Galway, Ireland & Northern Ireland

I made the small mistake of writing about Ireland while I was in Dublin, before finishing my experience of it! I don't plan to do that again. It's a terrible mistake for anyone to make generalizations based on an experience. I intend only to share my experiences from a firsthand opinion, not for my opinion or experience to be generalized and made into your opinion. Generalizations get in the way, they make us cynical.

So far, even at times when I become cynical and forget my purpose, God or the universe or whatever you call her, sends me something or someone to have the exact impact on my life so that I am put back on track. Sometimes it means I lose things, and sometimes it means I gain people - either way I try to remember to be grateful that I don't have to worry about being brought to a better state of thinking, because the world does it for me.

Galway and the Cliff's of Moher were rather different from Dublin and served as a thinking moment - of fears, of what bravery really means. People had told me I was brave for going on this "trip" (not a vacation, not a study or work abroad - a trip, a bump in the road of life to make sure my shocks are working properly.)
People told me I was brave and people also told me I was stupid. I don't really know what either means to me. I do know that I will always hope for those who think its stupid, I will never forget the feeling of being thought of as brave, and I will remember everyone who expressed either sentiment to me. We never forget the people who trip us, just like we never forget the people who help us stand back up.

So far, the Irish and the people I have met along the way, have all helped me stand up. The people in the west of Ireland were just as friendly and just as open as the ones I had met in Dublin. Theres something about simple kind gestures that reminds me of humanity. Of beauty.

Galway is the western seaport of Irish folk music, where nearby mountains, cliffs, and farmland are right out your window - it was a change of pace from Dublin. The simplicity of the Irish can be summed up in the names of the Galway streets; Market St, Shoppe St, Dock St, Center Square - you can probably guess where to find what, since the names are quite literal. There are no pub crawl streets that I know of... the pubs simply are. 

Galway and the Cliffs caused me to think a lot about how I travel, and what I enjoy. You really have to know yourself and work out all of your personal kinks in order to get going and find comfort in a consistently changing environment. I decided that, what I had always intended was to stay in cities and do day trips out to castles, and hikes.

Galway was a tiny coastal city, much like Portsmouth, NH, or Portland Maine. It is actually the third largest in all of Ireland, with a whopping population of 76,000. The make-up of the town was essentially cobblestone streets with street performers, lots of small shops, restaurants and pubs on the two main drags, then you have seen it all after an hour or less walkabout. I was there on a Sunday, which put me between a weeklong music festival and the beginning of the traditional horse races. There is always a festival in Galway. The city of festivals, I'll call it.

Other than the music, my favorite part of Ireland was that it was homey. Sometimes the greenery of it made me feel like I hadn't even left New England. Out on the hills and through the farms, it was like being in the countryside of New Hampshire, with all of the mountains and free range horses and cows. The perfect transition from home to travel.

I intend to keep pushing myself throughout my trip by going to unfamiliar and challenging places/experiences. For that reason, my first week abroad was in a place that both disappointed me because of its homeyness, and comforted me at the same time.

The Cliffs of Moher were my next personal challenge. Entering the welcome center I had two choices; I could go right and climb up well structured steps to a castle that sat on the cliff's edge - or - I could go left and hike the three or four cliffs where it appeared to be rather challenging. To the left it was far less structured, no stone steps, hardly any fence at all - that's what I chose. I love a good personal challenge. I believe challenge causes growth. I told myself, I am not doing some touristy bullshit just to take a picture. I am hiking. (Step 1 of working out my kinks - know what I like and honor myself by sticking to it.)

The Cliffs of Moher were probably one of the coolest parts of my Ireland adventure. Prior to entering the footpath lining the Cliff's edge was a memorial. A warning really. It went something like:

 "In memory of all the people who have lost their lives at the Cliffs of Moher."

It may as well have said:

 "Warning, people have died doing the stupid shit you are about to do - xoxo the Irish."

More signs said to stay inside the fences for safety. It was a hardy kicker when I realized the design of the fence from the cliffs to the path went like this from out to inland; 750ft drop, cliff's edge, FOOTPATH (and me on the footpath), fence. So if you imagine that, the fence was outside the footpath with no real protection from gravity taking you when you chose to peak over the ledge. Not to mention erosion. It was an Irish caution sign for dummies.

