Miscellaneous Stories

It's been a pretty uneventful week here in Copenhagen, so I'm going to tell a few more short stories from my travel break.

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#1) In Barcelona, as in many cities, you can take busses, trains, and metros cheaper if you buy a T10, which is a ten-trip pass. In Barcelona, this is an especially good deal, because the T10 pass costs roughly the same as three train trips, or five bus trips. Usually these things are only a 10%-20% discount, at least in the cities I've been in. So, that's how I was getting around.

When I arrived at the airport to go to Cork, I realized I had a half-used pass, which I was not going to be able to use. So, I quickly used my wits and a pocket Spanish-English dictionary to figure out how to say "I am going to fly, but I have a T10 with six trips left on it, and I would like to give it to you." My plan was to approach the first person who looked like s/he was about to walk up to the ticket machines and give it to that person. For some reason, though, I spent a long time just standing there, watching people buy tickets.

There's some part of me that is still nervous about approaching people and breaking up their routine, even when I'm trying to do nice things and be a generous person. I felt like the awkwardness of me trying to explain myself in broken Spanish would not be work the five euros I'd be saving them, and all these pointless fears and insecurities started cropping up. I had a full four hours before my flight, so I was in no rush. So I just stood there watching people buy tickets for about ten minutes. It was just a pointless thing to be scared stiff about. Again, this was me being insecure about approaching people with a gift.

Finally, a group of about four people stopped, and I know enough Spanish to be able to tell they were trying to figure out which pass they were supposed to buy. I decided that it was time to make my move. Me feeling ridiculous outweighed me being nervous about the conversation, so I went for it. I said my line. The guy paused, looked and at me, and said (with a Spanish accent) "You speak English?"

So, that's how badly I botched my line.

I explained myself in English, and he at first thought he was misunderstanding me, that maybe I was trying to sell it to him (which makes sense; how often do people give stuff away at a train station?) But I assured him that there were six passes left on this, and that it was his. I was flying to Ireland, and wouldn't be back in Barcelona for a long time, so I would have no need of the pass. He and the folks he was traveling with seemed happy, which was my goal in all this, so as soon as he took it and thanked me, I told him to have a nice day and went for my flight. It was every bit as awkward as I expected, but I consider it a worthwhile experience.

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#2) In Cork, on the way back from one of our day-trips, Scott and I ran into a crazy old drunk guy. I think I mentioned in a previous post that this happens to be on a regular basis. Our conversation started when we asked him, in Cork, if we were at the right stop. He nodded and mumbled something, then all of us got off. On the way out of the station (which, thankfully, was the right one), I thanked him for the directions, which was either polite, or a huge mistake, depending on how you view the next fifteen minutes of my life.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something relevant, like maybe "you're welcome," "no problem," or even "enjoy your trip." But no, after a moment of what looked like deep thought, the words that exited this man's lips were "I got drunk." I believe the next line out of his mouth was "...but god bless ye, yer still young yet." Apparently "young" is an antonym for "drunk." This guy had obviously not been around many college campuses.

He then proceeded to explain (drunkenly) that the large cruise ship out in the harbor was being repaired because it had scraped some rocks. The guy is the navigator, and as such, got an unexpected week off, which he was enjoying spending in a stupor. He explained that the crew could still come back to the ship, so he could go there to sleep and get food while it was in harbor. At first he made it sound like he was going back to the ship now because it was going to depart soon, which made me a little nervous (remember kids, friends don't let friends navigate cruise ships drunk).

He repeated the phrase "god bless you" several times during the conversation in a tone that made it sounds like a farewell, so we started walking away, at which point he kept talking. There were many opportunities for us to get out of there if we really wanted to (I'm sure we could have outran him) but my view was that this was all funny enough to make a good story, and we were in no rush. The highlight of it may have been a phrase I alluded to a few posts ago. He said "god bless you," I responded "yeah, you too, nice meeting you," and he responded "yeah... it's nice... to be nice... to *mumble mumble*." Yes, it's nice to be nice. God bless you too, drunk old navigator guy.

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#3) I mentioned in my last post that we had the 6-bed room in Belfast all to ourselves the first night. Well, the second night we were joined by a very international group of travelers. There was a Brazilian guy, a Slovenian girl, and an American girl who appeared to be dating the guy, although he kept referring to her as his "friend," much to our amusement.

