My trip to Ireland: part 7

The last post only covered the first day I spent in Dublin and as you perhaps noticed: I took it all in. So now I will try to give you a view of the rest of my stay in Dublin. On the other hand: I think we must take one day at the time, in order not to scare you too much :p
So here comes the recollection of the 24th July...
BEWARE!

Dublin is the kind of city that grows on you, it surprises you at every turn. This is a city who are balancing through life on a very fine line, between history and modernity, old and new. Sometimes one can wonder if it will fall, and fail its magic trick. But so far hasn't Dublins soul been up for auction, and I cross my fingers that it never will be either.
So how did I experience Dublin the next couple of days after the shock had settled? There was so much to see and I had fairly limited time.
After a good nights sleep I was so ready to explore the city. First on my list: get some proper insoles, because I knew we were going to cover pretty much ground by just walking, and it was no point in getting any blisters if I could avoid it. So while I was in the shoe-shop, Steven ran over to the Tourist Office to fix our tickets for our trip to Glendalough some days later. We were supposed to be meeting a pen-pal of mine; Siân by the GPO, and I got a chance to look closer at the building and feel the columns that still has some bullet holes in them after the Easter Rising.
Let me tell you a little bit about Siân: she is just the most loving, and wonderful girl you can imagine, and we hit it off right away. It was like she could read my mind, and she understood. She would join us for the day, and since we were at the GPO, we decided to start there with checking out the inside.

I want a post-office like this!

It is great that they still use it as a post-office and not turning it into a museum, where the history will get strangled.
We made our way over O'Connell bridge in search for a pub (for our defence: we were looking for coffee), and on our way we passed a secondhand bookshop. And I just had to look...
So I dragged both Steven and Siân with me into the bookshop, and this is what we saw:

HEAVEN

They had books about EVERYTHING! And the section with Irish history and fiction made my head spin. This was a true dreamplace for a bibliophile like me, and I was very reluctant to leave it, especially the children's corner where they had all the books I had read when I grew up; Treasure Island, The Jungle Book and Robin Hood. Our next stop would be a pub in St Anne's Street called Kehoe's. It was still morning, and we had the pub to ourselves. We found a cosy corner, got our coffee and started planning what to do the rest of the day.

Coffee-time

We decided to make our way to Merrion Square and Archbishop Ryan Park were we hopefully would find some statues and take our time enjoying the place. And indeed we did; because this park is the home of Dublins perhaps funniest statue: Oscar Wilde.

The Quare in the Square

Seriously, who cannot smile when they see this one? Right beside it was a small black pillar with quotes by him carved into the stone and colored white to contrast the black. And there was one quote that resounded in my heart:

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars

The reason for this was a doomed fancy 6 months ago...these words dragged me up from the gutter at the time, but I had tried to forget the guy for some time (long story), so it was weird to see them on print again.
Believe it or not: this little bibliophile hasn't read anything by Oscar Wilde ...yet.
Anyway, let's get on with the story.

After roaming aimlessly around in this small, but oh so charming park, we got fairly hungry, so off to Marks and Spencer in Grafton street. Siân and I got a sandwich each and some juice, while Steven chose to have his homemade lunch. It was around midday, and the sun was shining, so we decided to eat our lunch at St Stephens Green. There we met a bride and groom, looking for a nice place to take their wedding-pictures. It was so great to just enjoy every minute and not having to worry about a thing in the world.

Made me think of the story about the ugly duckling by H.C. Andersen

There are so many statues in St Stephens and the last time we were there, we hadn't found neither Wolfe Tone nor James Joyce. But if you look, you will find (eventually), so after some time we  spotted Mr Wolfe Tone over at the other side of the park. As we made our way over to him, we saw something else that attracted our attention. A memorial for all those who died during the famine, triggered by the devastating  potatoblight that struck Ireland 1845 and lasted to 1852. 1.1 million people died, and nearly 1.5 emigrated to a "better" future in Canada and USA.

Waiting to die

Once again did I face the history, the history that had troubled me for so long and had also been the core of my bachelor-thesis. Their destinies will never, and should never, be forgotten.

Wolfe Tone (1763-1798) is one of the leaders the Irish love to remember. I guess it has to do with his role in the 1798-rebellion. This rebellion could perhaps have been a success, but it initiated a line of (sadly) failing risings and rebellions;  Robert Emmet in 1803 (total and utterly failure), Young Irelanders in 1848 (that one ended in a cabbageditch in county Tipperary), The Fenians in 1867 and up to the Easter Rising (which maybe was somewhat successful in the long run....)
But all these failures shows us an astounding quality in the Irish people: They don't give up!

