Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Back Again

Today was our last, and arguably best, day in Dublin. It's also the last day of the trip, which is bittersweet. We have all been blessed on this trip with amazing friends, incredible experiences, and unforgettable adventures. Tonight at dinner, Dr. Elsner asked us what changed about us on the trip and what we will take away from our experiences in Ireland. Here's what some of us said:
Cali: I see places like the Cliffs of Moher and the Giant's Causeway, and I wonder what Eden was like."
Sam: "My faith is opening up, and I'm learning how to make it my own."
Chelsea: "I loved watching the interactions between people and seeing a new culture and their relationships."
Pete: "We are stuck in our ways, so we ignore other people's views. And I think experiencing something like this helps us understand the world better."
Kathleen: "I loved the unexpected things, like making dinner or going to places that weren't on the itinerary, and I learned to appreciate it." 

Today we went to the Dublin Writer's Museum and Trinity College Dublin. The Dublin Writer's Museum featured original manuscripts of W.B. Yeats, James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, G.B. Shaw, Oscar Wilde and others, as well as copies of iconic pieces of literature like Spenser's The Faerie Queene. I think my favorite part was seeing the signed, first edition copy of Ulysses, and even though we weren't allowed to take pictures in the museum, I snuck a few because there was no way I was leaving that museum without a picture of Joyce's signature. The museum was located in an old home, so the upstairs featured a library collection of first edition works by Irish writers, like a first edition copy of Dubliners, Joyce's short story collection, which has my favorite short story, "The Dead." Sam surprised me with my very own copy of Dubliners that she bought at the museum gift shop, so now, I finally have a copy! She was so precious to get it for me! 

The signed, fist edition copy of Ulysses

Next we went to the Old Library at Trinity College Dublin, which features the Book of Kells as well as the infamous Long Room, which is ranked as one of the prettiest libraries in the world and was definitely on my bucket list. I'm not gonna lie... I cried when I walked inside. In the center of the room they have temperature controlled, first edition copies of classic books and graphic novels ranging from medieval psalters to The Hunger Games. The most breathtaking part of the library was the walls lined with ancient books preserved for the generations. Literature has been, and will always be, my passion, and one of the many things that draws me to literature is its timeless essence. Words transcend generations, uplift souls, inspire actions, and influence culture. More than weapons of mass destruction, more than fashion statements, more than the glances of models and actors on TV, the written word continuously inspires and brings growth to generations. The words that James Joyce penned one hundred years ago are still poignant today and one hundred years from today. That's what I love about literature: it connects us to the past and the future and enriches our present.

Trinity College Dublin

In "The Dead" Joyce uses snow as a symbol for the unification of all people. The main character, Gabriel, believes that he is better than everyone at his aunts' Christmas party, and the entire story he is worried about including a quote by Robert Browning in his annual Christmas speech because he thinks it would be too sophisticated for his audience. Yet by the end of the story when his wife confesses she is in love with someone else and he ostracized himself from everyone at the party, Gabriel realizes that he is not as special as he once believed. "The Dead" ends with Joyce's description of Gabriel looking out the hotel window at the snow. Joyce writes, "His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead." Just as the snow symbolizes unity between all people in Joyce's "The Dead," I believe that literature symbolizes the unity between people and cultures. My soul certainly swooned slowly when I entered the library today.

The long room

This trip has taught me a lot about myself and how I relate to others. I have been challenged physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I have explored another culture and another world and found that it is not so different from my own. I have traveled far and wide. There were parts I didn't like, there were parts that stretched me, and there were parts that taxed me. But there were also glorious parts that fed my soul and my heart, that opened my eyes to unexpected glories, and that nurtured my spiritual journey in unimaginable ways. Like Bilbo in The Hobbit, I discovered that I'm a lot braver than I thought I was. I may not be a burglar now, and I certainly didn't aid in a battle between five armies, but I did grow and change on this trip, and I think that growth and change was for the better. 

At the end of The Return of the King, Frodo continues the traveling poem Bilbo wrote at the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring. Frodo's continuation is this:

The road goes ever on and on 
Out from the door where it began
Now far ahead the road has gone
Let others follow it who can
Let them a new journey begin
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn
My evening-rest and sleep to meet

I must admit, I am happy about going home, back to my armchair, my book, and my cup of tea, but I don't think my armchair will be as comfortable as the one in Limerick, my book as beautiful as The Book of Kells, or my tea as strong or satisfying as the cup I could get in a corner cafe. And I KNOW I can't get scones as good as the ones I had here. But home is where I belong, and it is wonderful...just in a different way.   

The copy of The Hobbit at TCD. 

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

The Road Goes Ever On and On

Today was a long and busy day full of plenty of adventures. This morning we woke up to continental breakfast at the Belfast Youth Hostel where we spent the night. Afterwards, we loaded our stuff onto a charter bus and headed out on a tour of The Giant's Causeway area. On the way to the Giant's Causeway we stopped at Carrickfergus Castle, Carrick-a-rede rope bridge, and Bushmill's Distillery. After all of that we returned to Belfast at 5:50, just in time to catch the 6:00 bus to Dublin. Upon arrival, Sam led us to our hotel where we were able to put down our bags and wander around the block where our hotel is, looking for a place that took credit cards and served food at 9:00 at night. We finally found a hole-in-the-wall pizza place that served pizza, chips, dip, and a drink for €5.00 a person. Someone made the comment that in Northern Ireland, you can't even get a drink for €5.00. Now, we are full, sleepy, and ready for bed.

Carrickfergus Castle was home of William of Orange during the Battle of the Boyne on the outskirts of Belfast. We did not go in the castle because they charged admission, but we wandered around the outside and took a few pictures. In front of the castle was a life sized statue of William of Orange, who is said to have been four feet tall. Luke decided that it would be fun to measure how tall William of Orange was in comparison to me. I'm just excited I'm purportedly taller than a king. Afterwards, we drove two hours along the coastal rode to the area around the Giant's Causeway. While riding along, we passed many fishing villages, salmon farms, and beautiful landscapes. From the coast, we could actually see the country of Scotland, and at one point we were only twelve miles away from the Scottish shore. The coastal road was absolutely picturesque, and I finally began taking pictures with my camera out the bus window because I couldn't resist capturing the absolute splendor.