When they arrived in the room, the guy asked us if we knew where any good nightclubs were. He was talking about how much of a party animal he was, so we were all a bit concerned that they were going to come back at 4:00AM and throw up all over the place, as party animals are wont to do. We were discussing this possibility and how annoying this would be, and even went so far as to move our stuff from the middle of the room to one side where it would be less likely to be in the line of fire. Yes, we were that paranoid. To be fair, the guy was talking about his previous Crazy Nights, and it sounded like he was like looking for another. The Slovenian girl was not interested, however, which may be an explanation for what happened next.

We had gone to bed around 11:30, because we had to get up early the next day. EC and Annie fell asleep almost instantly, but I was up reading a bit. At around 11:45, our roommates returned, much to my surprise. They got ready for bed right away, and were out by a little after midnight. I overheard them saying that they had an early start the next morning, which would explain it. I went to bed at the same time, happy to know that they decided to take it easy.

At about 4:00AM, I woke up to the sound of the guy throwing up in the bathroom. Yeah, I was surprised too. I'm guessing it wasn't alcohol-related, since he had slept peacefully for several hours before throwing up. I'm guessing it was a bug, or maybe food poisoning (probably the latter, but I say that mostly because none of us got sick over the next few days).

So, that was a night of double-irony. We expected them to be irresponsible, and they were responsible. Then I expected them not to throw up because they had been responsible, and the guy threw up. He cleaned up fine, and in the morning there was no sign of anything. No harm done, really. It was just a series of weird expectation-defying twists. Just another reason I should stop trying to predict the future.

Belfast, and the return of visual stimulation

Hey, it's a post with pictures! Haven't had one of those in a while. Hope you weren't bored by all the text in my blog, I know it's not really what they were made for.

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Above is a map of our 14km (8.5mi) walk around Belfast. We had under 48 hours in the city, which only included one full day, so we made the most of it. Points A and H are our hostel, the Belfast International Youth Hostel, which was a nice place and only 12 pounds apiece to stay in a six-bed room, which we were lucky enough to get to ourselves the first night. We ate breakfast at their cafe both mornings, which was delicious and similarly inexpensive. Annie and I shared a large "Ulster Fry," which is basically the "a little bit of everything" breakfast that many American diners also serve, but with more Irish foods.


(They asked me to pose with the breakfast. I obliged.)

Point B is St. George's Market, which is a huge indoor space with booths where people mostly sell food or crafts. I considered getting something, but I had just eaten breakfast and don't like buying things that just sit there looking pretty. So, we walked around for 20 minutes and left. Cool place, though. If I come back to Belfast, I'll be sure to go when I'm actually hungry.

Point C is the town hall, where there was a Ferris Wheel for some reason. It sounded like some kind of festival was being prepared for, but honestly, it appeared to just be the one attraction. We went on, though, and got the best view of the city you can get without going out to the hills. Good way to start our journey.




(Three different views of Belfast from above)

Part of the reason we came was to see the murals from the Northern Irish "Troubles," a conflict I'd learned a lot about my freshman year. I have yet to find a website that adequately sums up the conflict for the uninitiated, so I'll do my best in the next two paragraphs, so you know what's going on with these murals.

The British once controlled all of Ireland, but in the early 1900's, Ireland started its major push for independence. However, in the northern part of Ireland, there were a lot of people who wanted to remain part of the UK, most of them Protestant and of English descent. Although it's easy to say that Ireland should belong to the Irish, many of the Protestants had families who have lived on the land for hundreds of years. Think of it like modern America and the Native Americans. Even though it's easy to say that white men shouldn't have come to America and committed genocide, I'm also not sure that the right move at this point is to give the land back and find somewhere else for the 300 million of us to live.

Northern Ireland, it was decided, was going to remain part of the UK. And the battle lines were drawn. In general, Irish Catholics wanted a unified Ireland, and English Protestants wanted things to stay how they were. Militant groups on both sides started bombing each other. Regions that were already segregated in practice became even moreso. Belfast was and is the largest city, so it couldn't be easily labeled a Catholic or Protestant area, and the lines ended up being drawn by neighborhood. The fighting officially stopped about ten years ago with a treaty, but you still hear about the occasional bomb here and there.

