Belfast, Belated: Part 2

     The next day in Belfast, Saturday, we took a famous black taxi tour of Belfast.  These tours highlight the Protestant-Catholic conflicts in Northern Ireland, are given by a Belfast taxi driver who takes you to lots of places that were important in the conflict.
     The first thing you should know about Belfast is that there is a wall separating the Catholic and Protestant communities.  A real, physical, 40-foot wall with barbed wire on the top and gates that close at 7.  It's very disconcerting--I never thought I'd see anything like that, especially nowadays.  It reminds me so much of the Berlin Wall.  In some parts of the city, the wall cuts through parks; in one place, it divides a children's playground into Catholic and Protestant sides.  I can't imagine living like that.  Although, as our guide made sure to tell us, this wall was put up because the people wanted it, and it will come down when the people don't want it any more.  So I guess it's voluntary.
     On some level, though, it makes sense.  The history of violence between the two communities would leave anyone feeling nervous.  We got a lesson in that history in our tour.  Oh, one more thing you should know--the Protestant community supports English rule, while the Catholic community is generally more nationalistic and wants to break from England and join the Republic of Ireland.
     The first place we went was a completely Protestant community.  This place had murals on the buildings, murals of Protestant heroes. Not your typical Protestant heroes, though--no Martin Luthers or John Newtons here.  Instead, these were notable Protestant (English) kings or leaders.  One mural was of a "hero" who assassinated twenty-six Catholics, including many innocent civilians.  But, as our tour guide reminded us, one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.

A mural commemorating Stevie "Top Gun" McKeag, who  murdered twenty-six Catholics before he died of a drug overdose.

    

     The next place we visited was the wall, up-close and personal.  This was the portion of the wall that murals are constantly painted on, and famous people constantly come to sign.  Rihanna, Bono, even Justin Bieber had all signed the wall.

Rihanna's handwriting is shamefully bad.

 
   After the black taxi tour, we went to see the Titanic Museum.  There I learned everything I could ever possibly want to know about ships, sailing, and the Titanic. Throughout the museum, they would have facts about a few people aboard--some 1st-class, some 3rd-class passengers, stewards, etc.  At the end of teh museum, they told you what happened to all of them. Not surprisingly, they pretty much all died, but I was still disappointed.  (Oddly enough, although I'm Titanic-ed out, it made me want to see the movie....even though I really, really hate that movie.)  I even got to see clothes that Leonardo DiCaprio had touched.  (Secret confession: I think he was extremely attractive when he was younger, but now he looks like a cross between a chihuahua and a rat.)

Titanic model ship statue outside of the museum.

The museum from afar. Pretty pretty!

The clothes of the Titanic cast.  Can you see Leonardo DiCaprio's clothes glowing with heavenly light?

   We walked around Belfast some more, and stumbled across the gorgeous city hall.

 
   We all went out dancing that night, and early the next morning we trekked back to Dublin.  It was really a fantastic weekend.  I don't think I've ever had that much fun in such a short amount of time.

   In other news, I'm leaving for Italy on Saturday!  Reading Week is next week, when all the students are supposed to be studying for their assignments and writing papers.  Instead, I'm going to Italy for the whole week.  (No, I haven't suddenly become an extremely negligent student; I started writing papers the week classes started, and none of the papers are due until the end of March.)  However, after spending seven hours completing a very annoying lab report today, I feel perfectly justified in taking the weekend off.  But I won't have internet access until I return, so no posts until then!

Belfast, Belated: Part 1

     It's been over a week since I arrived home from Belfast; I've been contemplating this blog post for awhile, but have been terribly lazy and haven't written it until now.

     Last Thursday, my study abroad program (IFSA-Butler, for those of you who don't know) took all of the students studying in the Republic of Ireland to Northern Ireland.  Kids from practically every major city in Ireland--Dublin, Limerick, Galway, Cork--trekked up to Belfast for four days of fun.  We were all housed in the same hotel, and I'm pretty sure the manager was praying for the weekend to be done.  Over 200 noisy American college kids taking over three floors of the hotel?  You bet they hated us.
     The buses from the different cities arrived at staggered times, and the Dublin bus was one of the first ones there.  Although the bus ride was only three hours, we were all somehow exhausted and crawled into bed for a quick nap before dinner in the restaurant downstairs.  After dinner, we headed out to an Irish pub where a band was playing music.  Then the fun began.
     My favorite character was by far the old lady in red.  She was a buxom lass, probably 60 or 70 years old, and had bright red lipstick on her wrinkly old lips.  She would dance around the bar in a jig-like fashion, approach young men, and wiggle her eyebrows in a attempt to seduce them into dancing with her.  It didn't really work most of the time; instead, you'd see an aisle in the crowd open up wherever she turned, with all the guys turning guiltily to the side whenever she approached.
     There was also the extremely intoxicated young Irish guy who danced around the room and grabbed random strangers and swung them around in a circle until they could get away.  Most people managed to avoid him; I had no such luck.  I was standing around watching the band when he approached me and held out his hand.  Thinking he was going for the classic handshake, I took his hand.  That was the fatal error.  I immediately got swung into the middle of the crowd and spent the next three minutes trying to keep up with my very exuberant dancing partner.  All in all, I had a load of fun, but I found I'm still no more knowledgeable about how to properly dance to Irish music.

