POD - Volume 2, Edition 18
29 February 2008
29 February 2008
Sky over Belfast Lough, Holywood, Co. DownFriday, February 29, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Journal - A Walk Along The Lough
I begin this journal entry with an alternate title to the post, which I hope is equally witty and intriguing (yet not as quick and catchy): "What Did I Do Today? I Went To Holywood And Saw The Titanic!" Or if this were to be published in a tabloid or any of the Belfast dailies (they happen to be the same thing): "Man Visits Titanic and Holywood In One Day...And In Northern Ireland." Unfortunately for my popularity (and fortunately for my future job prospects), today's outing did not warrant such exceptional news coverage, but I did get to visit both of the title objects, in some form or another.
Today my two German friends and I set off from our accommodations in South Belfast to walk northeast along the coast of Belfast Lough. The stroll to the city centre was pleasant and normal: partly-cloudy skies overlooked the normal bustle of church-goers and tourists that characterize most Sunday mornings. Passing the Lagan Weir, I noticed water strangely flowing upstream over the weir, which was only weird (bad pun, I know) before we realized that it must be the result of tidal action.
Continuing north we passed the large Odyssey Complex and Arena, home to the Belfast Giants, Northern Ireland's ice hockey team. We then entered the Titanic Quarter by walking under the unintended gate formed by the large cranes erecting several new buildings. We realized later that the city council is trying to redevelop this area in time for the anniversary of the maiden voyage of the ship RMS Titanic, which was manufactured in Harland and Wolff's Belfast shipyard and launched in 1912. By the way, it also sunk in 1912. Walking north along empty tarmac-covered fields, we eventually reached what the numerous interpretive signs informed us was the Harland and Wolff administrative building, where they designed their many ocean liners, including the Titanic. Across the street we couldn't help but notice the two enormous H&W cranes, the dominating feature of the Belfast skyline, aptly named "Samson" and "Goliath." As we retraced the steps on our detour, we wondered aloud how a city could turn what should be a shameful event (and perhaps an engineering failure) into a tourist attraction and source of pride. Maybe someone is a wee too optimistic.
The next stage of our journey should have dissuaded us from continuing, but our resolve was strong and our stomachs temporarily quelled by an apple. (We were saving the rest of our packed lunches for a suitable sandy beach, the only appropriate place to enjoy such a feast while at the shore. They would consist of: delicious authentic German bread (not the toast we think of as bread) with cucumbers and cheese (which recalled me back to some semi-pleasant memories of school lunches), hard-to-peel mandarin oranges, and hardtack in the form of my failed chocolate-orange cookies. But now back to our journey.) The dark clouds forming to our west seemed indicative of the district we had now entered, a landscape full of black-stained sheet-metal-covered cylinders, pungent smells, and fast-moving tanker trucks. In short: the place for heavy industry, multinational gasoline companies, and the city airport. Some may say that the buildings were ugly, I would contend that a few had a Calvinist "character" to them (that's a reference to Calvin and Hobbes, not the protestant theologian), but all would agree that the land use was far from environmentally friendly. The one bright point was a protected lagoon and bird lookout, inexplicably monitored by CCTV.
Eventually we reached the non-industrial shoreline and followed the path past a military base, through a brief rain shower, and into Holywood. I apologize for letting your hopes down, because I saw not one single celebrity in our time there, but rather a pleasant paved esplanade leading to a shell-filled beach. It was there that we found a bench upon which to enjoy a well-earned lunch, marvel at the variety of cloud shapes, and feel glad that we were not across the lough at the beach-less Carrickfergus.
It is well known through experience and anecdotal evidence that the shore possesses a power over the human mind (and hence step) perhaps equaled only by the game that mischievous children play whereby a bill of currency is made tantalizingly close yet always out of reach. By its mere macro-convexity, the shore caters to our inquisitive instinct about the hidden future, and forces us to see only that which is around the next bend, or perhaps just around the one beyond, and so on. In this fashion, we progressed slowly along the North Down Coastal Path, passing a pleasant park, many large homes, and a variety of rocks and sand. The wind at our backs helped as well. We soon came to Cultra, the affluent home of the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club, the Royal Belfast Golf Club, and the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum. I had hoped to visit the Transport museum (and ogle over their DeLorean exhibit), but the afternoon was late and I admit that few people share my blind enthusiasm over such subjects. Our visit to Cultra was not a waste, however, as we correctly surmised that "yacht" was probably a German word.