That's about as good as I can do in two paragraphs, look up more if you're interested, or just e-mail me.

After the Ferris Wheel ride, we walked north a bit then started west on Shankill Rd. It's a Protestant area where historically quite a bit of violence took place. One of my professors told a story about getting off the bus there once to find that everything was on fire. However, we went during the day, and in the 21st century, both of which I consider to be good moves. Basically, it's a fairly normal commercial street with shops and businesses and an occasional gas station. That is, with the exception of murals and political graffitti, both of which were notable. I didn't see a lot of random crudeness on the walls. People who buy spraypaint in Belfast do it because they have something poignant to say, and that doesn't include "for a good time, call..."

We stopped briefly at Woodvale Park (point D) and then walked through a very confusing suburban neighborhood (note our travel path between D and E; it was actually a bit windier than that, I think). At E, there was a large gate through a wall that was covered in razor wire. This separated Shankill from the Catholic neighborhood of Clonard.


(A mural'd gate)

(yes, razor wire. They didn't call them the Troubles for nothing)

And here's where I make the point about the murals. In Shankill, they looked like this:


(A mural calling out the IRA on their "strategy")

(The UVF, aka The People's Army, are noble soldiers and peacemakers, while the IRA are scary and wear black masks)

Once we crossed the gate, the murals became a little different:


(Glorifying the Irish guys with the guns)

(Calling out the English army on the Ballymurphy Massacre.)

Seeing the murals confirmed what I had already learned. While they were, in one sense, propaganda, the were also legitimate memorials to people who had been wrongly killed (as though anyone is rightly killed). The IRA mostly killed Protestant civilians, and the UVF and British army killed mostly Catholic civilians. There were very few cases where two groups of people with guns ever faced each other head on and had a shoot-out. I'm not trying to say that a shoot-out is a noble form of warfare. It's not. I'm merely saying that people who never intended to fight suddenly became part of the fight, if it could even be called a fight. The Troubles consisted of mostly marketplace bombings and shootings from each paramilitary group, and thousands of people died as a result.

The thing that defied my expectations was the lack of general peace murals. No images of Republican and Loyalist children playing side by side, or anything like that. Like in the Buffalo Springfield song, the murals "mostly say 'hooray for our side.'" Those that don't say "damn the other side for killing us." I expected at least one "hey guys let's all stop with this fighting, shall we?" Maybe we were in the wrong neighborhoods, or maybe they don't exist. I'm not sure yet, though I'd like to find out.

We wandered around some suburbs in the Irish part of town (around point F) where some official-looking people were hanging plain black flags on fences and poles. I never found out what they were for, though I kind of wish I'd asked. Annie and EC attempted to befriend two dogs, but they were having none of it. They became suddenly aggressive, and although they didn't touch us, we were all a bit freaked out. This is notable mainly because I was actually the least freaked out of the three of us when faced with a vicious dog. Those of you who have known me since childhood will verify that this is not typical. So, that was our 14 km trip. We stopped for some giant sandwiches, then headed back to the hostel.

I got up early the next morning to check out Belfast's botanical gardens. There's a huge rose garden with somewhere around 50 different kinds of roses, most of which have ridiculous names. Some had random abstract nouns, including two right next to each other called "Freedom" and "Mischief." I wish I could make a joke here and say that Freedom smells a lot like Mischief, but really, neither of them smelled like much of anything. Both were past their season (not a metaphor). Others were named after people, which was even funnier. At one point I was, in all seriousness, sniffing Uncle Pete, and I started cracking up.

After Belfast, I had a three-hour layover in Amsterdam, which might have the most ridiculous airport in the world, although I can't say that for sure until I've been to all of them. However, I feel comfortable saying that it's large, confusing, and expensive. But, I made it home, and now I'm back in Copenhagen where there's an annoying amount of schoolwork and other things I'd rather not have to deal with. It's only been 24 hours and I'm already longing for winter break. At this very moment, I'm not feeling particularly positive, but I think tomorrow will ease that a bit. I've got six things weighing on my mind right now, but four or five of them are going to be resolved by mid-afternoon tomorrow, and I'll feel a little less overwhelmed. I'll leave you with one final image for this evening:


(The obligatory adorable group pose. EC, Annie, me.)

