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.
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.
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.
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.
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