Carrickfergus Castle

One of the villages we passed on the coastal road

When we made it out to the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge, the sunshine we enjoyed this morning began fading. We didn't walk across the rope bridge either because it also cost an inordinate amount of money, but we got some absolutely beautiful pictures of the coastline and enjoyed tea and cake in a cafe. While we were in the cafe, it began to snow, and it snowed intermittently the rest of the day. Our next stop was Bushmill's Distillery where we stopped for thirty or forty-five minutes to have lunch at their cafe. To complete our day tour, we ended up at the Giant's Causeway.

View of the rope bridge

The Giant's Causeway was created when lava rock hardened in hexagonal shapes forming intricate patterns along the coast. In ancient times, the people believed that these rocks were actually remains of a city of giants that once lived there and the rocks that moved out towards the water were remains of a road that led to Scotland. Another story says that Celtic Giants from Scotland and Pict Giants from Ireland would have wars, and one Celtic Giant fell in love with a Pict Giant, so his wife burned the Giant's City so that her husband would not cheat on her again. Another one of the formations that lends itself to stories are a series of long rocks on the side of the cliff that are called The Giant's Organ because they are in the shape of a pan pipe. The legend says that this pipe was left behind by one of the giants.

The Giant's Causeway


The Giant's Organ

Something I found particularly fascinating due to my obsession with Tolkien is that a lot of the rocks along the cliffs jutted out like doors and windows into the face of the cliff. It reminded me of the secret door into The Lonely Mountain. I think this was especially true since the road up to the cliffs and the Giant's Organ made me reminiscent of the mountain walks in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. While we were touring the Causeway, the snow got heavier, creating an even stronger Middle Earth feel to the area. Needless to say, I was enamored. In fact, the pathway reminded me of the poem from the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, which goes:
The road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the road has gone
And I must follow if I can
Pursuing it with eager feet
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet
And whither then? I cannot say


I can understand why the area was called The Giant's Causeway. The sheer magnanimity of the coast would make even the largest person feel small. But I think it is nice to be reminded of how small we truly are. Dr. Seuss wrote, "A person is a person no matter how small." There is a humbling beauty to realizing there is a wide, wonderful world that is greater and more lovely than we can ever know, and more importantly that we have a creator who is wider, deeper, higher, and bigger than our world can even depict is as humbling as it is comforting. I think sometimes we think about the largeness of the world as being scary and intimidating, but in reality, it should be a comfort to know that God is greater than even the Giant's Causeway.


Monday, January 12, 2015

The Valley in the Mirror

Today we left our beautiful B&B in Armagh and traveled to Belfast. Though we had intended to spend the day on a coastal tour of the Giant's Causeway, we decided instead to visit the C.S. Lewis Memorial on the other side of town. But since C.S. Lewis is my favorite author, I didn't mind. Right now, we are sitting in a cafe called French Village having coffee and pastries, and I don't think I could have had a better day.

Kissing C.S. Lewis...because why not? 

Maureen, the owner of the B&B, actually drove us and our baggage to the bus station this morning after cooking us a full breakfast complete with rashers, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. She was an absolutely precious woman, and I actually miss her. Anyway, we got on a bus and headed towards Belfast, arriving at the edge of the city an hour later. It was only a block and a half to our hostel, and though the rooms are small, we have a warm room with a roof over our heads and a bed, so I can't complain. Also, my room number is 221, and the Sherlock Holmes fan in me appreciates that.

We stopped in for lunch at a cafe called Bright's and had soups and sandwiches before we headed out to the C.S. Lewis memorial. It was a longer walk than I anticipated, but it was well worth it. The memorial depicted Lewis walking into the wardrobe as if he were stepping into Narnia. And while I love Narnia, it makes me a little sad that there was no reference to Lewis's other works. Still, Belfast was Lewis's home when he was a child, and Narnia is his most childlike work. One thing that I appreciate about Lewis, and other writers like him, is that The Chronicles of Narnia is not just for children but is also applicable to adults. I think that's the most important element of a children's or young adult book: it can be appreciated by all audiences, even if you appreciate it differently.

C.S. Lewis memorial

The thing I loved most about the C.S. Lewis memorial was that it was set up in front of the library. I like to think that Lewis would appreciate being in front of a library. It seems like a good place for a memorial to a bibliophile. We walked another block down to the church where Lewis attended as a child. Unfortunately, the church was closed, so we couldn't go in, but I did sit on the steps. It was interesting to see the church where Lewis grew up because for a lot of his life he was an atheist. Ironically, Tolkien lamented that when Lewis became a Christian, he went to a Protestant church instead of a Catholic church like him. Then again, Tolkien played a significant role in Lewis's life, so I suppose it is only fair that he would want to have an influence in Lewis's spiritual journey as well. Still, the two remained great friends.

At St. Mark's

We took a bus back to the city center from St. Mark's (Lewis's church), and I spent some time talking to a guy from Belfast who had worked at a summer camp in Hendersonville, North Carolina. We had barely gotten on the bus when he tapped me on the shoulder and asked where I lived in America. I guess I have an accent or something. Anyway, while we were talking, he commented on the peace walls, which I had noticed earlier, though I didn't know what they were. He explained that these murals on brick walls around town were painted during times of violence in Belfast. In my earlier post about the differences between North Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, I mentioned that Northern Ireland still had a lot of political conflict, especially between Catholics and Protestants, and a lot of that political conflict took place in Belfast. Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture of any of the murals, but they generally depicted armed men and were captioned with political slogans--chilling reminders of what once was and what is still going on under the surface.

The guy on the bus also called to my attention that the country of Northern Ireland has a population half the size of Manhattan, yet it seems so much bigger to me than Manhattan. It is funny to think that a tiny island in our large country is actually larger than some countries in other parts of the world. I suppose until we have a global perspective, we don't really understand our place in the rest of the world. I was talking to Kathleen on the bus this morning, and she said that though everyone seemed to think other countries were so much better, she liked home just as well. And that got me thinking that the grass may mot be greener on the other side; it may simply be a different type of grass. Still, if international travel has taught me anything, it has taught me to put my life as an American in a different perspective. 