I am terrified of heights. Every time I stopped I had to sit down, otherwise my mind realized my location and sent transmittal signals to the rest of my body that said PANIC! Warning! Don't move or you die! Most of the hike I had to keep my head down in order to not feel a shutter in my heart, and the rest of the time my butt had to be on the ground to know I was safe where I was. I would stop, take a seat, take a picture, followed by a few deep breaths and mantras, then up and onward. Why would I come here? To see the visitor's center? No. I am here to see the Cliffs. No, no. I am here to experience the Cliffs. A friend I had met walked by and said in his Carribean  accent, "what ahh you afraid of? If you fall off dah Cliff, you float and you fly!" His name was Carter, and he had the biggest island smile you could think of. It was the sort of smile people make when they are born and raised in paradise. He had a great thrill about life. I asked him to talk me into continuing. The universe sent me support when I needed it in the form of a carefree Granadian. So we hiked together, me and Carter. I looked at my feet and listened to his stories that he told in his happy free-spirited way.

It was quite windy on top of the Cliffs. I watched seagulls playing in the wind. They would fly up to our eyelevel and then just float, soaring up and down with the wind under their wings like puppet seagulls being tugged up and down by a master. We threw rocks out to the ocean and they floated up above our heads and then whisked back at us. This was no joke. Before I knew it we had made it the entire hike, and it was time to turn back. Inspiration comes unexpectedly, like an uninvited guest you have the choice to be cynical about their presence, or welcome and love them. Carter was so positive and full of life, along the way it reminded me to keep a looseness about me. It's not about taking myself too seriously, it's about taking my life too seriously. The concept of death - it means nothing. I will live forever in my memories - now I just have to make ones that bring me warmth and solitude when I remember them. (A challenging concept to live by, I think.) Now that I wrote that, I can see how Carter really helped me.

We are fearless, young, and beautiful!

After the bus returned me from the Cliffs to Galway, I met a girl named Stephanie from LA. It was nice talking to someone from America, because I didn't have to speak slower than normal, or accidentally mimic an accent and then feel embarrassed by it. I wonder how many people have noticed my ever-changing accent, and thought that I was mocking them. People who are foreigners to me have said that Americans speak too quickly, and are hard to understand. So I always speak slower, and when I do that, people are more confused about where I am from and can no longer guess that I am American - however it also makes me more likely to pick up little odd linguistic dipthongs and slangs that give me an authentic sound. I never tried to do it, but when I spoke "American" for the first time in a week I felt relieved that I wasn't working so hard at speaking slowly and sufficiently with the cultural lingo.

The Northerners call Ireland "Southern Ireland." After traveling from Galway, back to Dublin and then to Belfast - I learned quickly that Northern Ireland is a far different country. The accents are more challenging to understand, rushed and mumbled - as if they are speaking Gaelic and don't even know it. They are also extremely British. I came from my walking tour in Dublin where I was taught the evil of the British as an empire - and now entered the streets of Belfast where British flags are painted everywhere and different slangs are used. Considering the history it seems to me that all of this British pride is propaganda to convince the people they want to be English. Its worked quite successfully. It appeared to be true based on the Northerners I spoke with. Scotland has an upcoming vote that may or may not separate them as an individual country from the UK. I thought, perhaps, if Scotland did that then Whales would be next, then eventually there would be one Ireland again. When I asked locals' opinions about my notion, they told me it will never happen. Too many people have died in making Ireland the way it is now. Northerners are proud to be British. For some reason that disappointed me. Why not be proud to be Irish?

My experience in the North was not as warm with locals as it had been in Ireland, there was a greater disconnect between people it seemed. The Guinness was still equally fantastic.

I stayed with a lovely Polish girl who had been living in N. Ireland for 3 years - she was warm amd generous to me. When I asked her about history, politics, and culture, she explained to me how easy it is for aliens and immigrants to come and get full welfare support from the government, and never contribute anything in return. In the states you have to be a citizen or resident to receive money from the government. My host, being a hard worker, spoke of racism against immigrants. Recently, a N. Ireland government representative had stated publicly that the reason no one was finding work was because the Polish immigrants were coming in and taking the jobs (that may be true due to better education, work ethic, and lower pay expectations, but why stir up racism?) My wonderful tiny host told me that since those remarks were made there had been riots and violence against Polish immigrants and it had been unsafe only a month before I arrived. Don't even get me started on the violence and hatred surrounding Protestant versus Catholic in the region - its real and ever-present. It seems that the few flaws of resilient people is foolhardiness and a hot temperament. I suppose that N. Ireland is a product of what happens when you crossbreed resilient people with the ones who made them resilient.

In Belfast I found a way to escape the propaganda and non-Irish Irish traditions. I took a bus into the suburbs and went for a hike at the Cavehill cliffs behind the Belfast Castle. The Cliffs here were a similar experience to the Cliffs of Moher, so I wont go into too much detail except for that I did it alone on a footpath, smelling flowers and frequently feeling the presence of my loved ones over my shoulder. They told me I was loved, and never to quit. Never quit when you know in your heart that it would be a forfeit, not a defeat. I climbed, I saw, I did it with love.