At about a kilometer beyond Cultra, our tired legs, the darkening clouds, and clammy feet convinced us to turn around and seek our return to Belfast. The west wind, probably jealous that we suddenly turned against it, blew with increased energy; yet after but a few minutes it became comforting, if only because we knew it had the potential to be much colder. The wind ceased once we walked away from the beach and through the semi-rural neighborhood, and by the graces of a cheerful woman we found ourself waiting for the NI Railways train towards Belfast. And waiting...and waiting... Oranges, some rowdy kids, and fifty minutes later, we finally boarded the train and enjoyed the comfortable, inexpensive, and quick trip back into the city. I look forward to the next free beautiful weekend day when we can continue our coastal walk to Bangor...after taking the train to Cultra!
Today my two German friends and I set off from our accommodations in South Belfast to walk northeast along the coast of Belfast Lough. The stroll to the city centre was pleasant and normal: partly-cloudy skies overlooked the normal bustle of church-goers and tourists that characterize most Sunday mornings. Passing the Lagan Weir, I noticed water strangely flowing upstream over the weir, which was only weird (bad pun, I know) before we realized that it must be the result of tidal action.
Continuing north we passed the large Odyssey Complex and Arena, home to the Belfast Giants, Northern Ireland's ice hockey team. We then entered the Titanic Quarter by walking under the unintended gate formed by the large cranes erecting several new buildings. We realized later that the city council is trying to redevelop this area in time for the anniversary of the maiden voyage of the ship RMS Titanic, which was manufactured in Harland and Wolff's Belfast shipyard and launched in 1912. By the way, it also sunk in 1912. Walking north along empty tarmac-covered fields, we eventually reached what the numerous interpretive signs informed us was the Harland and Wolff administrative building, where they designed their many ocean liners, including the Titanic. Across the street we couldn't help but notice the two enormous H&W cranes, the dominating feature of the Belfast skyline, aptly named "Samson" and "Goliath." As we retraced the steps on our detour, we wondered aloud how a city could turn what should be a shameful event (and perhaps an engineering failure) into a tourist attraction and source of pride. Maybe someone is a wee too optimistic.
The next stage of our journey should have dissuaded us from continuing, but our resolve was strong and our stomachs temporarily quelled by an apple. (We were saving the rest of our packed lunches for a suitable sandy beach, the only appropriate place to enjoy such a feast while at the shore. They would consist of: delicious authentic German bread (not the toast we think of as bread) with cucumbers and cheese (which recalled me back to some semi-pleasant memories of school lunches), hard-to-peel mandarin oranges, and hardtack in the form of my failed chocolate-orange cookies. But now back to our journey.) The dark clouds forming to our west seemed indicative of the district we had now entered, a landscape full of black-stained sheet-metal-covered cylinders, pungent smells, and fast-moving tanker trucks. In short: the place for heavy industry, multinational gasoline companies, and the city airport. Some may say that the buildings were ugly, I would contend that a few had a Calvinist "character" to them (that's a reference to Calvin and Hobbes, not the protestant theologian), but all would agree that the land use was far from environmentally friendly. The one bright point was a protected lagoon and bird lookout, inexplicably monitored by CCTV.
Eventually we reached the non-industrial shoreline and followed the path past a military base, through a brief rain shower, and into Holywood. I apologize for letting your hopes down, because I saw not one single celebrity in our time there, but rather a pleasant paved esplanade leading to a shell-filled beach. It was there that we found a bench upon which to enjoy a well-earned lunch, marvel at the variety of cloud shapes, and feel glad that we were not across the lough at the beach-less Carrickfergus.
It is well known through experience and anecdotal evidence that the shore possesses a power over the human mind (and hence step) perhaps equaled only by the game that mischievous children play whereby a bill of currency is made tantalizingly close yet always out of reach. By its mere macro-convexity, the shore caters to our inquisitive instinct about the hidden future, and forces us to see only that which is around the next bend, or perhaps just around the one beyond, and so on. In this fashion, we progressed slowly along the North Down Coastal Path, passing a pleasant park, many large homes, and a variety of rocks and sand. The wind at our backs helped as well. We soon came to Cultra, the affluent home of the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club, the Royal Belfast Golf Club, and the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum. I had hoped to visit the Transport museum (and ogle over their DeLorean exhibit), but the afternoon was late and I admit that few people share my blind enthusiasm over such subjects. Our visit to Cultra was not a waste, however, as we correctly surmised that "yacht" was probably a German word.