Since I began with C.S. Lewis, I would like to end him as well. When I was younger, I was invited into the world of Narnia by my third grade elementary school teacher. At first, I thought it was a strange world where beavers and lions and fauns talked and had tea and witches tempted boys with Turkish Delight (I later had Turkish Delight... It was not tempting). Yet through my confusion, it slowly dawned on me that it was an allegory for Christ's sacrifice for us.  And to my third grade mind, it actually brought the message of the Gospel alive in a way that nothing else ever had. And so I embarked on a spiritual journey with Lewis, and I've never gone back.  

In The Last Battle, Lewis writes, “It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different - deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more.” When my grandfather was dying, I read this passage to him because for the first time I felt like I could see heaven, and I knew where he would be. For me, there is an innate comfort in the writings of C.S. Lewis, and that comfort came alive again today.   

Sunday, January 11, 2015

A Tale of Two Churches

Today we went to two St. Patrick's cathedrals, one Roman Catholic and one Church of Ireland. It was interesting to compare the two services, both of which focused on Jesus's baptism. After church, we went to a small cafe called Fat Sam's that was Cassablanca themed and played Broadway show tunes. After lunch, we headed back to the B&B for a Sunday afternoon nap, and we gathered in the common room of the B&B around five to discuss dinner plans and veg out in front of the TV. We decided on another night of pizza and movies because none of us really wanted to get out in the cold and wind. Tomorrow we will travel to Belfast and then to The Giant's Causeway, but today I am thankful for another day of sabbath. 

"Here's looking at you, kid."

Traditionally, Catholicism and Protestantism have never blended together. The whole impetus of the Reformation was to separate from Catholic doctrine, yet when we separate ourselves, we forget that we all worship the same God. I was reminded of this today after participating in both Catholic and Protestant mass. I think too often we let theological differences impede our ability to worship, and when we do this, we miss the purpose of Jesus's ministry. Our responsibility as Christians is to separate ourselves from the world but certainly not from each other. Participating in Catholic and Protestant worship and appreciating both worship styles is one way that we can set each other apart. We can refuse to let trivial differences dominate our attitudes towards the faiths of others and appreciate worship for what it truly should be: an expression of religious devotion.

Our day of worship began at St. Patrick's Cathedral RC, where we had an abbreviated mass honoring Jesus's Baptism. The cathedral was beautiful, albeit brand new by cathedral standards (I think it was only 150-200 years old), and though worship seemed a little rushed, the mass was a beautiful expression of the significance of baptism, not only in the life of Jesus Christ but also in the life of the average Christian. In the eleven o'clock service, the priest announced that they would be recognizing all of the babies who were baptized in the church that year, which I thought was a good way to re-emphasize the importance of baptism. 

St. Patrick's RC

During the sermon the priest talked about the role of baptism as the beginning of the journey to knowing Christ and showing Christ in our lives. As we think about baptism, we must ask important questions like: What does it mean to be part of the church? What is our baptismal call? My favorite part of the sermon, however, was when the priest said that our place of baptism is where our spiritual journey begins. This made me think about my own baptism just a few short years ago at Greenwood First Baptist Church, and I would venture to say that, in my own case, the priest is right. I am so thankful that I was baptized at GFBC and that it has become my spiritual home and place of nourishment. GFBC has encouraged me in my spiritual journey and has helped me grow in my walk with Christ in ways I could not imagine.

The altar at St. Patrick's RC

After 9:00 mass, we strolled over to the Church of Ireland cathedral for 11:00 mass. We met the dean of the cathedral, an adorable, older gentleman who was as erudite as he was affable, before the service, though the treasurer delivered the sermon this morning. St. Patrick's was an one thousand year old church and the final resting place of the great Brian Boru of Cashel fame. It is also the original home of the Book of Armagh, which contains the writings of St. Patrick. The book is now in the Trinity College library in Dublin; however, they have a copy of both the Book of Armagh and the Book of Kells in the church. 

St. Patrick's, Church of Ireland

While the Catholic service focused on the role of the Christian with regards to Baptism, the Protestant service focused on Jesus's baptism as a symbol for how how we should behave as Christians. The sermon focused on the idea that Jesus's baptism is a symbol of his connection with the baptized. The treasurer quoted Swiss theologian Karl Barth who said, "Pointing to Jesus is the one aim of the theologian and the preacher." Yet, this is also how the Christian should behave. Just as John the Baptist's role during Jesus's baptism was to point towards the ministry of Jesus and the advent of the Holy Spirit, our role as baptized Christians is to point to the work of Jesus Christ. He then asked three important questions:
Do we seek to follow the example of John the Baptist and point others to Jesus?
Are we willing to declare that Christ is the beloved?
Do our lives demonstrate that the heavens have been torn apart and that the Holy Spirit as descended upon us?

The altar at St. Patrick's, Church of Ireland

As we move away from the liturgical season of Christ's birth and into the shadow of the cross, I think it is important to keep in mind the role of baptism as the beginning of a spiritual journey and as another way that we are all connected as Christians, regardless of whether we are Protestant or Catholic. We are unified in baptism just as we are unified in our belief in Christ. Furthermore, we are all unified in our spiritual journey, a journey that necessitates Christlike behavior and precludes our egotistical attempts to self aggrandize our own theological musings. Instead of making our trivial differences important, we should make Christ important because after all, when it is all said and done, all that really matters is Jesus Christ. Today, I went to two different churches united by the same name and the same devotion to Christ, and I left feeling that maybe we would all be better off if we were the same way.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

North and South

As I mentioned previously, today was a travel day, so there's not much to report on. We left at 7:00 this morning from Galway and arrived in Armagh around one o'clock, which was earlier than expected. But in between Galway and Armagh, we experienced virtually every type of weather imaginable. When we left Galway it was rainy, windy, and cold, when we arrived in Dublin it was sunny, and when we arrived in Northern Ireland, it started snowing, our first (and probably only) snow of 2015. We decided to blame Jordan for the snow since she was singing "Snow" from White Christmas during our layover at the Dublin Airport. Apparently, what doesn't work for Bing Crosby and Danny Kay works for Jordan Joseph. Travel was relatively rough since we are all tired, or sick, or a combination of the two. The crying baby in the back of our first bus didn't help matters much, and neither did my breakfast of a ham, cheese, and margarine sandwich. In Cali's words, "It's just weird. Butter on a sandwich!" 

