It was about a month ago today that I arrived in Dublin, on day four of my trip around Europe. In order to celebrate the anniversary, I figured nothing could be more fitting than completing – finally – my blog about the experience.
DUBLIN
I knew I’d arrived in Dublin when I saw the Irish-jig-dancing street sign on the side of the road (see bright orange picture way below in the previous post). Making my way to the hostel, I caught my reflection in a shop window and decided officially that my facial hair had become too much a part of my traveling identity to get rid of. Resolved to keep it until Madrid (the next time I would be in any sort of respectable social interaction), I found my hostel, dropped off my bag in the 16-person dorm – full of napping travelers who had spent the evening before draining pints of Guinness – and then headed off to a pub to indulge in a plate of fish and chips. After dinner, completely exhausted – possibly from the several days of travel I had under my belt, but more probably from the fish and chip grease struggling to digest itself under my belt – I returned to the hostel and passed out.
Only to wake up at 4:15am from the alarm of one of the other travelers. And then again at 4:20am by his companion. And then again at 4:23am by that fellow’s companion. And then once again at 4:30am from the alarm of the first bloke (a wonderful word, I've decided), who it seems had just hit snooze rather than actually getting up.
For about a half an hour, this group of four or five travelers slowly made their exit, waking up the rest of us in the process. The downside, I fear, of paying 15 euro for a room.
Despite my interrupted slumber, the day that followed was one of the more satisfying I had on the entire trip. Rather than walking around aimlessly on foot, as I’d done in Bristol and Cork, I decided to spend the extra money on a hop-on, hop-off, double-decker guided tour bus that brought me to all of the major sights in the greater Dublin area. Most of the drivers/guides were fairly low keyed, sticking to the more traditional “on your left you’ll see the Dublin Castle” script, but one of the drivers proved to have exactly the type of sense of humor that I aspire to foster within myself. Rather than hopping off at the next sight on the list, I decided to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ride with this guy for about 40 minutes, taking in both the views and the jokes. Below, his best lines:
- (As we passed an old graveyard): The crossword inventor is buried here. To find his grave, all you’ve got to do is count the tombstones… three down, four across.
- Wonderful woman, my wife. Fantastic chef, too. Only person I know who uses a smoke alarm as a cooking timer.
- What’s the definition of mixed emotions? Watching your mother-in-law drive off a cliff in your new car. (No offense to any of the mothers-in-law out there.)
- (As we passed an old bell tower): For many years, there was an old bell ringer who was exceptionally devoted to his job. Every day he would ring the bell. Poured his heart into it. One day, though, the rope broke. Not wanting to let down the people of Dublin, he climbed up into the bell and started ringing the bell with his head. After a while, he knocked himself unconscious and fell down to the floor. As the nearby people gathered around him, somebody asked, “Anybody know his name?” A fellow nearby responded, “Not sure about the name, but his face sure rings a bell…”
Brilliant.
I could have spent all day riding on that bus, but the driver had, unfortunately for me, finished his route. So I hopped off, hopped onto the next bus, and went straight to the Guinness factory for an excellent tour of the 250-year-old brewery. (Did you know that Arthur Guinness and his wife had 21 children?)
On the way back, we passed the Dublin Zoo. I didn’t get off, but I did learn the lion who roars in the beginning of the MGM films was born inside the grounds.
Monday night, I went to a performance of traditional Irish music and dance, during the course of which I decided that if my eventual marriage to the daughter of an Italian winemaker ever fails, I’ll definitely try to make something work with an Irish step dancer.
BELFAST
The next morning I boarded a bus at 6:00am and headed north to Belfast, Northern Ireland, where I would spend the morning before taking a ferry to Scotland.
Unlike the other cities I stopped in, Belfast isn’t really a tourist attraction, at least in the traditional sense. You don’t walk around taking photos, ooohing and ahhing at the architecture and the museums. Rather, you hop in a “black cab” and drive around the Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods, learning about the history of the Troubles while seeing the various politically and religiously charged murals painted throughout the city. My driver, Fyrtle (stellar name), was a fascinating man, full of personal experiences with his country’s violent past.
Some of the things I learned from and about Fyrtle:
- He was born in 1967, two years before the official start of the Troubles in 1969. As he put it, “Growing up, the Troubles were all I knew.”
- Although Catholic, he’s married to a Protestant woman – something that happens rarely in Belfast. He said that when people refer to his marriage as “mixed,” he’ll respond proudly, “yep, it’s mixed: me wife’s a woman, I’m a man.”
- Only about 4,000 people died during the Troubles, yet everybody in Belfast knew personally somebody who was killed by the violence.
- Today, over 90% of Belfast’s neighborhoods – and, in turn, schools – are segregated
My ride with Fyrtle lasted for about an hour and a half, and it was the most engaging hour and a half of my 11 days of travel. Having spent considerable time in Israel, Fyrtle spent much of the ride drawing comparisons between the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and the Northern Ireland conflict. In his eyes, the Palestinians were like the Catholics, and Hamas similar to the IRA. He was a rational man, and refused to justify terrorism, but did insist people need to be careful when judging the actions of groups like Hamas and the IRA. As he put it, “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”
As I learned from Fyrtle, the Troubles came to what many people consider an “end” in 1998, with the Belfast Agreement, which, among many things, returned self-government to Northern Ireland, and stated that if a majority of Northern Ireland’s citizens ever votes for Northern Ireland’s complete independence from Great Britain, said independence shall be granted. Right now, the majority in Northern Ireland is still Protestant, but Fyrtle pointed out that the Catholic Church’s position on birth control is only helping the Catholics' situation, because Catholic families – who refuse to use contraceptives – continue to have many more children than Protestant families. Fyrtle believes that as a result, the Catholic population will continue to grow at a much faster rate than that of the Protestants, increasing Northern Ireland’s chances of one day gaining complete independence.