At about a kilometer beyond Cultra, our tired legs, the darkening clouds, and clammy feet convinced us to turn around and seek our return to Belfast. The west wind, probably jealous that we suddenly turned against it, blew with increased energy; yet after but a few minutes it became comforting, if only because we knew it had the potential to be much colder. The wind ceased once we walked away from the beach and through the semi-rural neighborhood, and by the graces of a cheerful woman we found ourself waiting for the NI Railways train towards Belfast. And waiting...and waiting... Oranges, some rowdy kids, and fifty minutes later, we finally boarded the train and enjoyed the comfortable, inexpensive, and quick trip back into the city. I look forward to the next free beautiful weekend day when we can continue our coastal walk to Bangor...after taking the train to Cultra!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Journal - Dublin
It’s noon on Saturday, 16 February 2008, and I’m sitting in an expensive pub in
The reason for my presence in
The afternoon was spent first strolling along
Friday, February 15, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Journal - Carrickfergus
"I wish I had you in Carrickfergus...I would swim over the deepest ocean, the deepest ocean to be by your side..."
- "Carrickfergus" recorded by Van Morrison and The Chieftains on Irish Heartbeat
Unlike the author of this traditional song, none of us had a love to whom we were prepared to swim over the sea, but we had heard good things about the town of Carrickfergus, just a short drive north of Belfast. So we organized a large group of people and met bright and early in the Europa Bus Station to catch the 10am Ulsterbus to Carrickfergus.
In our naivety, we did not expect there to be so few things to do on a cold, cloudy, Sunday morning, although we should have known that everything would be closed, at least until later in the day, as is the case most places here. So we headed around town to hit all of the highlights from the tourist brochure: the gates through the old city walls, the many parks (with purple, yellow, and white crocuses starting to appear), St Nicholas' Church, the marina, and Carrickfergus Castle. The church was just starting the service, and the castle didn't open until 2pm, so we amused ourselves around the marina, climbing among the rocks, watching the boaters, and noticing the small plaque to where William of Orange landed in 1690 on his way to defeat King James in the Battle of the Boyne.
I guess this would be a good time to throw in a bit of history, so feel free to skip this paragraph if you want to. Carrickfergus is really old (in Eurocentric American terms), and a castle and town has been here since the late 12th century. It was an important market town long before Belfast, and later kept watch over the entrance to Belfast Lough. Sir Arthur Chichester (a big name in Ulster and Belfast; his Donegall descendants built Belfast Castle) played a large role in the city during the 17th century. One of the city's claims to fame is that it was where King William of Orange landed before defeating King James at the famous Battle of the Boyne. Carrickfergus' second claim to fame (probably less important) is that the Andrew Jackson Cottage (where the US President's parents lived before emigrating) is located nearby.
On this gray day, that history seemed far away and barely relevant. From out of the mist loomed the 1970s stack at the nearby Kilroot Power Station, a four-lane highway buzzed along what would be the shore, and many abandoned buildings stood just outside of the city centre. Oh, I should have mentioned that I found out later that Carrickfergus was home to the first Presbytery in Ireland. That is reasonable, considering we passed the well-kept Orange Hall, numerous flying flags of Ulster, and some red, white, and blue painted curbstones.
As they day progressed, things looked up; we also kept looking up to see if the sun would make it through the clouds (it didn't). Everyone at St Nicholas' Church were very nice too, and they gave us a good tour of the inside, noting the remnants of the 1182 church, the numerous beautiful stained-glass windows, and the wing of pews that was once reserved for the Chichester/Donegall family and under which the Chichester family now lies. They also made sure to note that when looking down the cross-shaped church, the pews angle to the right, because Christ's head supposedly tilted right as he died upon the cross.
We emerged just after 1pm with hungry stomachs, and a core group of five decided to eat at a pub while the rest headed back to Belfast. Chips, a minted-veal-burger, and an hour later, we headed over to the Carrickfergus Castle. Supposedly the highlight of the town, it would have been if it were free, but I thought the 3-pound fee was a bit high for a self-guided tour of cannons and ramparts, complete with plaster princesses and amusing but eyeless defenders with names like "Chester the Crossbower." The high walls and gun-sights did offer great views of the Lough, the town and hills, and a trio preaching religion through loudspeakers below.
Unfortunately we had to wait two hours for the next bus, during which time I learned several things from our visit to the Carrickfergus museum: carpets are a necessity in museums because you can lay down on them, never let archaeologists talk about their work while in the laboratory because you fall asleep watching their video, nothing happened in Carrickfergus during the 20th century despite "significant changes to resident's way of life," and I really like chocolate digestive biscuits.
At quarter-past-five, everyone was relieved to be back on the road again. I think it was unanimous that unlike Van Morrison's claim, none of us will be striving on our deathbed "to be home in Carrickfergus."
- "Carrickfergus" recorded by Van Morrison and The Chieftains on Irish Heartbeat
Unlike the author of this traditional song, none of us had a love to whom we were prepared to swim over the sea, but we had heard good things about the town of Carrickfergus, just a short drive north of Belfast. So we organized a large group of people and met bright and early in the Europa Bus Station to catch the 10am Ulsterbus to Carrickfergus.