     We got up awfully early the next day, Friday, to trundle back into our buses and see the touristy sights of Northern Ireland--namely, the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, Dunluce Castle, and the Giant's Causeway.  We had an excellent tour guide on the way who told us literally everything about the towns we crossed.  I now know where to find the Wrestling World Champion--he's the head chef in a restaurant he owns that's perched near the sea in Northern Ireland.

    Our first stop was the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge.  It was built for no apparent purpose but to connect the coast to a smallish rock nearby.  Nevertheless, it was a beautiful sight that I'll never forget.  I was really looking forward to a dangerous, swaying, breakable rope bridge to cross, but it was disappointingly solid and unmovable.  Even though the crossing itself wasn't as exciting, the views were breathtaking.

The rope bridge in all its glory.  Sadly, it didn't really sway side-to-side, even if you tried.

     The next place we visited, Dunluce Castle, was the ruins of a castle near the sea.  Legend has it that one day, dinner never came.  When the mistress of the castle went down to see what the problem was, she opened the kitchen door, and--nothing.  The kitchen had fallen into the sea.  Looking at the location of the castle, I can definitely believe it.

     The last place we visited was the Giant's Causeway.  The Giant's Causeway is a volcanic rock formation, a large patch of 6 and 7-sided stone tower things.  It's present on the Irish coastline and the nearby Scottish coastline, and there are loads of myths associated with it.  The one they told us at the museum was that there were two giants, a Scottish giant and an Irish giant named Finn McCool.  These two giants were constantly fighting from their respective coasts--probably throwing rocks at each other or something similarly brutish.  One night, the Scottish giant built a bridge between the two islands and snuck over to Ireland, intending to kill Finn in his sleep.  By the time Finn noticed the bridge, it was too late to run, so his very clever wife dressed him up as a baby and put him to bed.  When the Scottish giant crossed over and demanded to see Finn, Finn's wife said he was out, and mentioned the new baby.  Noticing the enormous size of the baby, the Scottish giant was so afraid of the supposed size of the father that the ran back across to Scotland and tore up the bridge behind him.

     This is what we're left with.

 Next time: the black taxi tour of Belfast!

Strauss Ball

   Two important things happened this week.  The first was the Strauss Ball, and the second was Valentine's Day.

    The Strauss Ball was put on by the Trinity Dance Society, and was a fancy masquerade ball the night before Valentine's Day.  In preparation for the ball, we were taught the Viennese Waltz for three weeks straight at ballroom dancing lessons.  Needless to say, three weeks was certainly not long enough to make me look at all proficient or graceful.  Nevertheless, I danced the night away, looking as clumsy as possible and stepping on a shameful number of toes.

     I went to the ball with one of my apartment-mates.  We searched through Dublin's thrift stores to find the perfect dress, and I ended up with this: 

     

      Being the smart person I am, I had brought my curling iron with me from the US, not thinking that the much higher voltage would perhaps change the curling experience.  It did.  Ohhhh, it did.  To be more specific, it burned a whole lock of my hair off, which I then had to scrape off of the curling iron.  It also made my room smell like burning hair for hours (which smells vaguely like burnt popcorn, actually).

     Once at the ball, we donned our masks.  Masks immensely complicate dancing; not only do I have to constantly count 1-2-3 in my head to stay on my feet, but I also have to be worried about keeping the mask on my head and seeing through the tiny, misshapen eyeholes.  So I ditched the mask and unveiled my clumsy self to the world.

     Valentine's Day was no less exciting.  After several dreadfully boring classes and a romantic stroll through St. Stephen's Green, all the apartment ladies and I went to a pub for some hearty and unhealthy food, and then came home to Nutella-covered strawberries, chocolates, and an excellent game of Spoons. (I won!)

   Also, very large painted eggs have been popping up all over Dublin.  I spotted at least five in St. Stephen's Green, and another in Trinity College.  I believe they were put up on Ash Wednesday in honor of the approaching Easter.  Each egg is unique, painted by a different person or organization, and must be two feet tall. They're housed in displays that beg the viewer to "buy me!"  My favorite egg has dead fish skeletons painted all over it.

   This weekend should be relaxing, and filled with loads of polyetherether ketones.  I'm researching for a Biomaterials paper--no fun at all.  I really don't understand how I came over to Ireland, took all easy classes, and still managed to end up with 8 essays to write.  I think my subconscious starts screaming whenever I don't have work to do.

And yes, I know, I still haven't written about my trip to Belfast last weekend.  All in good time.

One Month Reflections

     In the one month I've been in Ireland, I've learned fourteen very important things.