GLASGOW
My ride with Fyrtle ended at Belfast’s ferry docks, where I bid Fyrtle farewell, then boarded a ferry to Scotland. Although tempted by Space Chimps, the onboard movie, I opted to read my book instead.
Arriving on the western coast of Scotland, I took a lovely train ride north to Glasgow (pronounced Glaws-go, NOT Glass-gow, as I quickly learned). The Hogwarts Express scenes in the Harry Potter movies were filmed in Scotland, and it was easy to see why. Once in Glasgow, I sent some Scottish kilt postcards to my family, then spent the night couchsurfing once again, this time with a wonderfully hospitable Glaswegian family, the members of which are actually coming to Newton this summer (a trip they planned long before ever meeting me). Small world indeed.
With only a morning in Glasgow before my flight to Barcelona, I didn’t have time to see much, so I went back to my wander-around-aimlessly tactic. The only real highlight was the Necropolis (see picture, below), which looked more like a giant game of chess than a graveyard.
BARCELONA
Barcelona, I’ve decided, is probably the coolest city I’ve ever been to. Other competitors would have to be Rome, Asheville, NC, Guilin, China (unreal rivers and mountains) and Ripton, VT (just kidding). Rather than taking another tour bus around, I rented a bike from one of the waiters at my hostel and explored the city by wheel. An excellent choice, despite the 10-minute onslaught of hail. Sights included several Gaudì buildings, a Picasso museum, a contemporary art museum (much cooler than the art, I thought, were the skateboarders outside), the F.C. Barcelona stadium, the beach, the Olympic park (Barcelona hosted in the summer of 1992), and the tourist-packed Rambla, a street where you can buy anything. Literally, anything: aside from the expected souvenir vendors, the street is also full of drug dealers and prostitutes. (Don't worry. I purchased nothing.)
Rather than trying to do the city justice with words, I’ll let the photos do the blogging for me.
Perhaps my favorite photo in Barcelona. This sign was posted on the outside of a fountain, near the coast. Apparently it's not okay to swim, but it is recommended that you yield to high-jumpers as they get hit by lightning bolts.
Sailboats, and the approaching storm.
Great day for a sail?
Definitely not a great day for a sail.
Until I was able to find shelter, the hail made for an interesting bike ride.
Art inside the MACBA.
Skateboarder and pedestrian.
Naked turtle riding.
MADRID
At the end of my second day in Barcelona, I took a 10-hour-long overnight train ride west, to Madrid. Entering my six-person bunkroom on the train, it was reassuring to smell that I wasn’t the only traveler who hadn’t showered in several days. Snuggling into my pillow (a couple cotton T-shirts stuffed into a sweatshirt), I managed to sleep well enough, and arrived in Madrid early on the morning of day nine to meet up with my friend Mike from Middlebury, also working as an English language assistant.
By day, we mostly just walked around, stopping only in the Reina Sofia museum, where you can see, among many other fantastic exhibits, Picasso’s Guernica. By night, we went out for tapas and then met up with Mike’s extremely fun, and extremely international group of friends. Represented countries included the U.S., Spain, Italy, Ireland, Bulgaria, and several other places in both Europe and Latin America. Hanging out was how I imagine it must be at a United Nations summit after-party.
At the end of my second day in Barcelona, I took a 10-hour-long overnight train ride west, to Madrid. Entering my six-person bunkroom on the train, it was reassuring to smell that I wasn’t the only traveler who hadn’t showered in several days. Snuggling into my pillow (a couple cotton T-shirts stuffed into a sweatshirt), I managed to sleep well enough, and arrived in Madrid early on the morning of day nine to meet up with my friend Mike from Middlebury, also working as an English language assistant.
By day, we mostly just walked around, stopping only in the Reina Sofia museum, where you can see, among many other fantastic exhibits, Picasso’s Guernica. By night, we went out for tapas and then met up with Mike’s extremely fun, and extremely international group of friends. Represented countries included the U.S., Spain, Italy, Ireland, Bulgaria, and several other places in both Europe and Latin America. Hanging out was how I imagine it must be at a United Nations summit after-party.
At 3:30am on Sunday morning, April 19 -- after two days and a night in Madrid -- I took a cab from Mike’s apartment to the Madrid airport, boarded my third plane in 11 days, and headed back to Italy. By early afternoon I was back in my apartment, napping soundly in my bed.
All in all, it was an extraordinary experience. Definitely refreshing to be able to get outside of Italy for a bit and see some of the old continent.
My plans for the next three weeks: relax in Crema as much as possible while enjoying the arrival of Italian summer. Then, in come my parents, and off we’ll go on an epic, northern Italian adventure, before returning together to the States on June 15th. Just over a month away.
If you’ve made it all the way through this post, I commend you for you dedication, and thank you for your time.
Hope all’s well,
Nate