Random Encounters in Galway

Galway is more or less a typical college town. There's plenty of cheap food, bars, and trendy shops. The whole place appears to be built around the school, as most of the people I ran into around town, whether it was 5PM or 2AM, were young university students. At around 2:00 one night, a bar/nightclub closed for the evening and there was what could only be described as a stampede of around 150 drunk college kids staggering in my direction. I momentarily thought he zombie apocalypse had come, but then I saw one hold his drink in the air and yell "WOOOOOO!!" and I realized that I was facing an entirely different type of zombie horde.

I got to go to see a different free live music nearly every night with EC and Annie, occasionally joined by an Irish buddy named Gar (rhymes with "dare"). Monday we went to a traditional tunes session, which usually includes about 4-5 people and takes over a corner of a place called the Crane Bar. The night we were there, however, it took up half the room and included about a dozen musicians (including five flutes! FIVE!) Wednesday we saw a mandolin/guitar duo who played a mix of modern acoustic covers, with a few Irish tunes thrown in. They played a couple Tom Waits songs, much to Gar's delight, but we were more or less the only people listening. The music was occasionally drowned out by a group of loud college rugby players in the back corner of the room. Apparently, they'd won a match and were celebrating. The final night in Galway we saw a great blues band whose singer and lead guitarist could have passed for Derek Trucks, both in appearance and talent.

Wednesday night while on our search for music, EC, Gar and I ran into an older guy with an awesome moustache. Gar knew him from some previous encounters, and he hung out with us for the evening. His name was Michael, and he was a self-described poet, though it doesn't seem like he considers that his full-time job (how many do?). Generally jovial person, and we got some banter going. He joked that the weather turned sour as soon as I showed up. I pointed out that one of the days had been beautiful with an awesome rainbow, and he asked me if I could work on doing that again. I told him that rainbows are expensive, and I can't just go dropping rainbows every other day; they're an investment saved only for special occasions. He laughed. It wasn't the most substantial conversation of the week, but he was a nice guy, and I wish him the best.

A while after Michael joined us, a girl named Maria followed suit. She's been helping Michael type up his poetry. I'm not clear on how they met or what the connection was, but I'm glad she joined the conversation. She's originally from Argentina, but had been living in Ireland for a few years. We talked at length about Peace Studies, and how I should really go to Argentina, where there are hundreds of human rights groups, labor groups, etc.. I told her I'm open to pretty much anything once I'm done with college, but I'd definitely want a plan, because randomly showing up to help may not be helpful at all. Maria told me that getting there would be easy. There are lots of jobs available on ships, and as a result, I could go to Argentina for free. Admittedly, that wasn't what I meant when I said "a plan" (I'm not worried about how to GET to Argentina), but that's cool to know, and one of many possibilities for the future. I am aware, however, that there is a big difference between working on a ship and "let's all sing another sea shanty with the folks dressed up as pirates."

On Friday, EC, Annie and I boarded a bus to Belfast for the weekend. On the trip, and old woman came over completely out of the blue and talked to me for the last 90 minutes of our 6 hour bus ride. This woman basically told me her life story, mostly about all the places she had gone in Europe to do various charity and social action work. I could tell when she started that she needed to talk to me a lot more than I needed to do my fourth crossword puzzle of the day, so I put it down and listened. In retrospect, it was exactly what I needed too. I didn't really have the energy to put into a conversation, but I was getting bored, and she turned the trip into storytime.

She mostly talked about the work she had done, which included helping children in war-torn areas and raising money for the wheelchair-bound. She may not have spent every moment of her life helping others, it was certainly the only thing she talked about. It could easily have been seen as bragging, and one of my travelling companions suggested later that she might have been making parts of it up. I wouldn't completely rule it out; it's certainly possible, and I'm not going out of my way to verify her story. It's more or less irrelevant to me, though. The important thing about the conversation was that the story she told was completely attainable. It seemed so simple when she was talking. There's no reason I can't just spend my life travelling around and helping people. I just have to do it. So simple. I know where to go, I know who needs help, I know how to help them. The only thing stopping me is my own head. I guess I get afraid of commitment, like I might devote too much to one cause and somehow get "stuck" or "roped in." Then again, my alternative usually involves video games. So... what's worse, really?

