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