Home

I flew to Bozeman on the night of the 16th. My layovers were all very short, and I almost didn't have enough time to call my parents to tell them when I would get into Bozeman. Finding myself alone in the Bozeman airport after 26 hours of travel would have been a rough end to a long day, but my parents and grandma were at the airport and were a very welcome sight. My checked bag, however, could not keep up with me. I found out later that it hadn't even left Newark, my first stop after Dublin, until the following morning. I picked it up on the 18th, which will hopefully be the last time I have to go into any airports for awhile.

I've spent my time at home so far relaxing, seeing friends, and skiing. Staying warm is also high on the agenda. It was -14F when I landed in Bozeman and the ground blizzards are very sobering. I'm not sure if the Irish rain is better or worse than the cold. It's a matter of going from one miserable climate to another.

I have been asked a lot if it's weird being home. It is very good to be home, but I don't think it's weird at all. The weirdness instead comes from thinking about the differences between where I've been and where I am. It would be silly not to compare the two places. I always have to think about such assessments for a long time before they're straightened out enough to be comprehensible to anyone but me, but I'll take a swing at what I understand.

It's hard to put a finger on what it is that best describes the Irish. The place certainly isn't all shamrocks and leprachauns, especially in the North. The do enjoy their drink, but there are a few teetotalers in the North. It can't be called all Catholic or all Protestant in any part of the Ireland. Maybe it's the fact that nobody can agree on anything. The Irish do have a stereotype for fighting after all.

In this big melting pot of America there is plenty of disagreement. That's why America is special: we can think and do as we please. The difference, I believe, is that once someone becomes part of anything in Ireland, be it a religion, the Gaelic Athletic Association, a trade, or either side of any conflict, they stay there. This has proven to be a problem on more than one occasion, but compared to Americans' relative fickleness, I find their devotion and grasp of solidarity quite admirable.

The Irish have, *surprise*, different priorities than we do. Different doesn't have to be good or bad, that's just the way it is. To some Americans they could look lazy, but in their eyes we may look overworked. Going to the bars is something only rowdy college students and strange middle age men do right? To them, pubs are the center of their social circles and people of all ages go to them. Having a drink or two is an important part of life. What's wrong with prioritizing having a good time?

Would I like to go back? Sure. Maybe not just yet, but someday. There's plenty there that I didn't get to see, and there are a couple people I wouldn't mind seeing again. I'm a little surprised my mom wasn't more disappointed that I didn't bring home a redhead, but I spose I could try again later. We'll see I suppose.

And with that, I am proud to say I am satisfied, for now. Like everything else, I didn't care what happened, as long as I've got a story to tell.

County Offaly

I said my goodbyes to my Norn Irish and American buddies and left Newtownabbey on the 12th. I drove to Co Offaly in the south with my flatmate David Kelly. A few weeks ago I had planned on heading to Dublin and from there to Co Cork and Co Kerry right before I flew home. I realized this wouldn't work very well as I really only had three days and just the traveling would have taken at least eight hours each way. David offered to take me home and show me around for a few days, and I took him up on it.

Co Offaly is very near the center of Ireland, in the midlands or heartland. When Americans go to Ireland, it is generally assumed that they will go to Dublin. Other places such as Cork, Kerry, and the west coast are possibilities, with Belfast and the rest of Northern Ireland being a bit less common. The midlands are not a big tourist hotspot, so I would liken an American going there to someone from southern Europe going to Iowa. It just doesn't happen much. I relish getting off the beaten path for if nothing else than to say I have.

The Kellys own about 150 acres near Tober and run about 170 beef cows and 100 ewes. I helped them feed and clean their sheds for the couple days I was there and did my best to explain the differences between our ways of farming. Being just a dumb cowhand I was genuinely stumped by a few questions, but I did impress them with my equipment expertise. Some years they can make hay but almost all of their feed is in silage, and they found it hard to believe that we could make hay the way we do. The extremes of the Montana climate were stretches of the Irish imagination, as was the idea of not having enough water. I enjoyed being out in the country and around cows and equipment again. David let me drive one of their Masseys and even drive their 'jeep' farm Land Rover on the highway.

