Ireland May 2007

Gatwick, UK 10/5/07 (more photos to be posted soon....)

I love the datelines of my journal. Just a quick flip through the pages and the datelines act as little tabs of times and places in the past. Occasionally I’ll read the entry they represent but many times I just use them to trigger some memories. Some I remember exactly as they are written in the entry. Other times I think of things or I may have not even written down. Other times my journals just fall open and there’s a dateline to surprise me, a sudden mental time warp to a place or moment I had not thought about in years.

I’m just wrapping up a great week on the island of Ireland and I’m sad to say I will not have any datelines from Ireland in my little book. No entries from amazing days in places like Belfast, Portstewart, Ardara, Kilcar, Dublin, or a dozen other little towns I passed through. I didn’t even make time to write in great outdoor locations like The Giants Causeway.

Luckily for me, for such a relatively small place, Ireland has a big imprint on the globe. I’ll have to let every Irish pub I ever pass act as my datelines. Friends will have to forgive me when we grab a point in one of these pubs and I blurt out a story about this past week. Of course St. Patrick’s Day will never be the same.

I covered a lot of ground since I left the family in Glasgow last Thursday but probably no more than usual so that can’t be the reason for my writing void. My main excuse probably is that I had a friend wandering Ireland with me, my British ex-pat friend that I met in Beijing but now lives in Paris, Kristen.

I can’t blame my missing datelines on her though. If I wanted to write I could have. Frankly I was just having to good a time to stop and write it down. When we weren’t hiking, eating, or dinking, we were debating/discussing something, usually one of my favorite topics; music, books, politics and travel destinations. Oh and of course plenty of time for nation bashing.

She gives me America flack on pretty much every issue, her favorite is Starbucks. I remind her that she is now English AND French! Could she get any more snobbish?! And we both make fun of each other’s speech. I remind her that garage does not rhyme with carriage and she reminds me that it’s called English and therefore being from England the way she pronounces things is always correct. It’s like having a sister from another country.

I arrived in Belfast and Kristen met me at the hostel, Arnie’s Backpacker. One of the more cozy, laidback hostels I’ve stayed. I should have known when I rang the bell and heard dogs running and barking to the door that it was a little different but instead I kept getting pleasantly surprised during my stay.

After a laidback arrival day and night Kristen and I made efficient work of our first full day in Belfast. In the morning we met up with Walter who drives a taxi in Belfast and also gives what is called a “Black Taxi Tour”. Basically a grass roots tour through the secular regions of Belfast and a firsthand history of what they call “The Troubles”. Only the Irish could call decades of civil unrest, terrorism, political persecution, corruption, fanaticism, and bloodshed a name that makes it sound more like a misunderstanding at the pub rather than all out war. It’s far from a simple misunderstanding though and they don’t treat it that way either as is evident to this day by the headlines still gracing the covers of the papers.

Walter’s tour was great! It was very informative and unpolished. He drove us through the real neighborhoods, past the fences, walls, and gates that are still closed nightly. He showed us the stacking area for future bonfires where hundreds of palates were waiting for the match. We not only saw the “Peace Murals” that cover the sides of subsidized houses and buildings on both sides but he explained what each one was about.

Walter answered all of our questions well and tried to explain all the different factions like the IRA, the “Provs”, UVF, Sein Fein, etc. He told us about the first places that were bombed and the prison hunger strikes. Every detail was covered from both sides but by the end I had decided to just try and remember the basics. Which in my mind is: power corrupts and is hidden behind faith. I wonder if God knows how much has been done in his name down here on Earth?

After our educational and impactful morning Kristen and I picked a hike out of her Lonely Planet Ireland Walking Trails book. As she changed into some hiking attire I went to wait in the small living room of Arnie’s. The door was closed to the small room and when I pushed it open I found one of those pleasant surprises that I mentioned earlier.

In one of the chairs, whose tired slip cover hid a probably even more tired chair, sat a guy that matched the condition of the furniture. He had the posture of a guy in a stereo advertisement, sitting in front of a speaker with the sound waves rushing at him. However in the silent room at Arnie’s there must have been some other force that was blowing him back and deeper into the chair. Three things grabbed my attention almost immediately:
1) Tired, red, heavily glazed eyes
2) A tumbler with about three fingers of Scotch dangled over the right arm rest like it was magnetically attached to his thumb and two fingers
3) A pleasant Irish voice saying “Good morning. Come on in.” like he had been expecting me.

I went in and dropped into the couch across from him as the door closed behind me and thus began my short but memorable conversation with Jeff.

Age was not discussed but based on his looks and his experiences I would guess Jeff was in his mid-40’s. Born and raised in Belfast and an artist of a few different mediums, when I mentioned I had just returned from a Black Taxi tour, and was amazed by the Peace Murals, he got a reminiscent smile on his face and said nostalgically, “I painted one of those once.” followed by a sip of the Scotch and the internal passing of a memory across the back of his glazed eyes.

Jeff said he was from a mixed family. One parent Catholic, one Protestant, but he was raised on the Catholic side. He wasn’t a member of the I.R.A. he said “…but you always knew when it was time to take to the streets.” I probed for more experiences and he obliged me with simple stories of growing up in Belfast. When the only reply I could come up with to the violence inherit in almost all his stories was “That must have sucked!” he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. I guess when that’s all you know that’s all you can do.

