bohemianinbelfast

[bohemianinbelfast]

May those who lose their way and wander In the wild find fellow travelers. And safe from threat of thieves and savage beasts, May they be tireless and their journey light.

Shantideva (quoted in: The Buddha Walks into a Bar, Lodro Rinzler)

[bohemianinbelfast]

Fairy Tales

Knee-deep in mud and cow cud, I braved the ever-present Irish rain and relentless winter wind to explore my friend’s four hundred year old dairy farm in County Cork, Ireland. Even though my fingers felt frozen solid and I’d lost all sensation in my face, I followed behind Tommy Murphy, a graduate of University College Cork and current professor of Mathematics in my home state of California, as he led me through his family’s property while regaling me with stories of the land’s complicated, and contested history.

“Farmers are the custodians of this country’s past,” he remarked, pushing aside a mass of stubborn branches blocking our entry into an earthen mound I would later learn was a ringfort. “Ireland is brimming with history, from unmarked castles to cemeteries to former plantations, like our farm here. There’s simply so much in this country that we have yet to fully study. But Irish farmers protect this knowledge and pass it down from generation to generation.” As we walked into the knoll, I learned this particular ringfort—also known as a ‘fairy fort’ —hailed back to the Iron Age, a time when the island’s occupants transformed their natural landscape into dwellings for various purposes. Even though this ringfort stretched across a significant segment of the Murphy property, Tommy explained that his family went to great lengths to preserve it precisely because of the cultural traditions and legacy it represents.

“The pre-Celtic people who lived in Ireland ages ago believed these forts housed fairies who had magical powers. Today, superstition keeps many farmers from removing ringforts from their properties, even though maintaining these structures is quite expensive. We let archeologists dig here sometimes,” Tommy told me.

But as with many aspects of life in Ireland, ring/fairy forts represent contested spaces and histories. While the enduring myth of fairies and the playful respect for their wrath that is demonstrated by farmers who do not dare disrupt these sacred structures fit neatly into Ireland’s whimsical reputation, some agricultural consultants suggest such superstitions hurt the bottom lines of farmers and are simply bad business. In turn, a number of scholars take offense with the term ‘ringfort’ itself. Elizabeth Fitzpatrick, Professor of Archeology at the National University of Galway, finds the use of this term particularly problematic and regards these so-called ‘ringforts’ as “sustained monolithic traditions of Irish archaeology [that are an] impediment to understanding the significant changes that native enclosed settlement underwent through time.”

Even public policy and literature are affected by this controversy. For instance, in 1999, Kerry seanchaí Eddie Lenihan fought to protect a whitehorn bush ringfort in County Clare, which supposedly served as a gathering site for the fairies of Munster and Connaught. Lenihan caused such a ruckus that the Irish government ended up having to re-route an entire road as a result!

While there’s something to be said for preserving a nation’s heritage, today Ireland stands at a crossroads, precariously straddling the legacy of the past with the promise of the future. I just hope that as with its approach toward ringforts, some of Ireland’s intrinsic magic isn’t lost in the shuffle.

[bohemianinbelfast]

Patriarchy, Homophobia and Homoeroticism in Norn Iron

Let me start by saying that I love Northern Ireland. From the moment I arrived, I felt instantly at peace here--the waves of the Belfast Lough and the verdant hillside transported me to a time and place within my subconsciousness that I've been unable to access since childhood. 

As I settled into Newtownabbey and began traveling throughout the country, I was touched by the boundless warmth of the Northern Irish people. Granted, as a foreigner from America I probably received more positive fanfare than I would have if I were born and bred in Norn Iron or if I were another run-of-the-mill Erasmus student. Nevertheless, my impression of Northern Ireland from living here for four months is one of a country that emanates congeniality. 