So, that was a nice realization. I'm not sure what it is about me that attracts conversation from people over 60 (a scent, perhaps?) but they have all been either interesting or amusing, so I'm okay with it. Speaking of which, I've got a story about an old drunk guy from Cork that I skipped earlier, but let's call this a spoiler for the next post. Our conversation included the phrase "it's nice to be nice," which I think lands somewhere between "zen" and "drunk" from a linguistic perspective.

Workin' Scorkin' McGorkin

Late Friday night, I met up with an old friend, Scott, who I've known since we were six years old. One thing I always enjoy about hanging out with him is that even if we haven't hung out for a long time, we always pick up right where we left off. I can count on one hand the people I know who I have that kind of connection with, and it's a good feeling. When I told my Galway friends that I visited a kid named Scott in Cork, EC immediately said "Scork!" which is exactly the kind of word-smashing action I'm so well known for. The title of the post is goofily named in honor of this momentous occasion.

We actually didn't spend that much time in Cork while I was there. Both Saturday and Sunday, we spent the daytime in other nearby towns, and only returned in the evenings, but I don't say that with regret. With only two days, there's only so much that it's possible to see, and everything I saw was great. Maybe if I come back, I'll spend more time in the city.

Saturday we took a train to Cobh (pronounced "cove"), which is just south of Cork, on the coast. It was the last stop of the Titanic before it departed for Crashyville, and there's a museum there now. A museum which is immediately above the train station. We left the station and said "okay, we're on the street, it should be pretty close by... oh, hey, there it is." It was a funny moment. Interesting info about the Titanic, but also about the shipping of convicts to Australia in the early 1800's. Small place, but there was a lot of good stuff.

We went back to Scott's (Scork's!) dorm later on, and cooked up a whole mess o' pasta, then watched a very, very silly Irish game show. Late at night there's an infomercial-like live program which runs for hours from midnight until something like 3AM. There's a puzzle with a very, very vague question (i.e. What is White?) and every once in a while (like, 20 minutes) they give hints. People call in the show and guess the answer to the question (which in this case was a white object). Of course, it's more or less impossible to guess until the third or fourth clue (there are many white things in the world). The highlight of the show is the fact that it's just a host talking to a camera, but dead air is a big no-no in the entertainment industry, so the host JUST KEEPS TALKING. It's hilarious, and it makes no sense, but they just keep going. The woman hosting that night was trying to pretend there was any urgency whatsoever to solve the puzzle, but ran out of good lines about ten minutes in. I don't blame her, though. It's a tough job to talk for three hours straight. So, she was just sputtering nonsense or repeating herself for hours. "Come on! Call in! We NEED you to solve this puzzle! Think! You know this! It's white! You can do it!" I never did find out what is white, unfortunately; we went to sleep instead.

Sunday, we went to visit Blarney Castle, and I kissed the Blarney Stone, but did not buy their t-shirt saying such. The legend says that I've now been blessed with the gift of eloquence, but nobody actually knows where the legend came from. They know it was in place 200 years ago because there are accounts of people kissing the stone in the 1790's. However, it's not clear who started the legend, or why. There are some stories that say the stone was from the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, or some other famous ancient building. The counterargument is "why the hell would they stick that in a relatively inconspicuous location on a relatively unimportant castle?" My answer is, "They probably wouldn't. This story sounds made-up." And it truly is an inconspicuous location. It's on the underside of a gap on the top of a castle wall, so you have to lie on your back and lean over the edge, giving the stone an upside-down kiss. Now there's iron bars to hold onto and more below, so you won't fall all the way to your death if you slip, but back in the good ol' days*, you could literally kill yourself trying this stunt.

That night we went to the Cork Singer's Club, a group of singers who meet every Sunday night upstairs at a bar. It was a public thing, and anyone could sing, but I felt no need to; the crowd there was far too talented for me to go around mucking things up. It wasn't really a matter of me avoiding embarrassment, so much as it was the limited amount of time. Any song I sang would be one less new song I would get to hear. And I did learn a few new songs I intend to bring back home. I also had a Guinness, which a friend had told me would taste better in Ireland. He lied.