A grand leader / Tonehenge

So even if his rebellion didn't end that well (he died in prison before they could execute him...some say suicide, some say something else..), his ideas and dreams still inspire people. He believe that people could coexist no matter despite their religious loyalty. This was a man who would fight for humanity; both Catholics and protestants alike. He was perhaps a revolutionary, but over all: He was a man who fought for what he believed in!

"Christopher Columbus, as everyone knows, is honored by posterity because he was the last to discover America."

Another confession: I haven't read Ulysses (my brother is picking on my shoulder and tells me that he hasn't read it either...puh) I don't have anything against mr Joyce, but why has this book become so important? It is almost impossible to read! "Dubliners" on the other hand, is much more comprehensible...
But who am I to judge the literary pearls of this nation? Let us get on with the story...

So after we were finished in St Stephens Green, we made our way over to one of Dublin's most popular places (especially for tourists): Temple Bar
This is, let's be honest, a pub-district. And since it was to early for a pint for us, we headed for one of the bridges that's crossing Liffey.

All over Dublin can one see people with big posters advertising for stuff, and this guy seemed pretty tired, so he's taking a breather by the coolest box in Dublin. Can you see the man dressed like a sheep?

Four Courts

Now we were also looking for a place for a breather, and beneath the trees by the Four Courts, we stopped for a while so we could check the map and enjoy the view over Liffey. Well, we can debate the beauty of the scene, because a dirtier river haven't I seen in a very long time and I wouldn't advice anyone to take a swim in it...

Two great friends; Siân and Steven

(To Siân and Steven: I cannot say how thankful I am that you chose to get to know me. I'm forever grateful)

It was a hot day, and we were getting pretty thirsty at this point, so up O'Connell once more. And on our way we found: James Joyce (again), a street-artist and some musicians. Here you got them all:

He's never been more popular (as a statue)

The Autumn Girl

 

Ryan Sheridan and Artur Graczyk; what can I say? There was definitely something about their music that resonated in my mind, and it brought a smile to my face. It's energetic and laid-back at the same time; perfect for a Sunday morning. After I got home I have listened to their 8 track demo over and over again, and it is like Dublin itself; it sneaks up upon you and before you know it is it a part of you.

So with music in my head and a smile on my face, we searched for a place to rest our feet and plan our next move. And there in a backstreet of Henry Street, we found our little oasis. We started to discuss the apparent mess that Ireland as a nation is in the middle of at the moment, with recession and general bad governing. Don't get me started on the schoolsystem...

Anyway, a woman started talking to us, and her story was both amazing and disturbing. Her relationship with the police, The Garda, was everything else than good. I will not go in detail here, but her story contained abuse, drug-dealing and lack of trust. It seemed the Garda thinks they stand outside the law, and  don't abide to the law they are supposed to be upholding.

We sat and talked with her for almost 3 (!) hours, and my idea of the system had really been altered in such a short time...

Now was the time for a pint, so we headed down to The Brazen Head; Ireland's supposed oldest pub. It was so good to finally sit down and enjoy a pint of  Guinness while looking back on the day that went so fast.

Siân had to catch the bus back to Bray (south of Dublin), so hugs were shared and I sincerely hope to meet here again.

So after 2 pints, me and Steven headed home for Phibsborough, and the Dublin night gave the perfect end of a brilliant day.

My trip to Ireland: part 6

Ireland's history has fascinated me for many years, and while I was there I could feel how important it was as an identification-marker. People were very aware of their history, of the great men and women that made a difference through hundreds of years, during both occupation and freedom. It's through the history they identify who they are, and it was so inspirational for a history-student from Norway to see a place where history really means something. A place were history is lived and not confined to dusty books in the very back of the library.

The last part of my stay was spent in the capital of the Emerald Isle; Dublin. A city steeped in history, where both rebels and poets found inspiration and acted on it. This is the city of saints and scholars, of culture beyond your wildest imagination and the most extreme political environment north of  Cork and south of Malin Head.
And of course is everything connected; you cannot understand one thing without consider all the other factors too.
But let's not drown ourselves in all the problems. Let me begin my tale from Dublin...