After Ireland I was meant to be in Scotland. Unfortunately plans were cancelled. So we just go with it :-) This morning I met a Morman missionary couple on a walkabout of S. Kensington Gardens during my first morning in London. Just as God had sent me Carter to make me brave, and Stephanie to make me heedful, so too the missionaries were sent to me to remind me of what I believe in. Empathy. I have never thought of anyone as evil. I have always seen those who behave in anger or hatred as victims of trauma, circumstance, their own minds, etc. Victims in a sense that, he/she may be a predator now, but something made them this way, and something can unmake them this way. I think the undoing is through love, and empathy. That's why I'm in social work. After hearing me give my shpeal about how all you need is love, the missionary asked, "what will your life be like in 5 years?" I can't answer that. "Okay two years?" Nope. "Tomorrow?" I don't know... I think right now I am trying to focus on where my feet are, then I can walk as if my feet are kissing the ground - Someone famous said that, not me. The missionary seemed to regard me as lost rather than found or finding. I don't believe I am either, I believe that I am like an Irish pub - I simply am.

Imagine though, that you could be so aware of yourself that you can recognize every breath, every step, every hand motion. And let every breath breathe love into the life around you, and let every step kiss the ground in gratitude, and let every motion create openness and trust - that your eyes are not only the window to your soul, but the souls of others as well through empathy.  I think that what Christians are really saying when they pray, let everything that breathes praise the Lord. I think I'd like to start with my breath and not to praise through praise but to praise through love.

I think I'm learning that travel can bring growth both in solitude and otherwise. I say this because, in between my solace, every single interaction has notably been specifically for me - designed to remind me of something I already knew, or learn something that will make me better. To challenge is to always grow. The challenge is to focus on where my feet are without being afraid to move, without needing to look where I stand. I tell myself, let go of your hold on life, read the signs and let the universe show you the way. The signs and messages are there, its no coincidence. Its meant for you, me, or them - we just have to accept it as ours and use it to grow. The universe is a tool.

Cheers

Dublin, Ireland

From the moment I sat on the Aer Lingus flight from Boston to Dublin, my natural draw to people was on fire, and attracted kind people to me. On the plane I sat next to a woman, who I would classify as your typical suburban British woman. Ever see a Ricky Gervais show or movie? Well, she was the leading lady; witty, empathetic, comedic (the British sort) and of true grit. We talked about British shows we both liked, and how British humor is better than American humor because of its wit, and truth. I could tell right away that she was a warm person. She gave me advice for my UK travels, laughed with me about poppy cock, and was downright offended by the general idea that Americans have a food called "London broil." With every "t" pronounced, and a rising inflection, she said with her true Brit accent; "Its beef and gravy? And you named it after our capital city? Thas pure rubbish." We laughed a bit, and before parting she asked me if I had anyone in the UK to call in an emergency. I told her I had the U.S. Embassy. So she gave me her mobile number, and told me that it was in case I got arrested. I wondered for a second if, in the mostly silent 6 hour plane ride, that she deduced from my character that I may be a person who gets arrested. I assured her I wasn't that sort, and told her if I pass through Liverpool or Bermingham I would buzz her, and in return the next time she is in Boston on business I will treat her to a London broil and laugh at her mortified response to it - the rubbish.

Upon landing, I waited at the airport for a few hours until the bus system turned on at 6am. Waiting an hour or so to spend 6Euro on a bus instead of 30 on a taxi is just the beginning for me. We have to be choosey now.

My adventures begin in a city thriving in history and oppression. Parts of Dublin are like being back in Sol Madrid. Shops everywhere in the tourist areas so that it is almost like an outdoor mall. The cobblestone streets along the Temple Bar section is where all of the piss, and Guinness line the sidewalks during the day, and where live folk and rock music can be found at night. I wasn't able to check into the hostel to sleep until 3pm. So I locked up my bags, and from 6:30am until 3pm, I walked the city. It only took 3 or 4 hours to really see the whole of it. The section where I am staying is more rubbish than the tourist sections - not dangerous, but clearly somewhat trashier than the better kept parts of town - I didn't take to Dublin right away because of it. There are cigarette butts everywhere and it smells like the dry sweat of an Irish army. 

I never hesitated to tell anyone that I was from Boston. My plan for a lot of this trip was to say I am Canadian - I know I will need to in Central Europe because I have been discriminated against before for being American. I learned quickly that saying you're from Boston in Ireland gets you respect, because some people might even assume that you are Irish. They know that Boston is heavily Irish in history and they love it. Maybe thats why Boston is so resilient - Irish are certainly resilient. I learned a long time ago that foreigners know Boston better than New Hampshire, so i just don't bother with that unless they want to know more or we become friends.