In our naivety, we did not expect there to be so few things to do on a cold, cloudy, Sunday morning, although we should have known that everything would be closed, at least until later in the day, as is the case most places here. So we headed around town to hit all of the highlights from the tourist brochure: the gates through the old city walls, the many parks (with purple, yellow, and white crocuses starting to appear), St Nicholas' Church, the marina, and Carrickfergus Castle. The church was just starting the service, and the castle didn't open until 2pm, so we amused ourselves around the marina, climbing among the rocks, watching the boaters, and noticing the small plaque to where William of Orange landed in 1690 on his way to defeat King James in the Battle of the Boyne.
I guess this would be a good time to throw in a bit of history, so feel free to skip this paragraph if you want to. Carrickfergus is really old (in Eurocentric American terms), and a castle and town has been here since the late 12th century. It was an important market town long before Belfast, and later kept watch over the entrance to Belfast Lough. Sir Arthur Chichester (a big name in Ulster and Belfast; his Donegall descendants built Belfast Castle) played a large role in the city during the 17th century. One of the city's claims to fame is that it was where King William of Orange landed before defeating King James at the famous Battle of the Boyne. Carrickfergus' second claim to fame (probably less important) is that the Andrew Jackson Cottage (where the US President's parents lived before emigrating) is located nearby.
On this gray day, that history seemed far away and barely relevant. From out of the mist loomed the 1970s stack at the nearby Kilroot Power Station, a four-lane highway buzzed along what would be the shore, and many abandoned buildings stood just outside of the city centre. Oh, I should have mentioned that I found out later that Carrickfergus was home to the first Presbytery in Ireland. That is reasonable, considering we passed the well-kept Orange Hall, numerous flying flags of Ulster, and some red, white, and blue painted curbstones.
As they day progressed, things looked up; we also kept looking up to see if the sun would make it through the clouds (it didn't). Everyone at St Nicholas' Church were very nice too, and they gave us a good tour of the inside, noting the remnants of the 1182 church, the numerous beautiful stained-glass windows, and the wing of pews that was once reserved for the Chichester/Donegall family and under which the Chichester family now lies. They also made sure to note that when looking down the cross-shaped church, the pews angle to the right, because Christ's head supposedly tilted right as he died upon the cross.
We emerged just after 1pm with hungry stomachs, and a core group of five decided to eat at a pub while the rest headed back to Belfast. Chips, a minted-veal-burger, and an hour later, we headed over to the Carrickfergus Castle. Supposedly the highlight of the town, it would have been if it were free, but I thought the 3-pound fee was a bit high for a self-guided tour of cannons and ramparts, complete with plaster princesses and amusing but eyeless defenders with names like "Chester the Crossbower." The high walls and gun-sights did offer great views of the Lough, the town and hills, and a trio preaching religion through loudspeakers below.
Unfortunately we had to wait two hours for the next bus, during which time I learned several things from our visit to the Carrickfergus museum: carpets are a necessity in museums because you can lay down on them, never let archaeologists talk about their work while in the laboratory because you fall asleep watching their video, nothing happened in Carrickfergus during the 20th century despite "significant changes to resident's way of life," and I really like chocolate digestive biscuits.
At quarter-past-five, everyone was relieved to be back on the road again. I think it was unanimous that unlike Van Morrison's claim, none of us will be striving on our deathbed "to be home in Carrickfergus."
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Journal - Falls Walking Tour
In the interests of getting a different perspective of communities in West Belfast and of putting a beautiful partly sunny Saturday to good use, we got a larger group of international students together to tour the Catholic Falls Road area of Belfast. Our impression was probably influenced greatly by it being a nice Saturday and during the Spring Festival (Feile an Earraigh), but there were many people about along the commercial streets and children playing in the side residential areas, compared with the empty Shankill of last Sunday.
We started our self-guided tour at Divis Tower, a hotspot of The Troubles, where the British Army used the top floors as an observation point for the surrounding Nationalist neighborhood starting in the 1970s. The 20-story tower stands in stark contrast to the surrounding two-story area, but today looks like any other 1960s highrise apartment complex. A block away was an interesting set of murals locally known as the "International Mural Wall" for its inclusion of various international topics, from the liberation of Palestine and the libation of George W. Bush.
Continuing on Divis Street, we passed a memorial garden before coming to an old mill complex, Conway Mill, now home to a radio station and the newly-opened Irish Republican History Museum. Tucked away around a corner on the other side of a car park, this one-room museum provided a dramatic and startling view on the Irish Republican cause and the Troubles. One half of the museum consisted of examples of weapons used; another half was dedicated to handcrafts (from harps to clothes) created by imprisoned Republicans. A third half (I know this is mathematically impossible, but it sounds better than "a third third") made clear the associations Republicans in Ulster made between the "republican struggle for Irish freedom" and other fights for liberation around the world: the American Civil Rights Movement, Basque independence, Palestine, and Nelson Mandela in South Africa.