Dublin is perhaps the place I've heard the most about the last few years, and it shouldn't come as any surprise that city is has a special place in my heart. I'm not a big fan of capitals (especially not my own; Oslo) because many of them are loosing their own identity when they meet the world; they are trying to be like everybody else. Please stick to what you can Dublin: BE IRISH!
Anyway, to just come to city I had heard so much about, was an experience for life. To see the place which is perhaps mentioned in more songs than any other place on the globe, the home and battleground for men like James Joyce, Padraig Pearse, Brendan Behan, Thomas Moore, Roger Casement, Sean O'Casey, Theobald Wolfe Tone, Bram Stoker and many more...They have all given this city a reputation and flavour that unlike many other international capitals still keep its contact with its past.
*Sorry if my word are incomprehensible...it is just that this city and my experience of it is difficult to describe in normal, neutral words. If you don't follow me, just ask me, please*

We arrived in the city on a fairly sunny Friday, and the walk from Busaras to Phibsborough took much longer time than planned because of two things:
1) No map
2) My suitcase had for some unknown reason gained weight in Donegal....
But we got there eventually, and it was a really nice place we would stay for the next 5 days.

Great place

Just as when I came to Derry, it took me some time to come to terms with the fact that i was actually IN Dublin. So every step I took, every sound I heard and all I saw was of great interest. I was like a newborn child, soaking it all up. The way back to the centre of the city; O'Connell Street, I tried to take notice of specific buildings that would help me remember the way (I have a really lousy sense of direction, so I had to keep my eyes wide open all the time).

So I counted churches....

This one was the closest to were we lived, and it was a truly amazing building. It feels like the building itself is growing into the skies, and I would soon understand that this rule counted for more than churches. Many buildings in this town is something more than just buildings, they are symbols of power and strength.

But Dublin is more than just a city of churches and big buildings. Its streets are also a source to some of the most horrifying and awe-inspiring stories ever told in the history of this nation.

When we passed this street, I asked Steven if he knew its significance in Irish history. Because something happened here in 1914... I came over this name in a song, and you know me: have to check everything up :p

Well, let me get to the story:

On July the 26th 1914 the Irish Volunteers landed some 900 German rifles and 29 000 rounds of ammunition on the Howth-peninsula north of Dublin, where they were met by members of the Irish Citizen Army, led by countess Markiewicz, ready to take the weapons to Dublin in wheelbarrows and hand carts.

At this point had the King's Own Scottish Borderers been informed of the situation, and sent out from the Kilmainham Barracks. They met them at Clontarf, but no weapons were seized because the Irish managed to keep the soldiers talking so long that they managed to hide the rifles.

But problems started in Bachelor's Walk were a large crowd had gathered and they were not pleased with seeing the KOSB's there.The soldiers were fairly frustrated, and at one point did they turn and started attacking the unarmed crowd, killing 3 and 32 were injured. As history would tell us, this wouldn't be the last time they did so...

I learned about this event through a song called "The Bachelor's Walk", and the first and the two last verses goes like this:

You true-born sons of Erin's Isle, come listen to my song,
My tale is one of sorrow but I won't detail you long,
Concerning the murderous outrage that took place in Dublin Town
When a cowardly regiment was let loose to shoot our people down.

On Bachelor's Walk a scene took place, which I'm sure had just been planned.
For the cowardly Scottish Borderers turned and fired without command.
With bayonets fixed they charged the crowd and left them in their gore,
But their deeds will be remembered in Irish hearts for evermore.

God rest the souls of those who sleep apart from earthly sin,
Including Mrs. Duffy, James Brennan and Patrick Quinn;
But we will yet avenge them and the time will surely come,
That we'll make the Scottish Borderers pay for the cowardly deeds they've done

A great man

Dublin has indeed a glorious history, but wasn't just filled with rebels and poets. The man above, Jim Larkin, was an ordinary man that made extraordinary things happen. He may not have fought with a gun, or planned attacks on the "enemy" in the normal meaning of the word. His weapon was his tongue and fiery engagement for the workers of the city. He became a pillar in the growing labour-movement, and is most famous for his role in 'the Dublin-lockout' in 1913. The centre of dispute was about the Irish workers right to unionize, and the lockout lasted from 26th August 1913 to 18th January 1914. The workers in Dublin lived in terrible conditions, with over 30 000 families living in less than 15 000 tenements, neighbourhoods were like slums!

The strikes ended the 18th January 1914 when many workers were on the brink of starvation, and many of them signed pledges that they wouldn't join any unions. The employer clearly benefited from not having any workers that were united, while the workers unions were almost left in the gutter, broken.

But his words still rings in the mind of every Irishman who fight for the rights of the workers:

"It means that the men who hold the means of life control our lives, and, because we workingmen have tried to get some measure of justice, some measure of betterment, they deny the right of the human being to associate with his fellow."

