My Mecca

Ever since I was a small boy I felt a strange affinity for a land I'd never seen, a people I'd never known, and a heritage which I only knew by the blood that ran through my veins. When I was 12 I lied to my friends that I had family in the IRA, though at the time I barely knew what connotations that carried, only that I felt it was important and that I wanted some link to my adopted home country. I've always wanted to come to this place and I've only been here for two days, but this already feels more like home than sleeping in that small room with two beds behind San Tomas expressway with a trampoline out one window and Roger the Cat curled up on Luke's bed.

First arriving in Belfast, I felt almost overwhelmed as I began to recognize street names: Kings, Donnegall, Falls, Shankhill. This is where the Troubles raged for so many years, where so many Irishmen gave their lives, some to keep the nation divided and others trying to unite it. Many don't know that it wasn't a battle of religions, Protestant vs. Catholic, but of Politics, Ireland vs. England. The picture above is me in the Falls Road area of Belfast, the Nationalist side, and where I would most definitely have resided had I been there and had to have chosen a side. I would've used the Surnames from my Mom's side, Daly or Burns, though I wouldn't have been a Catholic, and wouldn't have agreed with the violence that was so heavily employed by both sides. They always portray the IRA as terrorists, but the question of one man's freedom fighter being another man's terrorist was ever present in my mind as I walked these streets. I held back tears as I walked the memorial the the IRA and Sinn Fein members who had fallen during the Troubles and as I meditated on the will power of the hunger strikers who died trying to obtain political prisoner status.

Early the next morning, Melody, Jenny, and I headed back to the Falls Road area to the Sinn Fein bookstore where we met a lady who had been shot by a soldier during the 70s when she was simply trying to let other people know that one of the hunger strikers had died. They did so by banging garbage can lids on the ground to call out the people to march in solidarity. A soldier fired a plastic bullet at point blank into her hand, and killed the girl just down the street from her. She referred us to the Irish Republic Museum, run by ex-political prisoners such as Johnny, with whom I'm pictured below. He talked to me about the reasons behind the troubles and showed us a film that summed up the main parts of it. As I watched the film, I recongized parts of the neighborhood around which we had been walking that previous evening and current morning--masked IRA and UVF gunmen patrolling the streets with submachine guns, people walking in protest, and police crackdowns and raids. Understanding the history of the Troubles and of Irish Independence is to understand why people are fighting us in Iraq, why so many have fought imperialists, and the importance of recognizing the will of the people and their ability to organize autonomous nations, among so many other issues. Belfast was stirring.

We set out for Coleraine to meet up with the wonderful Ms. Tori Harris who is doing an internship at the University there. After picking her up from the train station we headed to the Antrim Coast where we played around in ancient castles, ran around on the Giants' Causeway, made new friends, drove on the left side of the road, dumpster dived, at ice cream, did handstands (well, I did anyway), and were in general awe of the absolute beauty that is Ireland. Jenny summed it up best when she said, "This is Heaven." If I thought I wanted to live in Switzerland, it was only because I'd never been here before. It wasn't as mentally challenging/stimulating/stirring as Belfast's history, but it was the most beautiful landscape I've ever beheld.


It only continued to get better as today we drove down to Galway which turned out to be one of the worst driving experiences of my life. Try to imagine tiny two way streets with cars parked on them so that it's basically a one-lane two-way street, crowded beyond belief thought it was only midday, with pedestrians darting left and right, twists and turns that led to random one way streets and do not enter signs, no immediate parking in sight, and this all with a stick shift at my left side, my steering wheel on the right side of the car, and all of us on the left side of the road. It is a miracle that we have avoided all accidents. I will rival Jason Bourne in driving ability by the end of this trip. So, after passing a few trucks that should NEVER have been driving on tiny country roads due to size, load, and inability to pass almost anything without only going 20 km/h, after speeding due to having to wait behind said trucks, and after some amazing views with handstacked rock fences that partitioned the most luscious green countryside you'll ever see from here to the afterlife, we finally made it to the ferry to Inish Mor of the Aran Islands. If I thought that the Giant's Causeway and the North Coast were amazing, this place blew me away. We biked all over, which was the best workout of this whole trip, and ended up at Dun Aengus, a Iron/Bronze age fort overlooking 300 foot sheer cliffs. Look at the pictures. I didn't attempt a handstand here. I did hang out over the edge as much as I could. I don't know why I have this ridiculous obsession with heights.

So Ireland is amazing. If I never make it back to the United States, this will be why. I'll find some job at a hostel here, marry some French girl who's lived in Ireland since a little girl so that she has the right accent, and live in the land that I've dreamed of since I was just a wee lad. Enjoy this last video, I have plenty more for when I get back. To me those cliffs were the end of the world, the place where my feet were meant to find the end of their travels, at least in finding that contentment and heritage and homeland that I've longed for since before I can remember. My home, at last.