After walking about I came and sat in the lobby of my hostel waiting for a walking tour to start. While I waited I met a kind Iranian family. I was drawn to them speaking Farsi on the couch next to mine. One was a young woman studying Middle Eastern conflicts for her PhD in Belfast, and the others were her aunt and uncle visiting from Norway. After much discussion on passions concerning the Middle East, good health, and the fascination of cultures - I was offered a place to stay in Belfast, and also in Oslo. I don't know that I will, but I was complimented by the generosity and smiles of this family. We continued to chat and exchanged emails before the tour started some time later.

On the walking tour we skipped around Dublin seeing some parks, memorials, the Irish Castle, and Trinity College where the library holds the book of Kells (the only Gaelic version of the Bible.) The castle looked like any Plaza Mayor you've seen or heard of, minus people, minus restaurants and stores, minus everything but blank walls and an empty square. Its deserted. The Brits built and the Brits left, so thats what you get. I learned that, while in Ireland, I should have a distaste for the Brits. They enslaved the Irish and sent them to the Caribbean, just as Americans enslaved Africans. I knew this already, but the way that our tour-guide, Rory, spoke about it brought light to the fact that when Americans typically think of slavery they think of black Africans. Ever heard of slavery and thought of a bunch of poor famished Irishmen? I suppose racism is engraved in us in that way. Imagine though, you are put on a boat not knowing where you're going and then you and the famished guy next to you end up working cotton fields in between beatings for the rest of your life. Although the separation of Ireland with Northern Ireland was meant to bring peace between the Brits and the Irish, it caused conflict within Irish traditions, tearing apart families to the point of them killing one another over disagreeing about right and wrong. Politics. Religion as well. Rory told us about how most Irish are against Israel in the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Not because of politics, he assured us, but because of murder and immorality - because Irish see themselves and their history in the anguish and suffering of others. In my own opinion Israel is comitting a genocide - after having slimly escaped their own in history it makes it ironically sad to me. I suppose history shows us that every powerful nation at least attempts genocide before peace. Gaza Strip is the most densely populated region in the world. Drop a bomb anywhere and its the end for many, whoever the many may be. Oppression is very powerful - I'm sure it has something to do with Israel's desperation to get rid of Hamas no matter the consequences of their inhumanity towards the civilians. I'm sure it has something to do with why Ireland has such a drinking culture. Everyone's gotta cope. Even now, the Irish feel strongly about their culture and what history has to do with modern Ireland.

For instance, Gaelic is a dying language with less than 15% of Irish speaking it. The correct way to say the Irish language is "Gail-gah" not Gaelic. Gail-gah or Irish. Essentially its because of the British banning of Irish culture during their rule that the language is dying. Irish who can speak Irish are the super Irish Irish. :-) Back then community meetings weren't allowed, which forced Catholic mass to operate underground for fear of punishment. It sounded communist almost, or an effort to genocide. Well, it was an effort to genocide. Funny how the world forgives and forgets the mistakes the most powerful nations have made - Britain, America, Germany, Norway, France, Spain, Russia, China, etc. The Vietnamese and Koreans have forgiven us and are kind people to us... But take the money from Europeans and start hostile takeovers of downtroden Middle Eastern countries during an oppressed time and that sort of shit puts you on most of the worlds' shit list. Places that are safe for Europeans to travel, like Cairo, or Saudi Arabia, are not safe for Americans according to the US 

State Department. Anyone here will tell you, its a lot more dangerous to travel as an American than someone else. Thats why its so important that I am passionate about understanding a people/culture. It sets me apart from the typical traveling American who ignorantly goes on a vacation just to drink and dance and eat away from home - plowing through anyone and everything, not asking questions, having the mentality of "who cares I'll never see them again." Well, you may never see them again, but you just helped solidify their opinion of Americans.

Rory passionately spoke as an Irish purist to us, and (clearly) it ignited my passions. Aside from his degree in history, it was apparent that he chose to lead free walking tours as a job so that he could share his passion and the "real" history of Ireland. The grit of it - the humanity.

Much like New York City, Boston, Paris, Munich, or any other major city you can think of - the real majesty of the country is in suburbia, outside of the city. Also, all of the best major cities have a lake, river, or ocean in/next to it (Paris, Budapest, Athens, Dublin, Boston, Miami, NYC, London, Beijing, Ho Chi Minh - and so on.) So I chose to cut my plans short in Dublin so that I will have one more day and night to experience what I want in the city. Then I willl leave Dublin and spend an overnight in Galway to hike the Cliffs of Moher and walk along the Atlantic Bergen. It will set me back by making my trip to Belfast longer, but I will see more and pay the same.