1. Some stereotypes are true.  Ireland really is green all the time, which definitely came as a shock when I stepped out of the airport.  Also, when choosing Trinity, I thought that the bad weather was a stereotype--surely it can't rain every day out of the year.  That, my friends, was an unfortunate mistake, because it certainly does rain essentially every day.  And according to the Irish people I know, it doesn't get better in the summer.

2. Some stereotypes are false.  Irish people do not all have red hair and freckles; in fact, the average Irish person looks quite different than that.  They tend to be very pale, with dark dark hair and striking light eyes.  Actually, although I hate to admit I know anything about the series, they remind me of Twilight vampires (and are on a similar level of attractiveness, I might add).

3. It is infinitely easier to waltz with your eyes closed.

4. Making new friends is hard.  A lot harder than I had thought.  When I envisioned myself in Ireland, I imagined becoming fast friends with Irish people and becoming "one of the gang" immediately.  It doesn't work like that.  People here already have their friend groups, and breaking into one is an almost-impossible task that will take months.  Sure, I know Irish students, but I'm not yet close with any of them--I don't see them outside of class or group meetings.  It doesn't help that everyone lives in completely different areas of town.  I feel like I'm orbiting a social world; all I can do is watch and be extremely envious.

5. Don't wear rain boots in Dublin.  You will look like a tourist.

6. I don't like being The American.  My roommates and I have taken up various methods of combating this.  We've learned how to say short phrases like "sorry" and "excuse me" in a passable Irish accent so that when we bump into people on the street, we won't be That Stupid American.

7. Never let your Biomaterials professor learn your name.  I only introduced myself once, but that was enough.  At the beginning of every class, he stalks around the classroom and fires questions about the previous lectures at the students--you can practically smell the fear in the room. However, the professor only asks the students whose names he knows.  Guess who gets asked every time.

8. There are scarier things than spiders in the world.  Centipedes.

9. The Irish language is impossible.  The rules, as far as I can make out, seem to be that every "s" turns into an "sh", every "sh" turns into an "s", "mh" and "bh" turns into "v", c's are sometimes hard and sometimes soft but there are no hard rules about that, and random syllables are not pronounced in the middle of the room.

10. Even though the Irish language is impossible, Irish names are beautiful.  Fiachra, Niamh, Raeghnya, Sinead...They sound like the wind.

11. Walking is difficult.  Especially when nobody can decide whether to walk on the right or the left.

12. On a similar note, jaywalking is not illegal here.  Goldmine.

13. Irish fashion is strange.  Short shorts with tights are the new fashion for girls, no matter how cold it is. I'm a bit mystified.

14. I'm absolutely, completely in love with Ireland.

Lauren, Incarcerated

     Three days ago, I went to jail, along with three of my accomplices.

     To be more precise, I visited Kilmainham Gaol on the outskirts of Dublin.  We four adventurers woke early on Saturday morning and walked for what seemed like forever but was really only about three miles.  (Still too long for an early morning, I say).  We ran the last bit in order to make the 11:30 tour, but we arrived just as the tour left and had to be consoled with the noon tour.  So we wandered around the prison museum and learned all sorts of pleasant things, like what length of rope will allow a man's neck to be instantly snapped when hung.  It was actually very interesting; I didn't know anything about Irish history before, and it was quite a nice introduction to the struggles the nation has had with the Evil Land of England.
     Our tour proved similarly helpful.  We learned a lot about Kilmainham Gaol.  Built in the late 1700s, the jail was an experiment in prison reform.  The prison was designed so that each prisoner was kept in his or her own cell, whereas the older prisons crammed men, women, and children in dirty rooms.  The plan didn't quite work, though, as the prison became overcrowded.  During the Great Famine, the prison was one of the few places you could get three meals a day, so many people committed petty theft just to get into the prison. At its most crowded, 9,000 people inhabited the jail--for only 125 cells!  The jail was closed in the early 1900s when a new prison was built in Dublin, and re-opened just six years later when the revolution produced many political prisoners.
     The earlier wings of the jail were damp and pretty miserable. The cell doors had peepholes so that the guards could look in on the prisoners and make sure they were keeping out of trouble.

A peephole into a cell.

One of the earlier wings.  It's very cold in here.

The inscription reads, "Beware the risen people that have harried and held, ye that have bullied and bribed."

     The newer Victorian wing may look familiar to some people.  In the Name of the Father, Michael Collins, and other movies were filmed here.  The acoustics are so good in the hall that many bands have recorded here, including U2.

One of the political prisoners that stayed here was Grace Gifford, widow of fellow revolutionary Joseph Plunkett.  When in prison, she painted the Madonna and Child on her cell wall.

    Afterwards, we visited the War Memorial nearby.

     Then we popped into the National Museum for just over an hour until we headed home. My camera had died by this point, but I did manage to snap a picture of this gem.

Supposedly a soldier's helmet.  Almost definitely designed by Lady Gaga.

    In other news, we leave for Belfast on Thursday! IFSA-Butler is taking the whole group for four days to the northern country.  Until then, slán a fhágáil!