Jeff was a constant figure around the hostel the rest of the days we spent there. He’d welcome us back each time when we came in or inquire where we were off to when we were leaving and then provide tips on how to get there or things to see along the way, a concierge of sorts, specially trained to fit into the atmosphere of an authentic laidback Irish hostel.

Kristen and I spent the rest of that day hiking along the shoreline. It was a nice hike along the coast through rocks, cliffs, and beaches from the town of Hollywood to Banok then a train ride back to Belfast. We wrapped up the night at a couple proper Irish pubs complete with good Irish music. We swayed and sang along to traditional crowd favorites like Whiskey In The Jar to “new” Irish classics like With or Without You and just great sing-a-long songs like The Gambler and I’m Gonna be by the Proclaimers.

The pub was packed and as the 5 piece band went through a geographic roll call of the crowd the delegates from Australia, Canada, California, New York, and Japan all shouted out when appropriate. It was nice to be part of such an international community but I liked it most when they asked “Who’s from Belfast?!” The roof shook with the response and you knew the locals were still the majority….and they were having a great time.

After a couple days in Belfast we rented a car and set off for some good old fashioned wandering. Our only specific destination was the natural rock phenomenon known as the Giants Causeway. Other than that it was just a dozen “maybe’s” that acted more as topics to discuss rather than actual places we needed to go.

Now the Giants Causeway is one of those natural wonders not known by many people. I speculate on the List of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World it would squeak in at #10 but most people couldn’t name all 7 of the official Wonders so it’s to be expected that the Causeway isn’t widely known. I didn’t learn about it until I was talking to some girls at a hostel in London.

I’ll spare the exact scientific definition of the Giants Causeway (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giants_Causeway) and instead sum it up as some costal cliffs on Irelands North shore with unique hexagonal rock columns that look like the ruins of Superman’s Irish version of the Fortress of Solitude.




The actual columns were fun to climb around on and we joined the other tourists who were fresh off the bus for some photos. I told Kristen I felt like I was in a life size Q-bert game but she had no idea what I was talking about. I guess she didn’t spend as much time in arcades as I did growing up.


The rock formations are the big draw at the Causeway but the actual park runs for several miles along the coast. A gorgeous path up and down rocky cliffs with lush green grass pastures on the tops. Kristen and I had planned to walk most of the day on these trails and then catch a bus or taxi back to where we had left the car. This plan started to fall apart at the Giants Causeway info center when the guy told us there was no bus on Sunday and the best place to catch a cab would be probably 20 miles away (about double what we were planning to hike.)

Instead we decided to just hike out and back a bit. The sky was gray but it didn’t feel like the rain would come for awhile and we were right. The temperature was mild to warm depending on your spot in the breeze. As we followed the meandering curves around the cliff tops every angle looked like a priceless photo. This slowed down the hike but we weren’t in any hurry which became very evident about a half mile into our hike.



We stopped for more photos and I sat down in the gentle dip of soft grass and cool ground. I was about 2 feet away from the edge of a drop that fell about 100 feet to the washing shore below. No crashing swells just the steady sound of rolling waves.
It was a very comfy spot and seemed to be perfectly molded to me; a little dip for the butt, a slight rise for the legs, a bump for lumbar support, a slope up to the head, and some extra grass at the top to pad my head. It was as if Brookstone had worked with God to make this little patch of ground just for me. I was relaxed and content to just watch the sky until Kristen got done taking photos. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but when I slid my ball cap down over my eyes it was all over.

About an hour later Kristen woke me up from what felt like the deepest sleep I have ever had. “I thought you were joking at first then I heard you snore!” How can you fall asleep that quick?” she asked. I explained it wasn’t my fault. It was the comfy spot. It’s magic!

We started back to the car after my nap time and I raved about my sleeping spot the whole way. I felt awesome! When we set out for the Giants Causeway I couldn’t wait to hike up and down the huge cliffs. Now looking back on my day at the World Heritage site, instead of remembering a great hike, the first thing I recall is the great nap I had there….with no regrets.






My love for traveling, or obsession I suppose, started around 17 when the B.o.S. Boys (my friends from High School) and I began to wander the country roads of Illinois. Illinois expanded into the Mid-West, the South, then the West, and now here I am in Europe. I have expanded my modest operandi to include planes, trains, boats, and even feet, but the freedom and resources of a car are still tough to beat. No particular place to be and even less idea exactly how to get there. Time is determined by days rather than hours and only an intersection makes you stop and think in the present time.

It had been awhile since I had a good road trip like this and it felt great to jump into it again. Kristen and I had a map that we used to pick out a spot that looked like an interesting destination and then I pulled the compass out of its pocket and that’s how we chose which country road would be best to lead us that way.

I feel bad for expanding my carbon foot print on the globe but I loved every inch that we covered in the little car over those 3 days. There were miles of rolling, green, pastures that dissolved into fields of gray, rocky, mounds. Before we left Belfast our Irish buddy Jeff had given us some tips on areas to cover and he described one place as “You’ll feel like you are driving on the Moon.” As expected he was right.