 

The GPO

O'Connell Street is one of the broadest in Europe ( it measures 49 meter in width at its southern end and 46 meter at the north),  on both sides can one see historic buildings and in the median can you see sculptures of many important Irish leaders: Daniel O'Connell (1775-1847); the spokesman for Catholic emancipation, Jim Larkin and Charles Stewart Parnell (1846-1891); who fought for Home Rule, but sadly he got his political career smashed by a divorce-scandal...

Earlier was O'Connell Street the home of a famous pillar with Lord Nelson on top of it, but in 1966 the IRA thought that "enough is enough" and they blew him to pieces..

1966 was also the 50th anniversary for the Easter Rising, so I can understand why the IRA wanted that pillar gone :p

One of the things I looked forward to the most, was to see the GPO. The place where Padraig Pearse read out "The Proclamation of the Irish Republic" the 24th April, 1916, and caught the English more off guard than any other rising had done in over a hundred years. Those who fought here the fatal days in 1916 were idealists, they believed in something higher than themselves, they believed that freedom also could be given to Ireland. Not from the English, but from their own hands, through their own actions. They wanted to be masters in their own land, and who can blame them for that? They had been suppressed for hundreds of years, deprived for their voice in the international society. It was now time for the Irish with a capital letter, but as Yeats wrote in his poem "1916";

Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born. 

 the rising failed, and were seen as a stupid act by its contemporaries. People asked themselves: WHY NOW?! They were so close to Home Rule...

And if the English had just put the rebels in prison, life wouldn't have changed, this date in 1916 wouldn't have turned into a watershed in Irish history at all. But they turned them into martyrs for the Irish cause by executing them, one by one, and there was no turning back from this point.

But in the middle of it all, one question comes to mind: Does the people and the government look to Pearse and his men today, do they care about what was being said that day 94 years ago, these words:

The Irish Republic is entitled to, and hereby claims, the allegiance of every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all the children of the nation equally, and oblivious of the differences carefully fostered by an alien government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past.

Have they lost their meaning?

The Spike/Spire/ high-pointy-thing....

I think this picture really captured the feeling I had when I tried to spot the top...it's like it keeps going on forever (well, it is "only" 120 meter tall). And maybe the republicans will leave this be, compared to the Nelson-pillar which stood on the exact same place...

The Liberator; Daniel O'Connell

The uncrowned king of Ireland; he got that nickname for a reason. This man fought with words to the better the conditions for Catholics all over Ireland, who at his time were victims for the Penal Laws. These laws deprived them of  their basic right to exercise their faith, speak Gaelic (it was seen as rebellious behaviour, and had to be avoided at all costs), hold a high post and to be Irish. Even if the majority of Ireland's population was Catholic was it the protestant landlords that owned most of the land. The Catholic had the laws against themselves when it came to acquire property, and after O'Connells death, strong forces kept working for a fair system, based on the three F's: fair rent, fixity of tenure, and freedom of sale. But O'Connell will be remembered for bringing about what in the end would result in total catholic emancipation.

Trinity College

So after wondering around in O'Connell way too long, we crossed the O'Connell-bridge (surprise surprise) and found our way to one of the universities of the city; Trinity College. This proved to be another example of a very strict but still beautiful form for architecture. This was university in every aspect, and one more time felt I fairly embarrassed of my own university back home...This was how a university should look like, a place where knowledge was exchanged with blood, sweat and tears.

In Dublin fair city, where the girls are so pretty...

The tart with the cart; or Molly Malone if you like. This woman is perhaps one of the figures that most people associate with Dublin. And the song about her and her cockles and mussels was one of the first Irish songs I learned, and awakened my interest for the treasure-trove of songs this nation has hidden away. Alive alive'o, alive alive'o, crying cockles and mussels, alive alive'o!...

St Stephens Green

This is one of the many parks in Dublin and they all give its people a chance to breath. I could have stayed there forever, but they close it at sunset...

When we walked through this park we noticed something peculiar. Well, peculiar is perhaps the wrong word for it...

It seems like every person that has ever done something for this city or this country has been commemorated through some sort of sculpture or statue. And I guess, from what we saw, that St Stephens Green has more than any other park in Dublin ^^

St Stephens Green was formerly owned by the Guinness-family, and was given to the people of Dublin in 1880, and has since then been a popular place for recreational activities and picnics. 