At the same, as the novelty of my stay has begun to wear off, I can no longer ignore the pervasive legacy of patriarchy and homophobia that taints many of my interactions with locals, particularly Northern Irish men. Don't get me wrong--my male classmates at the University of Ulster are kind and thoughtful, especially in comparison to the DC douchebags and perpetual frat boys that surrounded me in the States. But these guys are also unwittingly paternalistic and unabashedly homophobic. They throw around words like "fag," "gay" and "rape" like it's nobody's business. And yet there's so much homoerotic behavior--think Superbad penises EVERYWHERE--that it's difficult to reconcile the hurtful connotations of their speech with the playful nature of their behavior toward other men. My guy friends will regularly make jokes about sleeping with one another and being "raped" by other men, women, and even inanimate objects like exams. I know this isn't unique to Northern Ireland since I encountered my fair share of ridiculous, immature and flat-out hateful comments in America, but the way these words and behaviors are normalized is unsettling. I've tried to have conversations with my guy friends about their word choice (e.g. "haha, no need for rape...I'm sure it would be consensual"), but I feel like this approach belies everything that I stand for and that I'm learning in my Gender, Conflict and Human Rights course. 

I'm too tired to offer solutions but had to get this off my chest. 

[bohemianinbelfast]

Nathan Carter and Niamh McGlinchey sing 'Ho Hey' in Irish! Absolutely beautiful. 

[bohemianinbelfast]

I'll be seeing you, Kylemore Abbey! 

[bohemianinbelfast]

The Art of Small Talk...or "Riding in Cars with Northern Irish Men"

I’ve never been much for small talk. Although I’m an extrovert by nature, a night filled with inquiries about the weather and other trite observations tends to leave me feeling drained. I’ve even been known to avoid these painful interactions by spending an inordinate amount of time by the cocktail shrimp table during countless social functions. Yet coming to Northern Ireland has given me a newfound appreciation for small talk.

Settling into a new country is a humbling experience. It transforms everyday errands carried out at home with ease into mind-boggling, team-building exercises or quixotic misadventures. Take, for instance, grocery shopping. As a student at the University of Ulster in Jordanstown, I am immersed in the natural beauty of the Antrim Coast, from the hypnotic allure of the Belfast Lough to the majestic vantage points proffered by Cave Hill. What isn’t in immediate proximity to me is a major, affordable grocery store. In fact, the closest Tesco is a ten to fifteen minute cab ride away—or the equivalent of a 45 minute walk, weather permitting. So taking taxis to the Tesco is a way of life among UUJ students, and we regularly round up the troops for our weekly foray into town.

As in all other aspects of social life in Northern Ireland, conversation is expected and relished during these short taxi trips. Yet unlike awkward exchanges over cheap wine and finger foods, these conversations have been rich and insightful, imparting some of my fondest memories since arriving on the island. During an early morning cab ride into the city, my driver and I discussed our mutual love for Irish poetry and British literature. Examining the contributions of Louis MacNeice and Samuel Coleridge-Taylor on Northern Irish identity then led us to speculate on the influence of County Down, the Brontë sisters’ ancestral home, on their writings (if any at all). By the time I disembarked at Great Victoria Station, we had covered poetry, religion, politics and every other impolite topic you’re warned to steer clear of during small talk. As I shut the door behind me, my driver shouted: “You know, I never saw a point to the fighting. It’s absolute madness. Make sure you tell your friends back home what Belfast is really like.”

These conversations are not unusual. Every time I step into a taxi in Northern Ireland, I have incisive discussions with my drivers, not simply about their experiences living in the shadow of conflict, but also about their values and vision for the country’s future. We draw comparisons between life in California (where I’m from) and the island, during which I typically dispel a number of stereotypes regarding the boundless opportunities for social mobility that many Northern Irish associate with America. The earnestness and openness with which we are able to breach contentious topics—from the trauma of loss wrought by The Troubles to the silencing effect of the present peace—provides a refreshing departure from the mundane. It has revolutionized the way I approach conversations with strangers. Over the past three months, the taxi drivers of Northern Ireland have taught me the transformative power that warmth, grace, curiosity and a tinge of self-effacing humor can have on the tone and trajectory of a single exchange; in short, they’ve taught me the art of small talk.

[bohemianinbelfast]

In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.

Ralph Waldo Emerson