It is funny to think that now that we've arrived in Northern Ireland, we are actually in the UK and not in The Republic of Ireland (where we've been the entire trip) anymore. I was confused as to why Northern Ireland was separate from the Republic of Ireland, so I did a little research this afternoon, and I found a great article from BBC that explained everything. The split between the North and the South was initially caused after WWI when Dublin and the south of Ireland split from the UK and declared their independence. Dublin and southern Ireland were predominantly Catholic at the time, while Northern Ireland was predominantly Protestant, and this aided in the tension between north and south. The separation was extremely violent and resulted in many deaths. However, the split wasn't peaceful, and Northern Ireland has struggled politically ever since. The main struggle in Northern Ireland is between Nationalists and Unionists. Nationalists believe that Northern Ireland should join the Republic of Ireland in their independence, while Unionists want to remain part of the UK. Northern Ireland moved toward peace with the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, which gave Northern Ireland the right to form their own parliament while still keeping flexible borders between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.

Despite the conflict in Northern Ireland, none of it is present in the day-to-day lives of the people of Armagh. Armagh is a quiet town with a beautiful square and small, local shops. In fact, after we got off the bus, we stopped in at the Seven Hills Cafe for tea and a light lunch.Our proprietor of the B&B where we are staying was nice enough to drive out to the cafe to pick up us and our luggage. Her nephews came as well so that there would be enough room for all of us. The guy that drove Jordan, Kristin, and I to the B&B was very nice. He was interested to know how Ireland compared with the rest of the world, particularly America, and he was shocked to find out that Ireland had better food. We explained to him that most people in America don't get to eat local, homegrown meats and veggies even though we should. Tonight, we stayed indoors because of the sleet and snow. Dr. Elsner ordered Dominos pizza, which tastes exactly like American Dominos, and we watched the ends of Mr. Bean and Shrek 2 while eating Irish candy. Kurt says American candy is better, but I couldn't taste the difference. Tomorrow we will go to 9:00 mass at the Catholic church followed by 11:00 mass at the Anglican church. I will be interested in comparing the two services tomorrow. But more than that I am really excited about taking advantage of worshipping in as many cathedrals as possible before we have to go back to America. 

*Disclaimer... In this post I make it sound like we have walked through a blizzard, and I should probably rephrase. The snow is not sticking and most of the time it's a mixture between sleet and snow. That, however, does not negate its existence, and for South Carolinians anything frozen is a big deal, though the concept of frozen is generally limited to the section in the grocery store and the Disney movie.

Rashers and Rugby

I was too tired to blog when we got back to our room last night, but I guess that's what long bus rides this morning are for. Yesterday, we left the Aran Islands by the eight o'clock ferry for Galway. The water was just as choppy as the day before, but we weren't allowed on the top deck like last time, probably because of the fog and the mist. It wasn't time for the sun to rise yet, so pictures would have been superfluous anyway. The sun rises later here, never before eight thirty, and it would be a miracle if we could see it at all. It has rained or misted for the past few days leaving us in a perpetual state of wet, especially yesterday when it rained so hard it seeped through our raincoats. But enough about the cons of travel in January!

When we woke up at the B&B, they had a lovely full Irish breakfast prepared for us, and I learned that the slices of bacon are called rashers. Whatever it was, it was homemade and delicious, especially the coffee. The ride back to Galway was relatively peaceful, though it rained the whole time. When we arrived in Galway, we had some trouble finding the hostel where we were to stay, but once we finally did, we were able to relax in one of the hostel's common rooms and dry out for about an hour, making good use of the wifi. Afterwards, we went out to eat and did a bit of shopping down a cobblestone street completely reserved for pedestrians. I definitely felt like I was walking down the Muggle version of Diagon Alley. After window shopping and a nice lunch of warm bread and soup, we went back to the hostel to rest up before the main event: the rugby match. 

Because at rugby matches you always take selfies.

I know nothing about sports, I'm not particularly interested in sports, and most football games my father watches he watches in the bedroom because he knows my mom and I don't like it; however, I really like rugby. There is something gladiatorial yet graceful about the sheer violence and the brutal skill of the players that makes rugby seem more like watching an artistic expression than a game. More than that, I think, the beauty of rugby can be found in its inherent connection to the tradition of the Olympic games played by the Greeks so long ago. That's what makes rugby fascinating to me.

The rugby match was between Connacht (the Galway team) and Edinburgh, so the game was pretty intense because we all know how much the Irish love the Brits. Before the game, we went to a bar called An Pucan and got drinks and dinner. Dr. Elsner provided us all with matching Connacht rugby jerseys for the occasion, so we fit right in with the crowd. Dr. Elsner's friend, a former rugby player named Ciaran, joined us for a drink and explained the game of rugby to us. A kindly, older gentleman, Ciaran seemed far from connected to the brutality of the rugby game. Then again, until yesterday my only experience with rugby was watching Invictus. Oh, and that rugby shirt I got from Limited Too in third grade. Ciaran explained the game of rugby as best as he could to us, but he also explained that though he played rugby for years, he still didn't know all the rules to the game.

Rugby in its earliest form was played in English schools starting in 1823 between the houses (or fraternities) of the school. Because it was a house event, there could be up to sixty players on any given team. In the beginning stages, rugby was comparable to soccer except you kicked the ball backwards or to the side rather than forwards. However, one rugby player named William Webb Ellis changed the sport forever by picking up the ball and running with it to score during the game. Because of this, the international rugby trophy is called the William Webb Ellis trophy. 