An important woman with a will of steel

The history of Ireland has not just been affected by great men, but also some amazing women. Sadly, I don't know so much about her, but I aim to learn so when I get more time on my hands I will be reading about her.
One small have I heard about her though: after the Easter Rising; where she was an accomplice (member of the ICA = Irish Citizen Army), the court sentenced her to death (like all the other leaders), but they changed it to life in prison on; "account of the prisoner's sex." Some sources report that she told the court, "I do wish your lot had the decency to shoot me" however the alleged transcript reports that she said "you cannot shoot a woman"

An idealist; Robert Emmet (1775-1803)

There have been many students throughout the centuries that have believed they could change the course of history. Robert Emmet was no exception, but as so many other his attempted failed totally. He was tried and executed for high treason. But he is still serves as an example and his everlasting words from his trial, still echoes in the soul of many an Irish man and woman:

"Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance, asperse them. Let them and me rest in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, and my memory in oblivion, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then and not till then, let my epitaph be written."

So Dublin is indeed the city of rebels....

Charles Stewart Parnell

My first day in Dublin turned out to be everything I hoped for: an adventure, a moving experience, and a day beyond anything I've ever experienced before. I'm sorry that the Dublin-chapter of my trip will be divided into several posts, but if i didn't do that, you would probably have fallen asleep in the middle of my story.
So here's to Dublin *toasting with a big cup of tea*:

ERIN GO BRAGH!

My trip to Ireland: part 5

Did you really thought that this would be the end of my story about Ireland? Well, you were wrong, but this time I will tell you about something that to many people represent Ireland more than any other thing: Beer
There are other things of course that also spurs the Irish imagination, but to a girl from Bergen, who had only tasted Guinness and Kilkenny in the Irish beer-universe, the diversity she found on the Green Isle was amazing.
And this post will try to describe this flabbergasting experience.
Beer, ale, stout...what to call them? It was a whole new world that revealed itself in front of my very eyes, and maybe in a moment like that, technical words is the last thing one need. It was  bliss, beauty in its purest sense.
but maybe I was unaware of the magic in the experience, because beer isn't just beer; it is history, strong feelings and identity.
So let's start at the beginning: Back home in Norway I had heard a rumour, a rumour that told me that the best Guinness in the world would be found in Dublin. So off I went with this thought buzzing in my mind, but I got a chance to taste the provincial Guinness too; first in Donegal (it was way better than the one I could get back home in Bergen...no harsh feeling towards Finnegans anyway) and then in Belfast.
Another beer-related thought had also been nagging my mind for some time after an ex-friend gave me a tips about a stout darker and even more tasteful than Guinness. This had to be a mythical stout I told myself, nothing could be better than the elixir of life...

WARNING: if you dare read on you will probably want a beer yourself...

In Belfast

Guinness is indeed praised, but I guess many do so because they have not tasted anything so good that it could be worth comparing with the "black stuff" at all. Maybe I have been ignorant, but I will still enjoy the regular pint now and then without a sour face :)

But there lay an undiscovered ground in front of me, and what else could I do that find my way through it?

Brazen Head, Dublin

James Joyce once said that it would be impossible to walk through Dublin without running into some kind of pub. And this city is indeed packed with places, big and small, where you can get a refreshing pint. Some of them are old and steeped in history, while others are hip and cool. I'm a true fan of the first kind, but I was determined to not spend too much time in them this time, since I had to see the rest of Ireland too...

Plain Stout and Porterhouse Red Ale = HEAVEN

Well, back to mr Joyce's little bet. It is told that RTÉ-radio announced that the person that could find a pub-less route through Dublin would get a prize. It seemed the price would fall to no one, until a clever guy called and said that "you don't have to pass the pubs, you just go into them" ^^

So after a long day walking around in the city I love so well, it was so good to put my feet up, have something nice to drink and listen to some fabulous music. And all this was done in The Porterhouse in Temple Bar. Every little piece of this place was amazing; from the décor, to the staff and the BEER.

This is also a microbrewery, and they brew 9 (!) different types of beer; 3 stouts, 3 ales and 3 lager. They have also an amazing selection of beer from around the world, and Steven's face lit up when he discovered that they had a Belgian beer-festival at the moment of our arrival.

One happy fellow

So while I was trying out the different stouts, ales and lagers, Steven was trying out some of the fruitiest beers I've ever tasted. They didn't tasted beer AT ALL! And from this point on couldn't we stop smiling, for we both knew that we had found our beer-heaven. And since this lead to some sort of euphoric happiness, Steven's hiccup became much funnier than you would expect....

The beer I tried out this amazing evening was these:

*Wrasslers Stout - this was supposedly Michael Collins favourite stout, and you know me: a sucker for things connected to history ^^ (especially Irish history...) 
This was fairly dark, and even if it looked like a plain Guinness, it made my taste-buds go into a state of euphoria. This was a much richer stout and the after-taste was perfectly balanced.