The most lasting impression of the entire day was when we watched a 20-minute video on an overview of recent history in Northern Ireland, focusing mostly on the Troubles, and told (obviously) from a Republican perspective. Revealing it was, with a good coverage of the important events (Irish Civil War, Civil Rights Movement, various battles during the Troubles, the Hunger Strikers, the Good Friday Agreement), yet was stuck with me most was the language used to describe the events. I have to commend the museum for sticking to it's mission statement: "To educate, so that our youth may understand why Republicans fought, died, and spent many years in prison for their beliefs." But as I am writing a review of the film, I will also remark that as an outsider, their efforts towards this end were slightly but noticeably indoctrinating. The description of discrimination faced by Catholics in Belfast's shipyards and in housing before WWII was certainly bad, but I think "ethnic cleansing" is too harsh a term to apply in this case. Furthermore, the video gave the impression that the peaceful Civil Rights movement was a naive approach, and that republicans were "forced" to take up arms in defense of their community from the "mobs and militia." It was interesting to me that the filmmakers indicated that the I.R.A. focussed its opposition on "British" forces rather than use the terms "unionist" or "loyalist." The ending was the most chilling aspect of the entire video: after talking about how the Good Friday Agreement contained many imposed conditions (agreements usually require some concessions on both sides!), such as the decommissioning of weapons, the narrator implied that republicans are prepared to fight again for their ultimate goal of a united Ireland, all while a home video from 2002 showing sectarian fighting played in the background. That's only five years ago! Our viewing of this was quite timely, considering that the Police Service of Northern Ireland released an alert this past week of a serious threat of economic attacks by "dissident republicans" of the Real IRA, the highest level of warning seen in several years.
Sorry for exaggerating the doom and gloom there a bit. I hope that makes it a bit clearer what my feeling was while inside the museum; not scared but rather astonished. Moving outside into the warm sun, we kept these thoughts in our minds, but in the very far back; there's really less threat to us here in Belfast than there is in most other large cities, despite the PSNI warning.
We continued on our tour, passing the Falls Road Carnegie Library next to a Bobby Sands mural, and stopping inside the beautiful Clonard Monestary, interestingly surrounded with what look to be blocks and blocks of nice new (1990s) housing. This is just a couple of blocks from the Peace Wall we visited last Sunday. Continuing southwest along the Falls Road, we passed the Royal Victoria Hospital, a cultural centre, a suicide awareness support group building, and several murals before taking a short wrong turn through a quiet neighborhood of ball-playing children.
Eventually we ended up at the City Cemetery, a huge tract of land filled with the dead bodies of and gravestones inscribed to many of the city's famous (read: wealthiest) residents since the 1860s. I later heard that as part of the Spring Festival, 3-pound 3-hour tours were offered through the Cemetery, but we had already walked a ways and needed to get back in time for the France vs. Ireland rugby match, so we only stayed for a short while before heading back home.
I would like to go back to visit the City Cemetery with a more substantial guide, and also to visit the Milltown Cemetery across the road, where numerous Irish Republicans are buried, including the ten hunger strikers from 1981. The Milltown Cemetery became more than a burial ground for the dead during events in March 1988. On 6 March, three IRA members were killed by the British Special Air Service (SAS) in Gibraltar, over something having to do with a large bomb. (I'm trying to be objective in this description, to be fair to both sides, and because I don't know all the details and am paraphrasing from several websites, so pardon the vagueness.) A funeral for the three was being held in Milltown Cemetery on 16 March when a Loyalist, Michael Stone, opened fire on the mourners, killing three and wounding dozens. Then, on 19 March, at the funeral for Kevin Brady, one of the three killed only three days before, two British Army corporals (in civilian clothes) inexplicably drove into the mourning crowd and were attacked and shot dead. What makes all this worse is that both killings in Milltown Cemetery were captured by television news cameras.
I hope these journal entries are interesting and not too disturbing. When you are actually there, it doesn't feel disturbing at all; it's only when putting this in a historical context without being there spatially, that the sense of "awe" appears. Anyway, there should be fewer serious posts like this in the future, or at least ones that deal with so serious an issue.
We started our self-guided tour at Divis Tower, a hotspot of The Troubles, where the British Army used the top floors as an observation point for the surrounding Nationalist neighborhood starting in the 1970s. The 20-story tower stands in stark contrast to the surrounding two-story area, but today looks like any other 1960s highrise apartment complex. A block away was an interesting set of murals locally known as the "International Mural Wall" for its inclusion of various international topics, from the liberation of Palestine and the libation of George W. Bush.