Rory told us on the tour that in the West are many Irish purists who work hard to preserve the language and culture. Even Irish who study 12 years of Gaelic in primary school are usually not fluent. Not to mention, listing "Irish" as one of your main languages, will not help you get a job anywhere. So the Irish westerners try to keep it up, to keep Gaelic from becoming a dead language. Just like any other culture, Rory said that people in the west tend to respect you more if you at least try to say some things in Gaelic. He taught us some phrases. All I remember is that "Slante" means cheers. I remember it because I heard it a lot at the bars.

I asked Rory if the cliche idea of Irishmen getting together, getting drunk, and singing Irish folk music was far from the truth. He told me to give him some beers and he would show me how true it is. Hah!

Foreshadowing of the night to follow - when I was walking to the pub later in the evening I saw a man in front of me peeing on the sidewalk. I have seen this a lot all over Europe. Except for this man wasn't pointing his peewee at the wall, he was aiming for the street and leaning against the wall. I thought, hey! You're doin it wrong! As he zipped his pants a woman walked past paying no mind and he said to her "oh fuck off!" which drew her attention. I liked her response when she said, "me fuck off? You fuck off!" And she kept on walking. I laughed to myself, lifted my skirt to my knees and took a large step over the stream and kept on going. That was my only negative experience of Irish people, even then I enjoyed it for a laugh.

Along the walking tour I became friendly with a lovely Sicilian woman. We talked about couchsurfing, and how she is going to meet her host after the tour. She invited me to a rock concert later in the evening as a couchsurfing event, to meet other hosts and surfers. I went.

An aside; couchsurfing (CS) is a website and community network of low budget travelers connecting and sharing their culture, language, and couch with others who want to do the same. Its a give and take, not immediately and not in any service, but overtime through community and gratitude. I will stay with you, and maybe we will be friends and maybe we wont, but when you have the time to travel and if you so happen to make it to my home town, I will do the same for you.

So now I'm at a pub for live music with these people who all met through the couchsurfing network. One thing I can say for certain, if you go to any Irish pub in the world, close your eyes and tell yourself you're in Ireland, and then open your eyes - believe it or not, you are in Ireland. Every Irish pub is the same, wooden panels, stools, the smell of beer everywhere, lots of beers on taps, samples of beers, green tapestries, and random framed whatevers all over the place with the occasional drinking slogan. Oh, and live music. In the group I met a few Italians, enjoyed speaking Spanish with a girl from outside of Madrid, there was a Nigerian man, and another man from San Diego. The band was American and played classic rock music - so I paid no mind to anyone else and did my hip-shaking foot stomping thing. Soon enough others were joining. It was a two piece sitdown band, like I had never heard before. One strumming all of the rock solos perfectly, and the other banging his head and singing better than any bar band I had ever witnessed. I felt right at home. The singer announced to the bar that he wanted the bartenders to bring him a Guinness. He got himself into a mess of trouble with that, because he was such a good singer that everyone in the bar was buying him Guinness. He had a stool of 4 pints sitting in front of him when he told everyone to fuck off with the Guinness. Literally, "fuck off with the Guinness already. Give me another and I'll fuckin kick you out. I'm serious" He drank two, gave another away to a handicapped man in a wheelchair, and then announced he was drunk. Fair enough, this was his second gig of the night, and first solo gig of the night. I know because we followed him barhopping from the two-piece band to the solo gig because he was amazing, and our group organizer knew him. After he told everyone he was drunk, the crowd roared with excitement. He then sang an Irish drinking song or two in between the Eagles and Thin Lizzy. An Irish song can be created, basically, by getting really drunk and depressed and singing your blues while clapping along. If you can mumble loudly with a drunken drawl, then you can get by during most drinking song choruses - da da die dah die dah die, la la lie, la la lie. Drinking is not my thing, but Irish pubs certainly are.

There is a music festival tonight in Merrion park next to Trinity college. I was invited again by the sweet Sicilian woman. I was also invited to pub crawl with a group of young people who met two years ago studying abroad in Germany. I might do both, one, or none. I would like to hear more local folk music, its fantastic. 

All in all, if it weren't for kind foreigners, or the Irish being generally friendly, fun, and passionate people, I might not have liked Dublin at all. So I'm ready to move on to where I not only love the people, but the environment. I think that will be Galway, and a suburban hike or two outside of Belfast next week.

Slante!