Rugby is played with fifteen players on the field for each team. There are eight forwards and seven backs. There are two halves in a rugby game, and each half is approximately forty minutes long with a ten minute "break" between the halves (they do not call it halftime, and there is no show). There are three ways to score in rugby: a try, a conversion, and a penalty. A try is a lot like a touchdown in American football, only slightly more complicated because the ball MUST touch the ground for the points to be added. A try is worth four points. A player is given a chance to score a conversion after scoring a try to add two extra points to their score. Lastly you can score a penalty kick, which is like a field goal in American football and is worth three points. One of the most famous rugby plays is the scrum which occurs after a penalty is committed by the defending side. A scrum involves eight players crouching low on the ground in a tight group with arms around each other and pushing the other team backwards to gain ground and the ball. It's basically like tug of war with bodies. 

This is a scrum.

One of the things that struck me about the rugby game was the politeness of the fans. Sure, they cheered their team on and clapped and hooted wildly when Connacht scored, but during the most intense moments of the game, the crowd was completely silent. And in that pregnant pause of hope, the focus was solely on the game--not on one particular player, not on the crowd, not even on a recording artist (probably because they didn't play music at the match). I liked this because in a game focused on barbarity, the reaction of the crowd was civil and polite, reminding me that athletics is not all about the glory from the win. 

The stadium was also interesting and very small. No bigger than a small high school football stadium, food trucks provided concessions and fans stood on concrete risers under a protected awning. Season ticket holders, of course, have box seating that is heated and provides chairs and seating, but for most fans, they stand the entire game. Children who come with their parents tend to sit on the railing which separates the crowd from the pitch in order to watch the game. They wave their flags and cheer wildly for their team. Where we stood, we were close to the goal on the right hand side of the pitch giving us great visibility for the game. Even though I am vertically challenged, I could see everything that was happening. Understanding it was a different matter, of course. 

Our view of the pitch.

Though Connacht didn't win the match and we stood out in the rain to watch it, I enjoyed my first rugby match immensely. We are on our way to Dublin now to catch a connecting bus to Armagh. It's another day for adventure, but at least we see the sun.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

On the Beach

Today we went to the Aran Islands. The morning started off with a one hour bus ride to the ferry that then transported us to the island. When we arrived, it was lunch time so we checked into our B&B only to find out that only a bar and a corner grocery store were open while we were on the island. We went to the bar for lunch and had toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, which were warm after a cold ferry ride. Afterwards, most of the group decided to hike up to the top of the island to see a fort, but Kristin and I decided to explore along the coast instead. A few hours later, Jordan and Kathleen joined us at a local coffee shop for some warm drinks. We got snacks at the corner store and headed back to the B&B for some much needed relaxation.

View from the ferry.

The Aran Islands is everything I pictured the coast of Ireland to be and even more. Extremely rocky with gale force winds, at times you feel as if you could lose your way and walk right on to the ocean. The streets are half pavement, half cobblestone and perpetually wet. If you get close enough to the ocean and away from the ferry dock, you can smell the salty air which turns your boots white if you walk too far. On the ocean road that Kristin and I took, we saw plenty of dilapidated farm houses--one of which reminded me of Wuthering Heights. There was even a white horse in front of the house.

Wuthering Heights

I've been hoping all trip for a quiet country ramble, and I finally got one along the coast today. The beauty of the waves as they crashed against the rocks, contrasted with the quiet serenity of the countryside, gave a paradoxical beauty to the scene that unfolded before me. On the way to the islands, we saw a rainbow, which is a reminder of God's constancy and power. I think the rainbow set the mood for the trip. Today was a day of peace, which, in an otherwise hectic trip, has been a blessing. A peaceful island home, a peaceful country walk, a peaceful rest in a nice armchair all contribute to an otherwise wonderful day.

The rainbow

  Don't get me wrong. I am vey thankful for the days of fast-paced travel where we can pack in beautiful sights and wonders of the world. But we have seven days left in our trip, and I'm getting rather weary. I may be on an adventure, but I'll always take an armchair and a cup of tea when I can get it.  Besides, the slow pace of the day seems to match the slow pace of the island, where stores close so shop owners can go home for lunch, where the town sleepily moves to the rhythm of the sea. I have loved all of the tourist attractions we have been enjoying, but today, especially, I feel like I am getting a glimpse of true Irish culture--the Ireland behind the mask. 

A puppt Kristin wanted to keep. 
  

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Water, Water Everywhere and Not a Drop to Drink

Please note that the title of this post comes from "The Rime of fhe Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Today was a long and rainy travel day full of plenty of adventures. We traveled from Limerick to Galway by way of the Cliffs of Moher, and just getting to all of the places on our itinerary was a challenge. First and foremost, we couldn't find a bus that would take us straight from Limerick to the Cliffs, so we had to stop for what was supposed to be an hour in a small town called Enniss. Unfortunately, our bus to Enniss broke down at the Shannon Airport, so we had to wait at the airport for thirty minutes until our new bus arrived. Luke, always one to keep things on the positive side, reminded us that at least our one hour layover in Enniss was now only thirty minutes. And when we got to the train station, we were glad it was! The train station was barely big enough for our group of eleven plus all of our luggage and provided a vending machine in the way of breakfast food. Still, I think the candy bars from the vending machine put everyone in a better mood because of our lack of sleep. Chocolate really does fix all problems. After our layover, we boarded a bus for the cliffs.

To Jordan and mine's pleasant surprise, we did not have to hike up to the cliffs in the rain and the cold. In fact, the bus brought us right to the door of the visitor's center. It was still cold and rainy, but at least we didn't have to walk far to get to warmth and food. The most notable meteorological element at the cliffs, however, was not the rain or the low temperatures but the gale force winds that whipped through with the ocean tide. Let me explain. The Cliffs of Moher are a geological and geographical wonder of the world situated on the western coast of Ireland. Basically, all you can see for miles in any direction are rolling green hills, sheep, and small country houses. Then all of a sudden you get to the cliffs and it's an incredible drop into the Atlantic Ocean below.

Pete, Kristin, Chelsea, and Cali walking up the cliffs.

Though it was cold, wet, and windy, the cliffs were a virtual playground to those daredevils who chose to get as close to the edge as possible for the perfect picture or selfie. Personally, I braved the wind long enough to get a few pictures, walk to the top of one of the cliffs, turn around, and walk back to the cafe in the visitor's center for a cup of hot chocolate and an apple. Regardless of the length of time I actually spent on the cliffs, I can't help but appreciate their splendor. Until you are there, you don't know what it's like to really be on the edge of the world. I've seen plenty of cliffs and plenty of ocean views in my lifetime, but I have never really felt like I was at the edge of the world until today. And I finally understood why our ancestors thought that if you sailed to the "end of the ocean," you would drop off into oblivion. It makes perfect sense now.