*Porterhouse Red Ale - my absolute favourite and it beats every ale I've tasted before and after. It is rich, but not too heavy. It was fresh without being too bubbly. It was also smooth, and it sneaked its way into your memory in such a way that it will be impossible to forget.

*Porterhouse Plain Stout - well, what to say? Magic in a glass ^^ Perfect after work or a long walk. It is not so heavy as a Guinness or a Wrasslers, but still filling. Hail to the Porterhouse!

A new experience

*Temple Bräu - this was the first lager I've drunk in years, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I remembered it. i had some bad experience with lager from back home in Norway, so I was a little nervous when I sent Steven upstairs (the pub/bar had 3 (!) floors) for this one. But all my fear were thrown out of the window the minute I tasted it. It didn't taste horseshit! It was fresh, but still had a flavour I could like. I will probably still be a stout-person, but if I would ever return to a lager, this would be it ^^

The coolest coasters in town

So my beer-adventure was a true success, and I know one thing for sure: I will return to Dublin (more about Dublin in the next chapter) and I will certainly return to the Porterhouse for more glorious moments.
Are you thirsty now? I know I am, so thank you for listening to my little tale, and I'm off for a pint....

Some scetches from the Emerald Isle

The McLaughlin Farm

Boat outside Inis Island

Shed at the McLaughlin Farm

Grianan of Aileach

Lisfannon beach

I cannot draw, so you can mean what you will about these. Even if they are not very good, will they keep the memories alive:)

An Irish interlude

 I'm not done yet with my recollection of what happened on the fair Emerald Isle this summer, but I wanted to give you, as my reader, a little breather. So here's a poem dedicated to Steven and his friend Flipper

In the rolling hills of Donegal

I found my life anew.

I heard the bleating of a lamb

a voice I thought I knew.

She lived in upper Tullydish

in a field so fresh and green.

She's Flipper, Stevens own pet-lamb

her smile's the fairest seen.

Her best friend Steven

is a lad I also do know well.

His voice is soft, his thoughts are quick

he's got fairytales to tell.

Of kings and birds and foreign lands,

of treasures great and small.

And they come alive in Donegal

when the dark rain start to fall.

His kingdom is the wide green fields

and the hills so grey and wild.

His wealth is not in diamonds, gold

but in warming hugs so mild.

His smile can make the sun burst through

a thunderstorm so black.

And before you know he's been away

he has managed to come back

My trip to Ireland: part 4

Ireland is so much; rolling, green hills, living history, friendly people, rain and sunshine mixed together like it was the most natural thing in the world, lambs that's smiling at you, fiery spirits who would never accept to be bound by others, good beer/ale/stouts and an atmosphere that fills your soul, colour your blood green and makes your heart beat a jig or even a reel. It affects you in so many ways that describing all of them here would make you sleepy and irritated with me as an author. But I want to tell you about a day in what a friend called "the second largest city in the Republic of Ireland"; Belfast.
First of all, let's make some things clear:
a) Belfast lies in Northern Ireland (surprise surprise!)
b) whatever any paramilitary group may believe: North and South may never be united again. So please just accept the fact and stop acting like spoiled kids! If it would be, it would be rejoined through peaceful means and not by bullets and bombs. It would come about through the voice of the people, through a vote by the majority (thanks Steven for pointing this out to me)

It was a fine day when me and Steven were going to this city that has a rather dark and dreary reputation, and I guess right when I thought that this would be the day for breaking some rather nasty prejudices and misunderstandings about this town and its people. Like Derry, this city has seen it all: peace and war, blood and unfair deaths. But is also a town that flourish, filled with history, people that will make a huge difference both for the city and its people. Your city defines you is common knowledge all over the world, and this saying really applies to Belfast. They're are apparently struggling between being English and Irish, and this mixture of identities give this city a very special "flavour"

Well, we started out at perhaps the most pompous building in the whole town: the City Hall. As you can see, this building is reeking with power (...and perhaps a little madness). Pillars everywhere you look, and as with Guildhall in Derry, this building is somewhat scary and intimidating. Oh, and now is the time to say something nice... *concentrating really hard* nice architecture...

Let's get on with the story. We were supposed to meet my teacher in Irish history from the University of Bergen; Sissel Rosland, who "accidentally" was in Belfast at this time. I owe her so much and she's been a true inspiration for me in my search for my academic niche. In the middle of our "behave-like-tourists-moment" she appeared and we made our way over the street to the Linen Hall library for a cup of coffee and a chat. The coffee was needed, especially for Steven who had almost fallen asleep several times on the bus. I think that double espresso did the trick ^^

Could I agree more?