David also showed me some of the local sights. On Saturday, we went through the Kilbeggan whiskey distillery. The main sourse of power for the equipment was the River Brosna. The water wheel and all the machinery are still intact. They also have a steam engine, which was used about three days a year when the distillery was still in operation. On Sunday we went to the Clonmacnoise monastery on the River Shannon. Many of the churches, high crosses, and shrines are still intact. Pope John Paul II visited in 1979 and the alter in one corner of the site is the only modern structure. We stopped in Athlone afterwards, one of the larger towns in Offaly. I didn't carry my camera around Athlone but I wish I had because it was one of the most picturesque towns I had seen in Ireland. Music sessions aren't as common in the midlands but David had heard of one in Athlone. It was in Sean's Pub, established circa 600, making it the oldest in Ireland. It was the exact image that one would have in their mind of an Irish pub: a little dark, with holly on the ceiling, sawdust on the crooked floor, and some very fine music coming from one corner; and it wasn't a bit touristy. On my last day in Ireland, David and I went to Tullamore, the county town. Tullamore Dew whiskey was made here. It's a cozy little town, very festively lit and decorated for Christmas. We spent my last evening reminiscing about the last few months and playing pool at the Cat and Bagpipes pub in Tober. Having a few pints in an old man pub is the way such an occasion should be spent. We woke up at 4:30 the next morning and made our way to Dublin.

My time in Ireland would have been very different had it not been for David. Taking a politics class and getting out and about seeing things are good ways to learn, but spending a great deal of time with a truly Irish Irishman was invaluable and may be the most memorable part of my time abroad. David taught me a large portion of what I know about what the Irish are really about. I am in debt to the Kellys of Tober, County Offaly, and hope I can show David my part of the world someday to repay them.

My Last Weekend in Belfast

I've been quite busy the last ten days or so, seeing people and doing things I may not get to do again. Most of them are just little things, but I was out and about a lot this weekend.

I went to dinner on Friday with Zach Silverman and two Norn Irish friends of mine, Aaron "Big A" Douglas and Paul Sloan. We ate at a Portugese chicken place because Big A knows I love my spicy food, and I had a strong hankerin' coming on. To compare the spiciness palates of Americans and Irish, the least spicy option on the menu was a bit too much for Paul while I was happy as could be taking spoonfuls of extra hot sauce and bathing my chicken and chips in it. Also, I met Paul about a month ago and this was the first time he realized I was American. We wandered through the very festive Belfast Continental Market and admired the lights.

Big A grew up on the Shankill in west Belfast, which is a very staunch Protestant area wedged between the very Catholic Falls Road and Crumlin Road. Paul grew up on the Falls. Both know a great deal about the Troubles and both have very vivid and different memories of them. It would defy common sense to think that I met one through the other, but there's much more to the situation here than Catholic-Protestant hatred. It may be best to leave the details for discussion when I get back.

On Saturday, Zach, Ashley Neff, Naomi Shaw, and I took our friend Sam McGeown up on his offer to show us some of the sights around Belfast that can only be seen by car. Our first stop was the Titanic quarter. A 900' by 128' dock is where the hull of the Titanic was fitted out and finished by 30,000 workers. The ship was floated in and a gate was shut behind it. Three 1,000 hp pumps drained the enormous dock in an hour and a half. When the ship was finished, the dock was filled again, and the Titanic sail out of it, never to return. I'm afraid I told a few of you wrong when I said the huge yellow "H&W" cranes on the skyline built the Titanic. Samson and Goliath went up after the Titanic was built. Harland and Wolff did build the Titanic though.

From there we went through east Belfast, the home of Van Morrison and Narnia author CS Lewis. We stopped to see a memorial for Lewis. East Belfast is very divided, with a good deal of murals from the Troubles and Union Jacks flying in the Unionist areas. It seems that the more sectarian an area is, the more rundown it is. Or is it the other way round?

We went outside the city to the Giant's Ring, which is called a dolmen. Dolmen are rings of dirt surrounding about four acres and a pile of rocks in the center. No one knows how or why these mini stonehenges were built, but they are apparently fairly common in Ireland. The day couldn't have been any better for exploring. The air was comfortably crisp, and we all looked cautiously for a cloud in the sky all day long, but couldn't ever find any. Very strange, but welcome. As we were leaving, a man was getting his RC plane ready.

West Belfast was the last part of the tour. We started up the Crumlin Road and from there crossed to Shankill and then the Falls, spending just enough time to look at the murals, and there were plenty. Some mourned the deaths of the innocent, but others memorialized the deaths of paramilitary men, who were remembered by extremists as martyrs. Purely cultural murals are being encouraged, but are rare. There is a single road between the Falls and Shankill, and it is closed at night. The gate on that road is about the best evidence anywhere that old habits die hard. The British troops and armored jeeps are gone, but the memories are strong and the feelings are deepseated among every generation. The vast majority of the population wants the Troubles to be over with, but there are still the odd few who still think there is something to be gained by keeping those old habits alive. That's far from the whole story, but in any case, that gate won't come down soon.

Many thanks to Sam McGeown for his great understanding of the history of his home.