Monday morning, on my way to the bus station, my debit card got eaten by an ATM, and I won't be getting it back; I'm in another city now, and they'll be cutting it up when they retrieve it (don't worry, I've had the card deactivated). It's been mildly inconvenient, but it was another opportunity for me to be aware of my own changing attitudes. Until a year or two ago, I would make a fuss over this sort of thing. I used to be a very tense person. Now, the first thought I had was, "Y'know, some people would freak out over this." I took care of what I could, and made it to the station in time to catch my bus. End of story; I've got what I need to get by, so no real harm done. I still consider myself lucky, privileged, etc.

On the way to Galway, I had a 20 minute conversation with a 77-year-old man who was visiting his son there. I told him about my trip around Ireland, and he told me a bit about himself. He didn't particularly provide me with any new information ("be careful in Belfast," "see some live music," and "it rains a lot here"), but he was a nice guy, and I enjoyed talking to him. He had moved up a seat to talk to me, and we discovered at the end of the 20 minutes that he had been sitting in chewing gum the entire time. There's something to be learned about people from how they handle negative experiences, and I'm not just saying this because of my debit card. The guy had a brief moment of annoyance ("ach, how unlucky can you be?") followed by an immediate impulse to get it cleaned up before anyone else sat in it. He let the driver know, and helped him take care of the mess. It's a minor point, but I sometimes feel like we're all really good at caring about others when things are going well, but when the day goes sour, the reaction is to become focused on the self. It's good to see people care more about others even in the midst of something unpleasant. Sure, it was just gum, but he seemed like the kind of guy who acted that way on a daily basis. Also, he was 77 and still had lots of energy, which makes me happy.

The location changes seem to be good bookends, so I'll save Galway for the next post. Annie and EC have been a lot of fun, and I've met a whole bunch of cool people the past three days. You'll hear all about it soon.

*You know, the good ol' days, when there was rampant dysentery and no indoor plumbing.

I May Take a Holiday in Spain, Leave my Wings Behind Me

So, I spent my week in Barcelona, which was pretty cool. It's a good 20 degrees warmer there than Copenhagen or Ireland, so that was nice. I got to see a bit of the city, and the mountains around it. The whole city is packed on a gradual slope between the coast in the southeast and the mountains a few miles out northwest. On one of the small mountains sits a very, very old church. Several hundred years later, they built a theme park on the hill and a tram leading up to it. So, from pretty much any high point in the city, you can see the lone figures of a cathedral and a ferris wheel next to each other.

One of the highlights of the trip was the Picasso museum. I've never been that into art museums, and even less when it comes to learning about "the greats." But there was good art, and some of the displayed talked about Picasso in a historical context, which I found interesting. He lived to be very, very old, so his career spanned a dozen different artistic movements. That's just what happens when you're an artist for a full 75 years. There was also a special exhibit on Japanese erotica, which apparently was an influence on many artists of that time. I learned the historical basis of tentacle porn, which is something I've always wondered about (I have not actually ever wondered about that, ever).

I also got to visit the American embassy, thanks to the guy we were staying with, who works for the government (if I told you more than that, I'd have to kill you). It was a short visit, but I learned a bit more about what embassies do. Our host suggested that I might be the type to work for the state department in the foreign service, which is something I'd never considered. I have the right set of skills, though. I pick up language quickly, for one, which is important for going from country to country for just a few years at a time. Plus, a Peace Studies mindset might do some good in the government. My Peace Practice professor, Ailish, has encouraged all the students in the department not to limit ourselves to professions I might describe as "Peaceish," like starting a non-profit, or working in Baltimore inner-city schools. We need practicioners in all professions; Ailish suggested that she'd like to see a few of us on Wall Street. So, maybe this is something I should consider.

My last afternoon in Barcelona, I went down to Port Vell, the touristy waterfront area. There was a big mall, and a nice boardwalk. I sat on the edge of the water for a while, and I noticed that the water was unusually clear. Then I noticed the fish. Yes, there were fish in the harbor of a city of 4,000,000. That's mind-boggling to me; I had accepted in Boston, New York, Baltimore, etc., that city harbors are gross, and you go to an uninhabited place if you want to swim or see fish. Yet, the water in the Mediterranean was clean and healthy, at least enough to support some kind of ecosystem.

Friday evening, I headed to the airport to fly to Cork, Ireland, where I just finished two days and three nights with my old friend Scott. I'll save that for another post, though. Expect this one to be editted with photos when I get back to Copenhagen, though.