At Linen Hall library we found a small exhibition on propaganda-posters from the Troubles and onward. Many of them were proper artworks while other spoke more clearly; either through pictures or words. This one caught my attention because it is very basic, but still speaks an important message. I'm not in the mood of discussing the legitimacy of the Stormont government, but I can understand those who question them...

They are truly deadly...

When I saw this poster the first time I couldn't really understand it, but when Steven and me were up in Shankill and Falls road (don't worry, I will come back to it) our taxidriver told us why these bullets were so fatal. If you shoot at the ground, the bullets will ricochet upwards against whoever is in front of the shooter. It has gained speed and is also spinning. When this hits you between the eyes, you don't stand a chance. RUC (Royal Ulster Constabulary) and the soldiers knew this....

Ulster's biggest fear is Sinn Fein...

The unionists keep tapping on the old fact that 'yes, Sinn Fein HAD connection to IRA', and many people still see it. But is it there? By creating an enemy that everyone can agree on that they hate, the people stand stronger together. "Us and them"; it has worked for centuries, so why should the Unionist dismiss a tactic like this? 

Well, I will try to keep the rest of this post in a more neutral mode, but believe me it will be hard....

After Linen Hall we decided to pop by the tourist-office before finding somewhere to eat, because all of us had a stomach that was singing at this moment... and guess where we ended up? The Bishop for some fish and chips. Well, all of us forgot about the fish anyway :p We had limited time, so a plan was essential for the rest of the day. And we agreed with Sissel that we would meet her for a pint before we headed home.

Two not so hungry travellers

After a little snack, we hit the road again, and now we headed for another important building in the other end of the city. The sun was shining from a sky that contained fewer clouds every time we lifted our gaze to check it out, and I would bet that the temperature was rising against 25 at least. After a long walk we arrived at our goal; The Queens University

Here was another example of red bricks, made into an amazing building. I got the "this is English"-feeling immediately; a university for those truly worthy, a university so far from what we got back home that I almost felt ashamed. I think buildings like this make me think of Tolkien and his life. Did you know that his close friend Clive Staples Lewis; the author of the books about Narnia, was from Belfast? Well, he was, but the fact that Lewis was a devoted protestant and Tolkien a devoted catholic made their friendship hard and sometime even impossible. Not because what other people might think, but because their ideas about many important subjects were so different and they just couldn't compromise.

I could almost imagine Tolkien coming around the corner, smoking his pipe and discussing some part of Beowulf to himself.

*the story is coming out of control now...please excuse me...we will soon continue on the original story*

After the university we rushed off against the Museum of Ulster, and the Botanical Garden. Here we split up, because Steven wasn't very interested in the museum and he rather wanted to wander around in the garden. I had heard that the history-exhibition together with the natural history-exhibition was really something special, and I wasn't disappointed. This museum had it all; art, animals and history. I didn't care so much for the art-selection, so I went straight to the animals.

Beware of this little fellow...

What maybe impressed me the most was the bird-collection. I've always been a fan of birds and then particularly birds of prey. There something about these creatures that fascinates me immensely. It's like they are some kind of royalty of the bird-kingdom...

And at this museum I saw more birds than I have ever seen in a museum earlier. They had a display case where they showed how to stuff a bird, they had birds from every corner of the earth and most of them were given to the museum by private collectors.

But the museum isn't just feathered creatures. It also contains almost anything your mind can imagine would live on the planet Tellus; in the air, dirt and water. This enormous clam amazed me because of its simple beauty. Why do it so advanced, when the most basic structures can be the most beautiful? Have you ever seen crystals in the nature? They are based on some of natures most basic structures...

 For a free and independent Ireland!

The history-part of this museum has been given praise for its neutral presentation of the Troubles and the history of Ulster. And it was truly amazing. Here one could find Black and Tans-uniforms, pictures of the leaders for several of the rebellions that sprung up around Ireland; and the one that is perhaps closest intertwined with the history of Ulster is the 1798-rebellion. This year wasn't coloured by one, but four rebellions throughout the country, and one of them started in Antrim. I remember a song that is now close to my heart which deals with one of the leaders of this rising; Henry Joy McCracken

In Belfast Town they built a tree, and the Redcoats mustered there
I watched them come at the beat of the drum, rolled out from the barrack square
He kissed his sister and went aloft, he bade a last good-bye
"My God, he died," sure I turned and cried, "They have murdered Henry Joy!"