Continuing on Divis Street, we passed a memorial garden before coming to an old mill complex, Conway Mill, now home to a radio station and the newly-opened Irish Republican History Museum. Tucked away around a corner on the other side of a car park, this one-room museum provided a dramatic and startling view on the Irish Republican cause and the Troubles. One half of the museum consisted of examples of weapons used; another half was dedicated to handcrafts (from harps to clothes) created by imprisoned Republicans. A third half (I know this is mathematically impossible, but it sounds better than "a third third") made clear the associations Republicans in Ulster made between the "republican struggle for Irish freedom" and other fights for liberation around the world: the American Civil Rights Movement, Basque independence, Palestine, and Nelson Mandela in South Africa.
The most lasting impression of the entire day was when we watched a 20-minute video on an overview of recent history in Northern Ireland, focusing mostly on the Troubles, and told (obviously) from a Republican perspective. Revealing it was, with a good coverage of the important events (Irish Civil War, Civil Rights Movement, various battles during the Troubles, the Hunger Strikers, the Good Friday Agreement), yet was stuck with me most was the language used to describe the events. I have to commend the museum for sticking to it's mission statement: "To educate, so that our youth may understand why Republicans fought, died, and spent many years in prison for their beliefs." But as I am writing a review of the film, I will also remark that as an outsider, their efforts towards this end were slightly but noticeably indoctrinating. The description of discrimination faced by Catholics in Belfast's shipyards and in housing before WWII was certainly bad, but I think "ethnic cleansing" is too harsh a term to apply in this case. Furthermore, the video gave the impression that the peaceful Civil Rights movement was a naive approach, and that republicans were "forced" to take up arms in defense of their community from the "mobs and militia." It was interesting to me that the filmmakers indicated that the I.R.A. focussed its opposition on "British" forces rather than use the terms "unionist" or "loyalist." The ending was the most chilling aspect of the entire video: after talking about how the Good Friday Agreement contained many imposed conditions (agreements usually require some concessions on both sides!), such as the decommissioning of weapons, the narrator implied that republicans are prepared to fight again for their ultimate goal of a united Ireland, all while a home video from 2002 showing sectarian fighting played in the background. That's only five years ago! Our viewing of this was quite timely, considering that the Police Service of Northern Ireland released an alert this past week of a serious threat of economic attacks by "dissident republicans" of the Real IRA, the highest level of warning seen in several years.
Sorry for exaggerating the doom and gloom there a bit. I hope that makes it a bit clearer what my feeling was while inside the museum; not scared but rather astonished. Moving outside into the warm sun, we kept these thoughts in our minds, but in the very far back; there's really less threat to us here in Belfast than there is in most other large cities, despite the PSNI warning.
We continued on our tour, passing the Falls Road Carnegie Library next to a Bobby Sands mural, and stopping inside the beautiful Clonard Monestary, interestingly surrounded with what look to be blocks and blocks of nice new (1990s) housing. This is just a couple of blocks from the Peace Wall we visited last Sunday. Continuing southwest along the Falls Road, we passed the Royal Victoria Hospital, a cultural centre, a suicide awareness support group building, and several murals before taking a short wrong turn through a quiet neighborhood of ball-playing children.
Eventually we ended up at the City Cemetery, a huge tract of land filled with the dead bodies of and gravestones inscribed to many of the city's famous (read: wealthiest) residents since the 1860s. I later heard that as part of the Spring Festival, 3-pound 3-hour tours were offered through the Cemetery, but we had already walked a ways and needed to get back in time for the France vs. Ireland rugby match, so we only stayed for a short while before heading back home.
I would like to go back to visit the City Cemetery with a more substantial guide, and also to visit the Milltown Cemetery across the road, where numerous Irish Republicans are buried, including the ten hunger strikers from 1981. The Milltown Cemetery became more than a burial ground for the dead during events in March 1988. On 6 March, three IRA members were killed by the British Special Air Service (SAS) in Gibraltar, over something having to do with a large bomb. (I'm trying to be objective in this description, to be fair to both sides, and because I don't know all the details and am paraphrasing from several websites, so pardon the vagueness.) A funeral for the three was being held in Milltown Cemetery on 16 March when a Loyalist, Michael Stone, opened fire on the mourners, killing three and wounding dozens. Then, on 19 March, at the funeral for Kevin Brady, one of the three killed only three days before, two British Army corporals (in civilian clothes) inexplicably drove into the mourning crowd and were attacked and shot dead. What makes all this worse is that both killings in Milltown Cemetery were captured by television news cameras.