And despite the awe inspiring terror of the cliffs that mark the definitive end of the visible world, there is also something innately beautiful about these rock formations stretching up out of the ocean. It's a beauty that transcends description because it requires an intuitive presence. More than that, it is a beauty that elicits within the soul a natural response of joy and astonishment. How good and perfect is God to create this wonder! It reminded me of Isaiah 55:12, which says, "For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." I think the Cliffs of Moher are a physical representation of this.


We arrived in the town of Galway around 5:45. Its a really cool, very modern town. Most of the people who live in the town are young adults, which makes for a interesting dynamic compared to the other towns we visited that are steeped in tradition. There were two wonderful things about our arrival in Galway: it stopped raining and our hotel got upgraded. The hotel that we are staying in is currently under renovation, so they had to move us into three penthouse suites. We can see all of Galway in any direction from either our front or back porch. As I write this, I'm ensconced in a plush red leather armchair in the living room looking at the Galway "skyline" out the patio window. To make it even better our hotel is right off of Eyre Square, which shares it's name with one of my favorite books, Jane Eyre. So if I don't come back from Ireland, it's because I've found Mr. Rochester. In the morning, we will take a ferry to the Aran Islands where we will spend the night at a B&B. Hopefully there will be less rain, but it's Ireland during the rainy season so...

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Limericks about Limerick

Today we are in Limerick, from which the poetry was born. And though I have done extensive Googling, I cannot find out why poets chose to name this type of poetry after the town in Ireland. Still, most everyone loves a good limerick, even if they don't know what it is. Limericks originated with Mother Goose rhymes in the late 1700s. They are five line poems with a rhyme scheme of aabba (which means that lines one, two, and five all rhyme and lines three and four rhyme). Lines one, two, and five should contain seven to ten syllables and lines three and four should contain five to seven syllables. And I'm explaining all of this because... I wrote a series of limericks about our trip to Limerick instead of a boring blog post. So here it goes:

There was a group that left Cork this morning
And traveled to Limerick without warning
We had a long bus ride
But it was no skin off our hide
Because we made it in time for lunching

Limerick as seen from the tops of King John's castle.

There was a cathedral called St. Mary's
It was as beautiful as it was airy
Though we walked in the rain
It was without any pain
We arrived without being scary

St. Mary's cathedral

St. Mary's was built in 1168
By grandsons of King Boru of late
Because it was old
Many stories were told
In the walls and the halls and the grate

The altar of St. Mary's 

Many people were buried in the church
But this did not cause our stomachs to lurch
We wandered around
Before sitting down
On pews that were made of birch

Tomb inside St. Mary's.

There was a castle for John the king
Though John never thought to bring
Himself for a visit
So actually it isn't
English but a Norman thing

King John's castle

The castle of King John
Meant the Gaelics couldn't carry on
King Henry came to stay
And Queen Lizzie took Catholicism away
And so the age of the English began to dawn

Cali and Kathleen trying on clothes as part of the interactive exhibit at King John's.

The castle had a view
I wish you could see too
The River of Shannon
Looked just like heaven
I guess this picture will have to do

View of the Shannon River which runs through Limerick.

The castle of King John was fun
We stayed until the day was done
We played around
And made lots of sound
And explored towers, more than one!

Cali and Jordan on top of the tower at King John's.

Tomorrow we wake up early to head to the Cliffs of Moher, but tonight we are celebrating Cali's twentieth birthday with good food and yummy toffee bread pudding... A great night in honor of a great girl.

Group picture at King John's. (Photo creds: Sam McCurry)

Monday, January 5, 2015

Sink or Swim

Today was a day full of train travel and running late. We left Cork for Cobh at 11:00 instead of 10:00 like we intended because we got a little turned around. Then we had to return to Cork to wait at the train station for a train to Middleton where we almost made Dr. Elsner late for his meeting tonight. We left Jameson's Distillery rather late, so many of our group literally ran to the station. Jordan, Luke, and I didn't make it in time, so we milled around Middleton again until the next train came. We wandered around the town for a little while and talked to a lovely Irish woman on the train platform about life in Cork and Irish history. She was sweet enough to tell us that American history was just as interesting as Irish history to which Luke replied, "Yeah, but we don't have anything that's five thousand years old!" I guess the grass is always greener on the other side (although the grass is pretty green here... I think it's all the rain). After we finally returned to Cork, we got Chinese take out and rested. After a long day, it's nice to rest and enjoy a hot shower.

The town of Cobh

The morning started off with coffee and scones in the English Market followed by a tour of Cobh and the Titanic Museum. Cobh was the last port of call for the Titanic, which left Cobh on April 11, 1912. The Titanic Museum was highly interactive, and each visitor got a card with the name of an Irish man or woman who left from Cobh. At the end of the tour, we got to find out the fate of our passenger. I was named Nora, and though she survived the sinking of the Titanic, she died in New York six years later of unknown causes, though Jordan speculates that it was probably the same flu pandemic that killed her passenger. Part of the tour was led by a tour guide named Jen who showed us the differences between third class and first class cabins and really put into perspective what travel at the turn of the century was like. Unfortunately, pictures weren't allowed, but I've been told that James Cameron's depiction of the Titanic is virtually accurate. Still, seeing the difference in the simple third class cabins with small bunk beds and the first class cabins with four poster beds and separate sitting rooms, I was once again reminded of how much it meant to some people to travel on this ship.

The last port the Titanic sailed out of.

The tour guide informed us that for many of the Irish, a third class ticket on the Titanic cost half of the year's wages. Plenty of people sacrificed this money for what they hoped would be a better start in a new world. Coming at it from this perspective, I began to see the Titanic in a whole new light. All my life, I associated the story of the Titanic with wealthy men and women going on a cruise with their families or visiting friends in New York, and while that doesn't make their demise any less tragic, I never understood the hopelessness associated with the sinking of the Titanic. After we toured the museum, we went to the cafe beneath the museum for lunch and then walked up to the cathedral in the town. And by up, I literally mean up. The hill was at at seventh degree angle at least and involved a series of stairs leading up to the road that the cathedral was on. The hike was well worth it though because we were able to get a better view of all of Cobh and the inside of the cathedral was absolutely beautiful.