Henry Joy McCracken (1767-1798)

I fell a tear standing in front of this portrait, because one more (and definitely not for the last) time has history caught up with me, and I realize how much history mean to me.

I don't think I've strolled through a museum so fast before and still got a very good impression from it. I met up with Steven outside, and now we rushed back to the centre with one mutual thought: Shankill & Falls

We just had to find the black taxis first...after some calling and intense search we found the taxidriver Steven had talked to earlier. We told him that we were in a rush, but still wanted to see both Shankill and Falls Road; the place where the hell called the Troubles started.

One very fascinating trait i discovered about our taxi-driver was his accent, and the way he spoke (well that's two thing...please excuse me...): you had to pay close attention to what he had to say, because every bit of information we got from him, was thrown at us at such speed that I felt dizzy when the whole thing was over. i don't know how Steven felt the ever-ongoing-speech, but I guess he caught more than me ^^

Anyway, the taxi-driver was AMAZING. He knew so much, and he could have kept on going until the apocalypse would have shut him up.

This was the first mural we got to in Shankill, and it portrays William of Orange, and the year is the Battle of  the Boyne where James II's arse got kicked. This is the reason why the loyalists/orangeorders are marching on the 12th July (even if the battle wasn't the 12th at all, but 1st...but it was the Julian calendar style, so 1st is 12th...)

This is a fairly modern mural, and it doesn't speak the language of the traditional mural. It's a mural of hope; a hope that kids in this area could play outside without being terrified of bombs and paramilitary forces taking out people from "the other side". It's a child's right; to be able to play safely.

The Belfast Mona Lisa

This is more a traditional mural as some see it; with glorification of the fallen and all he dragged with him in death. There has been a discussion lately about painting over pictures like this, because they're a glorification of violence and sectarian ideas. Some have been modified, while some have been made into something new. Some are almost protected, and I don't think anyone will tamper with this one...

This mural lies in the Loyalist area (Shankill), so at the first glance it can seem strange that it portrays the H-block in the Maze-prison where the hunger-strike led by Bobby Sands took place in 1981. But if you look closely you can see "Freedom 2000" written on it. This was a part of the Good Friday agreement from 1998; a group of loyalist prisoners in the H-block would be let free. To see a place like this brings back memories from the weeks before my exam in Irish history; I was reading almost 24/7 and sucked it all in. Does it wonder you that I cursed and cried on the behalf of men and women, even children, robbed for a future by a minority that thought fighting would solve it all?

The Peacewall

This wall is placed between Shankill and Falls road to keep them apart; Catholics away from protestants, loyalists from republicans, normal people from normal people... A wall doesn't have to consist of bricks and clay; it can be made by word and actions; by superstition and prejudice. And sometimes must walls of bricks and clay be built on the same ground as the walls made by lies, hate and prejudice, to keep the peace between the fighters. How long must it stay there? Until someone finally sees the madness in it all, and tell someone. This person will convince another person of the folly of the wall; was it meant to keep the others out or us inside?

It was very special to see all these places that i had only heard about, places that once were so far away that I could barely believe they existed.

Our taxi-driver told us something about all the murals we saw and the neighbourhoods we passed through.

Close to Bombay Street, were the first victim of the Troubles fell, we stopped at a memorial park. This was a memorial for all the civilians that got killed on both sides of the conflict. Here the tags 'catholic' and 'protestant' didn't mean anything no more, this was a place for the HUMAN.

To the fallen

There are many murals and stories I've chosen not to include in this post, but I have my reasons: I want to write something solely on murals in Belfast later, so you just have to stay tuned. But one more mural for today:  The Bobby Sands-mural. This is the most photographed mural, and I don't think that's even strikes me as odd. Just look at it! He dared to show resistance in a way that brought even Margaret Thatcher, the Iron Lady, down. He never lived to see the fruits of his fight, but as he so prophetic said:

Our revenge will be the laughter of our children

Maybe when you know the story of the hungerstrikers in 1981 you will understand more. Understand that lay beyond your horizon. I can finally understand why you would find murals portraying Margaret Thatcher with the text WANTED FOR MURDER AND TORTURE OF IRISH PRISONERS beneath.

Does it surprise you that when I write this, I'm wearing a T-shirt with this logo on it:

So yes, I learned more than I could have ever imagined when I was in Belfast, and I dare say: I will return, because this place isn't done with me yet. I want to learn more, feel the soul of the place and see it in another light than I've done for so many years

Flag against the fence; trapped freedom...