I hope these journal entries are interesting and not too disturbing. When you are actually there, it doesn't feel disturbing at all; it's only when putting this in a historical context without being there spatially, that the sense of "awe" appears. Anyway, there should be fewer serious posts like this in the future, or at least ones that deal with so serious an issue.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
POD - War and the Peace Wall
POD - Volume 2, Edition 13
03 February 2008
03 February 2008
Thoughts along the Peace Wall, Belfast, Co. AntrimJournal - Shankill Walking Tour
One could not have picked a more typical Irish winter day than today, nor worse weather for a four-hour walking tour. The sky started spitting as we departed and never stopped, while the persistent wind always seemed to be in our faces. We kept in good spirit most of the way, and were rewarded with cold hands, wet clothes, and good memories.
To give some perspective, the Shankill area of west Belfast is traditionally a Unionist/Protestant area surrounded to the south and north by Nationalist/Catholic neighborhoods. Significant fighting between paramilitary groups during "The Troubles" of the 1970s, 80s, and 90s created a very segregated society. Signs of this segregation include numerous murals to fallen Ulster volunteers or defenders, and an enormous wall between the Shankill and the Falls to the south.
On this wet and windy Sunday, our group of eight (variously from Germany, France, Hungary, Canada, and the United States), snapping pictures left and right, must have looked strange to residents, but we never felt unsafe. In fact, there were very few people about; most stores are closed on Sunday. Following an online walking guide, we started at the Clifton Street Orange Hall, boarded up and enclosed in a wire cage. An old statue of King William III of Orange, savior of Protestant England, sat on the roof oxidizing and watching over the newest highway project in Belfast, the Westlink.
Continuing up the Crumlin Road, we reached the famous Crumlin Road Gaol, designed by Charles Lanyon (who also designed the main building at Queen's University Belfast). Across the street was the Courthouse, ringed by barbed wire and showing strong signs of lengthy disuse. From here, we cut south through a quiet residential area, with many sectarian murals on the gable-sides of rowhouses. Near one was scrawled in large block letters: "Anyone caught defacing Loyalist murals will be severely dealt with." As we neared Shankill Road we even passed a health centre that was hidden behind a fence and barbs.
We headed up Shankill Road, facing into the wind and rain, finding an occasional respite in the shelter of various building facades, many covered with murals commemorating the Battle of the Somme (from which only 10% of men in one Shankill unit returned), the UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force, a Loyalist paramilitary group), and the many fallen as a result of bombs, sometimes as recently as 15 years ago. One memorial mural looks serene, until one sees what the mourners are holding.
I have to admit that this is not the full story. Overall, the Shankill looks like just another working-class neighborhood: stores lined the commercial street, with dense two story houses on the side-streets, and a large new community centre. There were some abandoned buildings and empty lots, but far fewer than in many Pittsburgh neighborhoods. We walked through the Shankill Graveyard with many stones dating to the mid 19th century; it was almost refreshing to see that most of the deceased had reached their late 50s and 60s, compared with 20-and-30-year-olds that are depicted in many murals. According to our guidemap, a bullaun stone uncovered in the graveyard was supposedly used for pagan sacrifices in Druid times, and is said to have the ability to cure warts. But seeing as we had no warts in need of removal, and the penetrating wind and rain had not let up, we turned around and headed back towards the city centre.
Our last landmark on our way back was the large ironically-named "Peace Wall" along Cupar Way, separating the Shankill and Falls districts. The concrete was scrawled with markings, more touristic than threatening, although there were signs of past conflict; we stopped to take a group picture in front of a chipped-and-burned section. Several black taxis, famous for taking tourists around Belfast neighborhoods, stopped to allow their passengers to get out and take pictures of the wall. Our attempt to exit onto Divis Street (a main street through the Catholic area) was halted three times by locked gates, forcing us back to the Shankill Road in order to return to Belfast's downtown area. We certainly were looking forward to hot tea after our 7.5-mile trek.
It is interesting to reflect on some of the segregation between these two neighborhoods, the Falls and the Shankill. In my transportation lecture on Friday, the teacher made connections between the violence and sectarianism in these areas of west Belfast and their impact on transportation. The public transit system in Belfast (buses only) follows strange and geographically-impractical routes that only make sense within a geohistopolitcal context, in which two adjoining neighborhoods demand duplicative service. In the 1960s, he said that buses on the Falls Road had off-peak headways of 3 minutes; today it is about 20-30 minutes. Another statistic was impressive: 30-50 percent of residents in two other neighboring Protestant/Catholic areas never cross the "peace fence," and only about 20% do so weekly.
Despite this segregation, it seems as if there has never been a better "peace" in the last 35 years. Violence in the last decade is nearly non-existent. And in my limited 11-day experience in Belfast, I think (and hope) that physical barriers are no longer necessary. There will certainly be mental geographic barriers, but it seems ridiculous to me that access between the Shankill and Falls areas should be limited to one carefully observed gate on a Sunday.