The Cathedral

Inside tne cathedral

Afterwards, we strolled back to the train station and caught a train back to Cork so we could ride on to Middleton. The annoying thing about the trains was that there was a train that went from Cork to Cobh, and there was a train that went from Cork to Middleton, but there was not a train that went to both. Anyway, when we got into Middleton, it was getting late, and Dr. Elsner had an appointment at six thirty, so we booked it to Jameson's Distillery to get the last tour of the day. Knowing absolutely nothing about the art of making (or drinking) whiskey, the tour of the old mill and the whiskey making process was really interesting. Unfortunately, the tour seemed to be limited to that, and I would have liked to learn more about the historical and economic importance of whiskey on Ireland as a nation. Still, the tour was fascinating.

The distillery. As you can see, it was getting dark, so my pictures aren't the best.

Probably one of the most interesting things about the whiskey making process was the years and years it takes to make the "perfect" bottle of whiskey. According to Irish law, a whiskey that is younger than three years cannot be sold within the country, and according to the distillery, the best whiskeys are between six and twelve years old, though the most common whiskeys are about six years old. When whiskey is first made, it is completely clear, and as it ages, it gets its caramel color. Another important thing about making whiskey is the selection of barrels the whiskey is stored in. Jameson's whiskey is stored in oak barrels imported from Spain and the States. The barrels are usually used before they are imported to give the whiskey a better flavor. Then before the whiskey is bottled, the barrels are mixed into a large vat that is used for bottling purposes. We toured the old Jameson distillery that still had the water wheel for the steam powered stills and elevators, but the new Jameson distillery was just down the road in Middleton. 

The still where the whiskey is made.

Another point of interest when touring the distillery was the intensive labor required of the workers. The tour guide even mentioned that those jobs that were later replaced with machinery were actually jobs that would now be banned by labor laws due to the strain. Also, the master distiller actually lived on factory grounds, though the house has since become the distillery archives. What little I know of the industrial revolution in Western Europe was somewhat confirmed on this trip, and I found that interesting and enlightening. For my friends who love North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell, I could easily picture Margaret and Mr. Thornton in the distillery. For those who have never read North and South or seen the BBC mini series, you're missing out. 

Barrels ready for sale
   Tomorrow is another traveling day. We are headed towards Limerick where the limerick was first invented. My English major heart is extremely excited!

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Communion

Please note I forgot to take my camera to church so all photos of the church were taken by the lovely Samantha McCurry.

Today we went to Saint Fin Barre's Cathedral for worship. St. Fin Barre's was established in 606 AD, and they have had worship every Sunday since, even when the church was under construction. The latter part of the day was spent like any other sabbath should be spent: in rest and fellowship. We had lunch at The Flying Enterprise, a ship-themed restaurant in the section of Cork known as "The People's Republic" due to its socialist tendencies during the 1920s Civil War. Afterwards, some went to the Masonic Lodge in Cork, which is one of the oldest lodges in the world, while others came back for a Sunday afternoon nap. By 2:30 though most everyone was resting or journaling. This evening we are getting pizza from a restaurant across the street from the B&B and hanging out.

St. Fin Barre's.
Worship at St. Fin Barre's cathedral was absolutely indescribable. Having never worshipped at a church that is over one thousand years old, I was astounded by the sheer magnanimity of God's presence in worship. From the time the organ started playing the processional until they turned out the lights on us because we stayed so long, I was overwhelmed. Not only did I feel the historical significance of the cathedral, but I felt the significance that the church placed on God. Above all else, the worship was constructed to emphasize Christ and Christ's role in the church and in our lives. In today's consumer driven culture, worship that isn't about what novelties the church can offer any specific demographic or free merchandise used as subliminal manipulation is rare. Even more so, many churches are no longer about Christ but seek to provide entertainment laced with a watered-down Gospel .

In the chancel.

Therefore, St. Fin Barre's provided a nice change to many services I have attended. My favorite part of the service was taking communion. Kneeling at the altar to receive communion was a new and beautiful experience for me. I felt the sacred presence of the Holy Spirit in a new and beautiful way. I believe that communion is one of the greatest sacraments the church observes, and by celebrating communion, we are celebrating the birth, the life, and the death of Christ and the implications that has in our lives. And what an important reminder as we celebrate Epiphany Sunday! The dean of the cathedral delivered the homily this morning, and he talked about what "epiphany" means and the revelation of Jesus Christ in the world. This morning, I would say that I experienced the full magnitude of epiphany through communion and worship.

Ceiling above the chancel. 

The afternoon and evening have brought a new kind of communion, for which I am equally thankful. I have discovered that a group of travelers, like our group, always draws close together on journeys, yet this evening we have simply fellowshipped together by sharing our time with one another. We might just be listening to "Banana Pancakes" and writing in our journals or playing sudoku, but we are still experience the special communion of a group of people united by physical exhaustion and anticipatory hope for tomorrow will bring. We are content, and that is most important. 

Jordan teaching Kurt to play sudoku.
    

Saturday, January 3, 2015

New Things

Today was a day for trying new things, and for those of you who don't know me, I don't do well with trying new things. For example, when I was six my parents wanted to go to Olive Garden for dinner, but I had never been to Olive Garden, so I cried all the way there because I was worried their spaghetti and meatballs would not be as good as my mom's. And today, as with Olive Garden, I was pleasantly surprised. Our morning started off rather late. We left the B&B in groups between 9:00 and 10:00 this morning and wandered around the English Market. Then we met at 1:00 this afternoon to go to Blarney Castle. Unlike the Rock of Cashel yesterday, Blarney had more nooks and crannies for us to explore. More on that later. 

The English Market decorated for Christmas.

