is a much bigger problem than I remember from my last trip here and even blows away the any Irish stereotype one might hold back in the States. I don't know if it is the recession or life as usual, but every town we have gone to seems like a drunken college campus, except the drunken college students are everyone over the age of 16 (the legal drinking age is 18). Men, women, young adults, elderly, stumble the streets singing songs, urinating in public, passing out all the time sporting an open container in public. To their credit, there is something about the Irish drunk that’s different from anyone you would see back in the states:

1. They are very friendly. We have seen no signs of fights and I don't even know what could start one. Their sense of humor is overpowering so they turn everything into a joke. I am constantly making fun of their accent, and they think it is the funniest thing in the world. The tough guy is not valued at all over here as the funny guy reins king.

2. They are drinkers by night but active members of community by day. I have recognized many faces from pubs in suits or at jobs the next day.

3. While drinking in pubs they love, in this order: pints, live music, conversation, pints, more conversion, pints, pints, pints, conversation, pints, talking with complete strangers anywhere in a 10 foot radius, pints, singing along with the live music, pints, pints, buying some of their new friends pints (complete strangers anywhere in a 10 foot radius), dancing, and finally leaving at closing time singing and dancing to the last song that was played as if it is never to be finished.

I watched the all Ireland Gaelic football game last Sunday at the local pub. This game is the equivalent of the American Super Bowl. The game was fun to watch and the underdog, Kerry, ended up winning. I now tell everyone I meet that I'm a Kerry man and they are quick to congratulate me and then tell me Kerry didn't deserve to win at all.

Back to where I started, Arthur's day. Arthur's day was a blast; every pub in town was packed. The atmosphere was the exact same as New Year's Eve, with 17:59 p.m. being midnight. The number is the year in which Guinness beer first became the pride and joy of the Irish people. Guinness in every pub was 2.50 Euro, symbolizing the 250th birthday of Guinness. The whole day was full of complicated symbolism that no one really understood. It was a holiday for cheep beer and nothing more. There was music and nearly every pub and we stopped all over town and soaked up the atmosphere. We ended up at the King's Head, the most famous pub in Galway. There was a cool live band, but for some reason Guinness was having a Guitar Hero competition in the back corner. Teams of three were needed so I got some friends and we rocked out. I am horrible at this game. As a matter of fact, I'm certain my St. Odilia parish priest could beat me because he often brings it up in homilies. After two hours of people competing my team ended up in second place. We all got free drinks from Guinness for the rest of the night so it wasn't a bad deal at all. Sad to think there won’t be another celebration like that for 250 years.

To Arthur! Today Arthur Guniess, the creator of Guniess beer, is 250 years old ! We are going to Galway! Slainte

Top of the world looking down at Aran Islands. This is the drop to the ocean from the fort (see preceding entry). Tis a bit scary. It is a long way down, and the picture doesn't capture it but the the waves honestly look like starving tigers waiting for tourists to stumble down. For once my inability to swim would have been a non-factor.

Fellow students on top of Dun Aengus fort in the Aran islands. The fort was originally 10 miles from the ocean but due to erosion over hundreds of years the fort is slowly falling into the ocean

Front view of the same mountain. There would never be a climb like this back in a State Park. The path going up was a collection of rocks shoved in a general direction with no signs of the last 100 years including railings or water fountains. I therefore slipped multiple times and flirted with dehydration. Absolutely worth it

Two hour climb in Connemara National Park... worth it

Just came back from Cliffton, about an hour ride from Spiddal. The adventures continue... I'm a bit tired now but will leave you with this: I have climbed two mountains (real mountains) and attended a live reading of poetry by the Nobel Laureate and Irish icon Seamus Heaney in the last 48 hours. Life is good

Paula from Donegal on the dance floor

My Irish Mother

Ireland must have realized that we were weary travelers because we have been welcomed with warm weather and warmer people.

To start from the begging of this trip seems like recalling a months worth of events but I will try and hit the main points. My friend Mollie Land and I left the Minneapolis/ St. Paul airport at 2:00 p.m. While waiting at the terminal we recognized two other fellow Ireland travelers and were able to talk and hang out with them. Boarding the first plane the Continental steward, a white man at least in his 40’s sporting full grey dreadlocks and a New Jersey accident greeted us saying, “Welcome to Continental, watch your head.” For some reason I thought he said, “Welcome to Continental, whatcha name?” So I set down bags and said, “John Murray, thank you very much.” The first five rows of the plane burst into complete laughter. Hopefully this was a good omen; maybe good things can come of my idiocy. Our 4-person travel crew arrived at Newark and boarded our plane to Shannon easily. We arrived at the Shannon airport at 6 in the morning Irish time and had two wait until 12:45 in the afternoon to catch a bus to the Park Lodge Hotel, our Irish home located about 20 miles out of Galway in a town called Spiddal. Needless to say it was a long day, I felt sick and went to bed early.

The next day we woke up early and I was somewhat back to a normal state. Our entire group spent a day walking the city of Galway. It was absolutely beautiful. The Irish have put up with literally an entire summer of rain but within three hours I had waded into the Atlantic ocean and walked the crowded and colorful streets of Galway worrying only about the early signs of sunburn. We talked to some locals and eventually caught the bus back to Spiddal. The Park Lodge Hotel is about a 30-minute walk into the quaint downtown Spiddal. This wouldn’t be a big deal but the walk in is lethal. Cars zoom by the sidewalk (in America it would only be considered a small shoulder of the road) at incredible speeds on the wrong side of the road! This doesn’t seem to faze my fellow students, but I seem to jump into a bush of prickly nettle bushes to avoid what I see as certain death every time a car passes. No worries, I’ll survive. Spiddal has a beautiful sand beach that I had to jump in after picking up my first groceries. No worries once again, I made sure one of my fellow students, a certified lifeguard came swimming with me.