Maybe next weekend we will explore the other side of the Peace Wall!
To give some perspective, the Shankill area of west Belfast is traditionally a Unionist/Protestant area surrounded to the south and north by Nationalist/Catholic neighborhoods. Significant fighting between paramilitary groups during "The Troubles" of the 1970s, 80s, and 90s created a very segregated society. Signs of this segregation include numerous murals to fallen Ulster volunteers or defenders, and an enormous wall between the Shankill and the Falls to the south.
On this wet and windy Sunday, our group of eight (variously from Germany, France, Hungary, Canada, and the United States), snapping pictures left and right, must have looked strange to residents, but we never felt unsafe. In fact, there were very few people about; most stores are closed on Sunday. Following an online walking guide, we started at the Clifton Street Orange Hall, boarded up and enclosed in a wire cage. An old statue of King William III of Orange, savior of Protestant England, sat on the roof oxidizing and watching over the newest highway project in Belfast, the Westlink.
Continuing up the Crumlin Road, we reached the famous Crumlin Road Gaol, designed by Charles Lanyon (who also designed the main building at Queen's University Belfast). Across the street was the Courthouse, ringed by barbed wire and showing strong signs of lengthy disuse. From here, we cut south through a quiet residential area, with many sectarian murals on the gable-sides of rowhouses. Near one was scrawled in large block letters: "Anyone caught defacing Loyalist murals will be severely dealt with." As we neared Shankill Road we even passed a health centre that was hidden behind a fence and barbs.
We headed up Shankill Road, facing into the wind and rain, finding an occasional respite in the shelter of various building facades, many covered with murals commemorating the Battle of the Somme (from which only 10% of men in one Shankill unit returned), the UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force, a Loyalist paramilitary group), and the many fallen as a result of bombs, sometimes as recently as 15 years ago. One memorial mural looks serene, until one sees what the mourners are holding.
I have to admit that this is not the full story. Overall, the Shankill looks like just another working-class neighborhood: stores lined the commercial street, with dense two story houses on the side-streets, and a large new community centre. There were some abandoned buildings and empty lots, but far fewer than in many Pittsburgh neighborhoods. We walked through the Shankill Graveyard with many stones dating to the mid 19th century; it was almost refreshing to see that most of the deceased had reached their late 50s and 60s, compared with 20-and-30-year-olds that are depicted in many murals. According to our guidemap, a bullaun stone uncovered in the graveyard was supposedly used for pagan sacrifices in Druid times, and is said to have the ability to cure warts. But seeing as we had no warts in need of removal, and the penetrating wind and rain had not let up, we turned around and headed back towards the city centre.
Our last landmark on our way back was the large ironically-named "Peace Wall" along Cupar Way, separating the Shankill and Falls districts. The concrete was scrawled with markings, more touristic than threatening, although there were signs of past conflict; we stopped to take a group picture in front of a chipped-and-burned section. Several black taxis, famous for taking tourists around Belfast neighborhoods, stopped to allow their passengers to get out and take pictures of the wall. Our attempt to exit onto Divis Street (a main street through the Catholic area) was halted three times by locked gates, forcing us back to the Shankill Road in order to return to Belfast's downtown area. We certainly were looking forward to hot tea after our 7.5-mile trek.
It is interesting to reflect on some of the segregation between these two neighborhoods, the Falls and the Shankill. In my transportation lecture on Friday, the teacher made connections between the violence and sectarianism in these areas of west Belfast and their impact on transportation. The public transit system in Belfast (buses only) follows strange and geographically-impractical routes that only make sense within a geohistopolitcal context, in which two adjoining neighborhoods demand duplicative service. In the 1960s, he said that buses on the Falls Road had off-peak headways of 3 minutes; today it is about 20-30 minutes. Another statistic was impressive: 30-50 percent of residents in two other neighboring Protestant/Catholic areas never cross the "peace fence," and only about 20% do so weekly.
Despite this segregation, it seems as if there has never been a better "peace" in the last 35 years. Violence in the last decade is nearly non-existent. And in my limited 11-day experience in Belfast, I think (and hope) that physical barriers are no longer necessary. There will certainly be mental geographic barriers, but it seems ridiculous to me that access between the Shankill and Falls areas should be limited to one carefully observed gate on a Sunday.
Maybe next weekend we will explore the other side of the Peace Wall!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
POD - Belfast Sky
POD - Volume 2, Edition 12
02 February 2008
02 February 2008
Silver Lining and Crepuscular Rays, Belfast, Co. AntrimFriday, February 1, 2008
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