This morning, Sam, Kristin, and I wandered around the English Market, the most famous market in Ireland, with Dr. Elsner. The English market was essential for Ireland's economy and was responsible for exporting all kinds of dairy products like butter and cheese. Today it's sort of like a rather large grocery store with different vendors who sell fresh meats, cheeses, breads, produce, and desserts. There are also cafes within the market that sell fresh food for visitors. This morning, we visited one of the butchers and picked up lamb for a lamb stew tonight, but instead of getting the lamb out of a refrigerated case, the owner's son chopped up the lamb right in front of us. We also got some cheese to have with some soda bread, and after we tried a few different samples, we decided on a creamy white cheese.

One of many bread and pastry vendors.

It was interesting to me that though many of the vendors were Irish (like the butcher and the cute guy selling bread) some weren't Irish at all. In fact, the woman who sold us the cheese was French. Another thing I noticed was that the vendors were all extremely friendly. In fact, every shop owner/assistant we met today asked us where we are from. Some of them know where South Carolina is, others don't, one guy asked if it was near Nebraska because he had heard of that from watching The Big Bang Theory, but their interest is greatly appreciated. Dr. Elsner gave us an assignment to try to talk to as many vendors and people as possible. I took that as a personal challenge to become extroverted, which is a stretch for me, and spent a lot of time talking to random vendors. Most of the vendors have family businesses that have been around for generations; however, one vendor lamented that the younger generation is not always interested in following in their parents' footsteps. For example, the butcher lamented that his son was going to college in Limerick instead of helping him at the shop. When we asked the son how long he'd been working there, he smiled and said, "Oh, since I was three." (And if you're having a hard time picturing it, think Chris Hemsworth with an Irish accent.) 

The butcher's shop (but not the butcher's son)

After we wandered around for a while, we headed upstairs to the cafe to have brunch. Sam and I had tea and yogurt with granola and fruit compote and Kristin had a croissant and a toasted cheese (which is basically a grilled cheese but better). After brunch, Sam, Kristin, and I milled around Cork and did a little shopping. I went into a bookstore called Waterson's and purchased a copy of James Joyce's Dubliners. Kristin went into Brown Thomas, a department store she'd been begging to go to since we got off the plane, and bought some mascara and lipgloss. When we went upstairs to look at the women's clothing, they had a jacket for €2,000. It reminded me of a Sax Fifth Avenue, except maybe nicer. I felt privileged just to touch the clothes! After getting coffee from Costa (our Christmas themed travel mugs were adorable), we headed out to Blarney Village and Blarney Castle.

Sam and I having brunch. 

Blarney Castle. 

The ride into the village took about thirty minutes by bus, and then we had a five minute walk to the castle grounds, which are massive. Running in front of the castle is one large river with many streams coming off of it. The riverbank is littered with trees and flowers and every few feet there is a bench or picnic table where people can sit. You have to walk a few feet before you can see the castle, but once you do you are blown away by the view. I felt like I was stepping into a storybook, and in a minute a knight in shining armor was going to come riding up and sweep me off my feet. I got Cali helping me down off the battlements instead, so I guess beggars can't really be choosers. The best part about Blarney castle was getting to explore all the nooks and crannies, and boy, does Dr. Elsner know ALL the nooks and crannies. I probably took over two hundred pictures today inside the castle and on the grounds. There were so many cool rooms and little places of interest. For example, the castle had its own murder room where people would place a victim beneath a hole in the ground and then shoot something down the hole (rock, arrow, cow poop, whatever) to kill the person. I felt like it was something Shakespeare would appreciate. And speaking of Shakespeare, I saw a raven in the castle and said "Quoth the raven nevermore," and it was probably the coolest thing I've ever done because Poe and ruined castles just go together, you know? 

Chelsea in the dog house. Literally, a dog house. 

In one of the bedrooms

Cali looking adorable. 

Despite how much I love the castle, I will be the first to admit I was absolutely terrified. To walk up to the top of the tower, where the Blarney Stone is, you have to climb a series of small, slippery stone steps, barely big enough for my foot and the only railing/place to hold on to was a rope running up the side of the tower. Not only am I claustrophobic, but I'm also absolutely petrified of heights; however, I knew that the end results would be worth it, and I was right. They say a picture tells a thousand words, but I don't know if there are enough words to describe the absolute magnificence of what I saw from the top of Blarney Castle. The richness of the greens and browns, the brightness of the sun after a long morning of rain, the simple splendor of being so high up that you wonder why you can't just kiss the sky... and even that falls short of the truth. Of course, by this point I had so much adrenaline running through me, I was feeling minor effects of being in shock. Still, I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life, and I highly doubt that I ever will.

View from the top. 

The top of the castle.

And like any good tourist, I kissed the Blarney Stone. Tradition says that kissing the Blarney Stone will give you the power of eloquence. Just trying to kiss it made me almost pee my pants. You lay flat on the ground with your head tilted behind you and scoot your body off the castle wall till you're hanging practically by your knees and your face is against the stone in front of you. Your only support are two metal bars and a relatively elderly gentleman who is holding you by the waist. It seemed to me a heavy price to pay for eloquence, but my motto this trip has been "When in Ireland," so I was willing to give it a go. Anyway, now I can say I've kissed the Blarney Stone, which is significantly more impressive than it sounds. I promise.

Upon leaving the castle, we walked down to the Blarney Woolen Mills, which have very famous wool sweaters that are incredibly comfortable. The bus ride back was quiet because we were all so tired from climbing rocks all afternoon. On our way back to the B&B, we stopped at the English Market again to buy some potatoes, carrots, and bread for dinner tonight with our lamb stew. One of the things that I like about the places where we stay is that we have flexibility to eat in if we want, which is a luxury on vacation and a special luxury when you're on vacation with a chef. Tonight we went to a pub where they had live, traditional Irish music. We had a wonderful time listening to the singer, and the music was absolutely poetic. While we were there, some rather intoxicated, friendly Irish men in their late sixties came over to talk to us. They were really excited about our trip to Blarney. The best part about the night was immersing ourselves (once again) fully in the Irish culture and embracing it. The beauty of the music, the expressions of pain, love, joy, and political conflict. I believe this is the goal of true music, not to objectify the opposite sex or shout expletives, but to express the emotion and passion of every day life. Time and time again, I have been blessed today, and I'm thankful for that.