Everything was perfect and refreshing after the long day of travel. But things were only about to get better…

That night most of the 27 students were planning on staying in the cottages and just hanging out but I was set on going out. I’m in Ireland right now! My friend Matt Reeve had the same mindset. We had been told the night before that a wedding was going on Saturday at the hotel and the bar would be open on Friday night. Our cottages are about 100 yards from the hotel that consists of a bar, reception room, and hotel rooms. Note: from now on I will call the Park Lodge Hotel the PLH. There were only 5 people in the bar but John Paul, the maintenance manager, bar tender, and part owner of the PLH, greeted us and offered us a drink. We stayed and chatted with him and immediately realized why he is legendary with students who have been on the trip in the past. He is hilarious and very animated but near impossible to understand. After talking for some time with John Paul we started talking with the other guests there. They were all from the groom’s side in Donegal. After another drink and at least an hour of conversation I felt like old friends with all of them. Apparently they did too, because they insisted that we came to the wedding reception the next night, which was also to be held at the PLH. The offer was incredibly nice but we didn’t take it too seriously because we had an excursion planned at the Aran Islands the next day.

The next 24 hours must have been the best day of my entire life.

The Aran Islands are breathtaking. We rented bikes and went around the island. We stopped at a Gaelic football match and watched a team march onto the field led by a bagpipe playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”. It was a little cheesy but still gave me goose bumps. We biked to the fort Dun Aengus, which is an old rock fort that sits on a terrifying ledge and is actually slowly falling into the West in the Atlantic Ocean. The day was once again full of sun. The Aran Islands are indescribable. Hopefully my pictures can do what I cannot do with words. If not I will soon get pictures other people took.

We got back to Spiddal at about 6 and cleaned up and prepared a meal. The wedding party was already in full swing. My plan was to walk into town and go to a pub at about 9. I started my walk with about 5 other people but only got as far as the teenagers smoking cigarettes outside the dance. We started chatting and in no time they convinced us to go into the reception. I ran at full speed back to my cottage with my friend Thomas Joyce and we changed into the nicest cloths we had and went to an Irish wedding.

Wow

The first person I saw I recognized from the night before. Her name was Paula and she was either in her late 40’s or early 50’s. I sat down and she was delighted to see us there. I insisted on buying her a class of wine and of course she was saying no I didn’t need to but I got up and did and got myself a Guinness. Many people saw this and all immediately welcomed me. Needless to say, I wasn’t allowed to buy a drink for the rest of the night. Soon one of Paula’s friends came and sat next to me. She had been drinking since possibly before the 11:00 a.m. church service, as we were told that many people had. I started talking to her and we immediately became great friends. I had known that she was from Donegal and lied and told her that my family was from Donegal. In a stroke of pure genius I stopped and said to her, “Wait a second… I think you are my long lost mummy!” Her eyes lit up and she agreed and gave me a giant hug. We talked and laughed and had a great time and the mom joke continued all night. But love ya real mom!

Next we hit the dance floor and were dancing with a few students from the program that had also found there way into the reception. I talked to all the Irish young and old, especially my friends from the night before. The whole wedding felt like a line from an Irish Poem, The Rebel, I have memorized:

I have yearned with old wistful men, and laughed and cursed with young men

The Bride and Grooms first dance was “You Raise Me Up” by Josh Groban. Everyone sat down and made a circle around them. I was sitting in the very front with my Irish mom. They also played “Galway Girl” and “Brown Eyed Girl” which were crowd favorites. There was a DJ and a full band that played until 1 a.m. I left at 4:30 a.m. towards the end of traditional and heartfelt Donegal songs sung by my new friend, Connell. The night was perfect and I felt so at home and must have talked to at least 30 Irish people about anything from Minnesota to an upcoming Irish referendum to the Irish TV show Father Ted. It was absolutely magical night.

The next morning I woke up at about 11:30. Our group went to Coole Park, which was about a 45-minute drive and was a major inspiration for the poet W.B. Yeats. We meet with our Irish Literature professor and read poems in what is now a nature reserve overgrown with trees that must house leprechauns. Once again the sun was shinning. Once again a perfect day.

That night we walked into Spiddal to go see traditional Irish music at a pub called Hugh’s but we missed it. At about 11 p.m. the Spiddal Gaelic Football team came in cheering and yelling. They were all pissed (drunk). They had just won a playoff match and had a huge trophy to show for it. The first thing they did was open a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of hard cider and pour them into the trophy. Some how they saw us in the corner and ran over and insisted that we each take a sip from the trophy. We obliged them but soon walked home to avoid getting caught up in their wild night, as we had class the next morning. In two weeks they have another big game and we promised we would be their American cheerleaders. On the walk home we saw an old man with a large box, and started talking to him. It turns it was an accordion so we stopped and walked to the beach and he played for a half hour at 11 at night. He finally said, “Good night, the craic (Irish for good times) was good!” and we were off to bed.

Today was the first day of classes, which consisted of Irish history from 10-1, and Irish Catholicism from 2-5. The classes were interesting and the professors are very knowledgeable. It was long day especially after writing this blog. I needed to write down these memories before I would start to change or make up the story. So far it’s all true. The pictures aren't working tonight, everyone is on the their computers so check back soon, I have some priceless ones!

I am alive and very well,

Love,

John Murray

Now sweetly lies old Ireland
Emerald green beyond the foam,
Awakening sweet memories,
Calling the heart back home.

-Irish proverb


9/9/09- The Journey begins...