The moonscape gave way to treeless, windswept hills that either fell or gradually collided into a pounding coast. We passed through dozens of small towns surrounded by yards marked by thousands of rocks piled into small walls that defined a line for someone.

We stayed one night in a colorful hostel in Portstewart. Before we left the next morning the elder backpacker that owned it recommended another place to stay in the town of Kilcar. It was Bank Holiday Weekend, a popular 3 day weekend in Europe that felt like our Labor Day without hiding behind a cause that most people don’t actually celebrate. We decided to call ahead and make sure they reserved a couple beds for us and I’m glad we did because the guy at the next hostel tipped us off to what is now one of my fondest memories of Ireland.

He asked Kristen where we were coming from. “Oh you should stop in Ardara for the music festival on your way through.” He said.
All I initially overheard was Kristen say “Music festival?’ which of course perked my ear up and stared my mind racing.
“Did he say who was going to b there?” I quizzed her all mooring. “No.” she kept replying.
“I bet it’s going to be Cold Play opening up for U2 with special guest Van Morison!” I started to dream out loud. (Why Cold Play I don’t know. They aren’t Irish but they just seemed to match my mood.)

We took our time wandering from Portstewart to Ardara. We made several stops for great photos scenes. We didn’t even get concerned when the coast showed up on the wrong side of the car, usually a very bad sign on a road trip. We just waited until we hit the next town and the road widened enough for a turn around and then we headed back in the right direction.

The antenna was broken on the rental car but judging by the sparse population we weren’t missing too many radio station options anyway. Instead we listened to my last copy of The Nadas CD that I gave to Kristen. After hearing it for probably 50 times in 3 days I’m afraid I might have turned her off, rather than on, to their music.

When we eventually made it to Ardara, population about 2,000, it was around 3 p.m. and I was ready to make my way to the front stage. It was a cool, sunny, day and the air was just right for an afternoon of live music. What we found was not what I expected but was even better, as is usually the case.

The music festival’s official name was “The Cup of Tae Traditional Music Festival” and there was no main stage to be found. In fact there were no stages at all. The festival took place inside about 8 pubs in a 2 block radius in a town whose downtown was about a 6 block radius. It felt like a slightly bigger version of Philo with more pubs. The accent was different of course but there were still tractors driving down the road so, like I said, it reminded me of Philo.

When we first arrived it was in the middle of a really laidback afternoon and everyone just sat around in a contorting circle in each pub. There were no stages like I said and at first there wasn’t even a P.A. System or set performers.

The music was all traditional Celtic folk tunes and I felt like the only tourist there. It might have been traditional songs but it wasn’t The Greatest Hits as heard in every Irish bar in the world. People just picked up instruments or started singing and the rest of the bar joined in. It was amazing and beautiful! I sipped on pints of Harp and watched in excitement, simply delighted at what we had stumbled upon. It was an old fashioned sing-a-along only for the first time since I fell in love with “sing-a-long music” I didn’t know a single song. As the day progressed the groups performing got bigger and louder. By the end they were amplified but folks from the crowd still joined in on instruments they brought with them.

Now there probably isn’t a day that goes by when I’m traveling that I don’t think of my friends and wish they were with me but on this day it became painful. MJ, Jeff, Sip, Quinn, Justin, Troy….they would have been in heaven right along with me. At the peak of energy and revelry a rocking 2 piece group burst into a great cover of The Boxer and I was finally able to sing-a-long with the rest of the pub. As happy as I was it was bitter sweet and I remember actually feeling a little sad. I turned to Kristen and said “I really miss my friends!”

I wrapped up my days in Ireland, and now Europe, in Dublin. It’s another great city rich with my kind of culture. Kristen and I spent a day wandering the town including a few hours at the Writers Museum which I really enjoyed. Mental note: Read more James Joyce!

In Dublin I also met up with more backpacker friends. I got in touch with Mark and Roxanne, both friends from Koh Tao, but only Roxanne was able to meet up. She dragged some friends along and we all had a fun night hitting some Dublin bars. It was a work night for them and she even had a 30 minute train ride just to get to the Temple Bar area of Dublin but that didn’t stop her. My kind of friend! Time and distance are trivial things and should never hold you back from having a good time with friends and family.

I leave Europe today. Another section of the Globe checked off a list that doesn’t really exist and still more locations added that I would like to see or return to. As usual I’m ready to see the gang at home, or the ones meeting me in New Orleans in two days, but I’d rather they come “here”. I’m not ready to go back even though I know I’m not really going “back”. My next month has me traveling just as much as I am now so I’ll remind myself of that as I sit in another airport waiting area.

As planned, I’m tired and will hopefully fall asleep as my transatlantic flight is taking off. It’s all part of my Jet Lag Management plan which starts with sleeping most of the flight back and then not sleeping for about two days when I land. It’s usually not good for the immune system but it avoids boring sleepless nights. I better go pop an AirBorn in a bottle of water to down before I board. I gotta take some care of this body…it has a lot more miles to carry me before this brain figures things out.
MJF