Anarchy in the NIA

After briefly seeing my parents and reaping the benefits of someone else paying for your dinner, I was on the move again: this time to Belfast. My second trip to the UK was neither as long nor stocked with excellent travel companions as my first, but on the whole it did not disappoint. The first stop on the tour of Ulster was Stormont, the Northern Ireland legislation building. Since our fearless leader, Kevin Whelan, is well connected, we were able to hold court of a sorts with a Sinn Fein member, and former political prisoner/terrorist (depending on your religious/political bias), of the NIA. When she started talking about their goal of a united Ireland, it got me thinking two things: (1) why would the Republic want to include an economically receding, highly unemployed region, such as Ulster. Besides sentimental reasons, I doubt the south would look to the north instead of depending upon cheap Eastern European labor. Added to that is the probability of a resurgance in conflict that the poorly equipped Irish army couldn't manage if they annexed the area. The British have had trouble enough fighting in the area. It's not as if the people living there who are proud of their British heritage are going to acquiesce to be re-appropriated (see Kosovo). (2) Most of the Notre Dame students were in favor of the republican movement, or at least one person I talked to did. Why? "Because the Queen has no business telling Irish people what to do." The main argument used by this person was that if a majority of the people of Northern Ireland want to join the Republic, they should be able to, no questions asked. Well, then I guess you could say a Northern aggressing Lincoln didn't have the right to tell the majority of white Southern land owners what to do either.

That night I stayed in my first hostel. It was nothing like Eli Roth's series of slasher porn films, but instead like a summer camp/episode of full house. The place turned out to be a house situated in what looked like an urban renewal project (every building on the street looked excatly the same) and nearly our entire group of forty slept under one roof. Unfortunately, my dad's semi-mentally handicapped college roommate did not entertain us in the basement with Donald Duck impersonations. I would have toured the surrounding area that night, but when I came out of the bathroom, the entire house was deserted. So instead I finished reading No Country for Old Men. Too much of my life is dictated by my bathroom schedule.

The next day began with a quick stop at Dunluce Castle, which sits on the North Sea Next up was a tour of the Bushmill's distillery. I would have pictures of it, but they didn't allow photography. I guess they don't want to give away their secret ingredient. Here's a hint: it has nothing to do with cough syrup. We spent too much time here, and I found it to be on the whole unfulfilling. No one thought it was funny when we were in the barrel room and when the guide asked if there were any questions, I said, "What can you put in a barrel that makes it lighter?" Pssh. Maybe I should have used that one after the tasting session. Speaking of which, where were the pretzels? From what I remember, AB gave their own specialized snack food at the end of the tour.

Our penultimate stop was the Giant's Causeway, incorrectly named by our group leader to be one of the seven natrual wonders of the world. I don't really understand why it looks the way it does, but here are some pictures:



Not one of the top seven, but definitely the highlight of the weekend. Scratch off another UNESCO world heritage site. I think that makes it only 822 left to see before I die. We quickly hurried back on the bus and headed to Belfast. I'll post more about this soon, but now I've gotta run. . . .

sorry 'bout that. I went to dinner this evening at the Dowlings. If you ever travel outside the country and are strapped for cash, make sure to be adopted by a generous elderly couple. These people are incredible. Not only do they invite me over for dinner once a week, but they give me food to hold me over until the next Sunday. On top of that, I really enjoy their company. From discussions about the Gaelic League to Fr. Ralph, there's never a dull moment.

Back to the weekend. I'm tired, so I'll let pictures do the talking. The murals were from the houses of Belfast neighborhoods as testaments to the IRA/Sinn Fein. We couldn't walk around the Unionist neighborhoods because "they were too dangerous." Maybe I should inform people that I grew up on the mean streets of America's most dangerous city. To be perfectly honest, the crime that goes on here is closer to the Dead End Kids from Angels with Dirty Faces than the Cripps and Bloods, but I suppose things have changed since 1994. It would also be fair to say that the Dead End kids never had rocket propelled grenades. If they did, I doubt the stern consolation of the local pastor would have been enough to turn them around. So this is Belfast: (Note: I had no idea John Belushi and Jeff Foxworthy were part of the IRA)