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.

Forgive me for I am writing on eight days of blissful vacation followed by 30 hours of hellish travel. (I am trying to upload a slideshow of pictures to help tell my story)

I embarked on this trip last Saturday with seven fellow classmates studying abroad with me in Ireland. The first destination was Barcelona. After a long day of travel, we arrived at 11:00 p.m. and were blessed with warm weather (at night!), palm trees, sangria, Doner kabobs, a fun hostel, American and Canadian students, and the Mediterranean Sea. Barcelona was easy to get used to as all these things happened within a two-hour time frame. It was almost as if the entire city was planning a reception party for our group. The next morning we walked through Barcelona at a strenuous pace, which was to set the precedent for the rest of the trip. The best part was the Sagrada Familia Church. This church began construction in 1882 by the architect Gaudi, and is still under construction, expected to be finished in 2026. As we were walking the streets, I noticed a group of 15-foot high costumes parading down the street accompanied by screeching Spanish music. Our group followed the parade that made its way to the front of the church, where a large crowd had assembled within the hour that we had left it. The group was primarily made up of four groups, each wearing their own color. As we watched the music continued and each group began to bunch together. Slowly one member was lifted up, than another climbed up and on top of the first. This continued until each group was four people high, creating a human representation of the spires of the Sagrada Familia Church directly behind them. After that we continued to explore Barcelona and eventually made our way to the port to board the Norwegian Gem.

The cruise aspect of the trip had both pros and cons.

Pro: All you can eat food. After a month and a half of my pilgrim lifestyle, I ate. Meal after meal was a treat. Food was available 24/7. Every night our entire group would sit down at a "fancy" restaurant and get four-course meals.

Con: The entire aspect of the cruise had a very cheesy aspect about it. For example, the "fancy" restaurant was filled with fake Mahoney and ridiculous chandeliers. The other guests on the cruise (another con: most guests except for two friends we made were experiencing some degree of a midlife crisis) played along with the cheesy aspect of the cruise. They would dress extravagantly, and once a meal the chefs (all foreign) would be sent out to a rousing round of applause. The food was good not amazing, but the cruise staff hyped it up, and everyone bought it. I just ate.

Pro: Every stop we made was unbelievable (Malta, Napoli, Rome, Florence, Cannes). Travel was easy, as I would wake up after a refreshing night of sleep and be in a radically different city. This made it possible to see a variety of different things, not many people can say they have been to Malta, but I can and I loved it.

Con: We did not get to see the nightlife in any city. We would wake up early and see as much as we could see before getting back on the boat. The nightlife on the boat consisted of “cheese” city. The entire staff of the crew was foreign, mostly from Indonesia and Nepal. I have no idea why or how people from Nepal were working on this cruise, they have come along way from Mount Everest to the Mediterranean. Entertainment consisted of Indonesians (sometimes the same ones that had just served me dinner) dressing up with backwards hats or Hawaiian shirts and singing Jimmy Buffet songs or a Nepal native attempting a magic show. It was amazing to watch how the crowd would cheer at each performance. It was corporate American brainwashing at its finest. I only went to the shows the first day when there were no stops, and I was almost prepared to hurl myself into the sea afterwards. The following nights I ate, made new friends (an American guy and Australian girl), read my book and hung out with my friends on the trip. This was much better and complemented our rigorous travel that we would do each day.

Pro: I did not spend much money in any town, as the boat would provide the essentials.

Con: The boat docked in two ports that were an hour away from both Rome and Florence. We had to find our own way in each city or pay a ridiculous charge to go on cruise excursions. This cut drastically into our time, but also added an element of adventure and exploring that is supposed to be part of college traveling. I saw Rome in a day for 14 Euro and was drenched by pouring rains, and it was an absolute blast. The cruise had hidden charges for nearly everything. This is why we got such a cheap ticket. Being aware and poor travelers, we managed to go unscathed by fees. Watching some of the totally unaware tourists we were with, I must have saved hundreds if not thousands of dollars.

In hindsight I had a fantastic time because I got to see all the cities we stopped at, and I could not have accomplished this any other way besides the cruise. I wouldn't do a cruise again anytime soon, but I was able to do my own thing both on and off the ship so I had a good time.

I also learned some things about myself. I like to travel raw. I enjoy skipping comfort for experience. I love Ireland (I'll get back to that one).

Cities:

Malta was incredible. In terms of weather, color schemes, and architecture it felt like I was in Egypt. Upon docking, our group walked to the main attraction: St. John's Church. We got there and mass had just started so we had to wait two hours and come back for a tour. My friend Thomas Joyce and I asked if we could go to the mass, as it had only just started. We did and the inside of the church was beautiful. We had communion with the Maltenese and then we were back on our way to explore the city. I decided to go back and take a tour of the church, which turned out to be a fantastic decision. Malta is a country straight out of a Dan Brown Novel, as the Knights Templar founded the country. During mass, little did I know that the floor was made up of 400 marked graves of knights from 500 years ago. The rest of the city was perfect (so was the 77 degree f weather). Geckos ran circles around me as I relaxed and explored this slice of exotic paradise.

Napoli was dirty and poor, or at least were the majority of the parts of the city I saw. We walked through neighborhood areas and tried to communicate with Italians. We ended up find back alleys to breathtaking views and lush parks. Jimmy Backus, Thomas Joyce, and I found an old castle on the Mediterranean that was simple, yet one of the best parts of the trip. We were the only ones there and we climbed to the top. See pictures. (Weather: 75 degree f and sunny= perfection)

Rome was a struggle to get to and our time was short there. We ran around in the rain and managed to see most of it. I wasn't too worried because I had already seen Rome. It reminded me of the T.V. show The Amazing Race. It was fun, but I was a little disappointed that I couldn't see my friends studying abroad there, but all in all it was a blast.

Florence was another struggle to get into to, and there was a threat of a train strike. Only three of us went and it was worth the risk. The city was walkable and scenic. The best part was waiting to see the statue of David by Michelangelo. The line was ridiculous and it was going to take all day to see the statue. We decided to skip it, but walking away I was astounded, no shocked within the point of a heart attack to see my friend Leah Palermo from high school. She is studying abroad in Rome but was traveling around with her family. This meeting boggled my mind; all I can say is that it truly is a small world. We talked for some time and parted ways, as we are hopefully meeting up with some friends in Dublin in a couple of weeks. It was crazy, I loved it.

Cannes was the last stop and the nicest day. Our group explored the city and spent the majority of the day on the beach. Perfect ending of the trip... but it turned out it was not the ending at all, because a rat race ensued trying to get back to Ireland the next day. I'll save this blog for later. Hopefully the pictures will fill in what I missed. Part two of the trip entitled “My Personal Struggle through Inferno” will come soon.