Sept 25th - 28th

*If you read this post you must complete the whole weekend to understand the point of the long post.

Thursday

Woke up and threw everything together for an adventurous weekend. We drove to Strokestown Estate and Famine Museum for a tour and to learn a little bit about the hard times. We ate lunch and hit the road for Belfast. As my head hit the seats I fell asleep on the bus to the steady beat of Johnny Cash echoing the putter of the coach’s engine and the bumps of the road. Before my eyes started to glaze over, the images of hectares of green meadows with frolicking sheepish looking white blurs in the distance and moss covered green rock formations were stained in my mind. Suddenly, the music stopped, the putter of the engine died, I awoke, and the image of beauty dissolved away turning into the ugly bustling city of Belfast. The meadows turned to hectares of sidewalks, road, litter, and an occasional weed that had pushed through to see the light and breathe the polluted air.

The bus door automatically slid open and the cabin filled with the smell of sewage and rotting garbage choking us all out. The retched smell crept up my nose as I evacuated. The group unpacked and hit the streets of Belfast for a night on the town. It was warmer than the countryside. The body heat and the smokestacks pumping out pollution must have caused a little global warming. I took off my sweater and with pride revealed my “Johnnies” T-Shirt to the city of Belfast.

It was late at night and the Gothics were out at full force. As I passed by the people they shot me evil glares and walked away from me in disgust. I should have shot them evil glares… After all they were the ones dressing like freaks of nature.

Goths dipped in tattoo ink with enough piercings to be a supplier for Claires replaced the happy Catholics of the south who smiled and greeted you with a wave while pushing their smiling baby’s stroller around the town. It was like I’d fallen asleep at Saint Bens and woken up in Mcalister on Halloween. The ones who weren’t Goths had more accessories than available at the MOA. The men accessorized like the women in the states and the women thought it was 1980 again.
We ate at a pizza joint called Spice World and visited The Kitchen Bar to end the night. The angry people made a grand first impressive for Belfast.

Friday

I woke up the next day and got a tour of the war torn city and the murals tagged on the walls of buildings reminding you that the underlying hatred of the Nationalists and the Loyalists is still here in Belfast. We discussed the paintings, looked at monuments, and learnt about the blue painted fences and colored curbs of the neighborhoods. Fittingly, my camera died as I snapped shots of the divisive murals depicting the Nationalists as terrorists and the Loyalists as evil oppressive government puppet.

We also toured and learned about the area that the Titanic was built.
After the informative tour I went to Castle Court shopping mall to grab a bite with some of the guys. The shopping mall was packed with people making the air warm. For this reason, I wore my Johnnies T-Shirt once again with pride. I picked up a box of Chinese food and inhaled it. As I was eating a girl across the way was staring at me. I made eye contact and instantly knew why she was giving me the eyes. She and I were the only normal looking people in a nine mile radius. She was a cute blonde girl who hadn’t fallen in an ink well or been sprayed by a piercing gun. I shot her a smile from across the food court. To my surprise she gave me a disgusted look, got up from her seat and pranced off. I decided I hated this city at this point and booked it back to my hostel to hibernate until we drove to Derry.

The guys didn’t like that idea and convinced me to go to the Pete Molinari Coors Lite Open House Folk Festival concert at the Black Box Theater and Pub for the night. We walked there on the brisk night; hence I concealed my Johnny pride and put on my sweater. I dropped 14 pounds there and weighed the same when I walked out the door.

We arrived unfashionable early to the concert, snatched a front table, and watched as the crowd trickled in. The crowd consisted of middle aged men and women who dressed conservatively and weren’t supporting the nose rings. The guys all expressed their concerns about the older crowd and prayed it wouldn’t be lame. I told them I was comforted by the middle aged crowd, because the older generations grew up listening to quality music like Dylan, Cash, and Zeppelin instead of Fitty Cent, Eminem, and the Hanson Brothers. I was right. The concert was spectacular and everyone agreed. The Irish folk and Guinness beer complimented each other. The people were fun, unlike everyone else I’d met in Belfast. They didn’t look like the devil possessed them due to faces expressing anger. I started to enjoy the city and my opinion of the place became more moderate.

Saturday

The next morning we visited Giant’s Causeway as we made our trek to Derry. The Earth’s handy work created a natural masterpiece at this landmark. At the picturesque attraction my buddy confronted me about my T-shirt that read, “Johnnies” in big letters. The T-shirt I’d been wearing around all of Belfast except at the grand concert. He looked me in the eye and in a concerned tone asked me, “Do you know what that means?” I mockingly said, “I have no idea, maybe that I’m a Johnny, Ya know that place we go to school.” Turns out the creped out girl at Castle Court, the angry Goths, and hateful people on the streets of Belfast knew what my shirt meant. In the U.K. Johnnies is slang for condoms or someone who visits a prostitute frequently. I’d be repulsed too if some creeper glared and smirked at me who wore a shirt that said in big bold letters, “I VISIT PROSTITUTES FREQUENTLY ” or “CONDOMS”!!!

I covered my Johnnies T-shirt with a chuckle and a hoody and was received by the people of Derry much better. We got there and waited for our tour guide to come, but the clock ticked and no one was to be found. A random guy who stopped by the hostel asked if he could be of service. Chuck our Prof told him the situation. The guy offered to give us a tour of the city himself. Chuck hesitated, but the 30 of us students were already down the block listening to the guys lecture before he could say no thanks.

The tour guide who we picked off the street happened to be a former guide and very educated on his town’s past. He brought us to the true blue Protestant side of town and gave us his biased opinion about the Loyalists, and then marched us over to the Bogside of town where the Catholics and he reside. He poured out his emotions and told us stories about him going to bed hungry at night and Nationalist’s like Bobby Sands starving to death in the prisons. He told us about his dad spending time in prison and getting beaten. He proudly continued by telling us his dad was elected as the city mayor a few years ago. The people who beat his dad in prison years ago were now opening his door to a limo to get to work every day. The guides moving tour made me realize how real the spoils of war are…

I rushed over to church for Saturday Night mass with a couple others and digested what the tour guide had said. The mass went quick with the fast talking preacher. The church was about 4 times the size of Nativity and jammed packed full. I stood in the back and looked over the sea of people in awe. I swear the whole city was at mass.

After mass, we churchgoers grabbed a bite at a local restaurant.
I took the night easy and rested while the others hit up the pubs. I called Mom, Mark, and Jinette to catch up a bit. This brought a smile to my face, yet made me slightly homesick. I hung up on Jinette as the loud drunks trickled in to our 12 man room. Joey tried to give me a little more time by fighting them off, but after a while they stumbled in the room with their loud voices and beer breathe.

Sunday

Woke up today and checked my email before heading out the door to our journey home. Jinette left me a message that put a smile on my face and made me forget for a second that the drunks kept me up all night. After reading a selective number of emails I slammed the laptop shut and hurried to the bus.

We drove back to Galway, stopped at Tesco for groceries, dropped €50, and pushed on to the cottage. Joey made some noodles lathered in butter for supper. I caught up on my blog and reading.

Now I’m gonna make some calls and hit the hay.

Gnight