Pugsworth in Northern Ireland
Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, I found internet access expensive and difficult to come by in Ireland, struggling just to keep up with emails. I hope to catch up fairly quickly back here in the UK. (Currently in the peak district.)
After six weeks in Scotland I was ready to get to a new region and arrived with a sense of anticipation for exploring Irish culture. Northern Ireland was a mixed blessing in this regard, a mix of Irish and British culture in this still British territory. I guess that’s what ‘the troubles’ are all about a people divided over their identity and I suppose the solution is finding a way of blending the two flavours.
Exploring the history and current status of ‘the troubles’ was also a large part of arriving in Belfast, a city we here about more than many but that doesn’t mean we get a good picture of what it’s like. The effects of ‘the troubles’ were clearly in my face the night I arrived. I’d heard about the armoured police vehicles, but didn’t expect to see them swarming all over the place. We’re talking serious armour here, making these beefed up 4WDs look as close to tanks as they do to the Toorak tractors I’m used to back home. This creates an atmosphere of considerable oppression. Then I heard the sound of marching pipes and drums and discovered that I’d arrived on the night of the last Orange Order march for the season. Thus this was not a normal police presence but extra in case of trouble. I was certainly curious to see the march and the atmosphere in which it was conducted but also had a sense of apprehension as I set off (following my ears) to have a look. I followed along behind for a while keeping my distance and trying not to look too much like a tourist. As I went I discovered that the police presence was really only heavy at the city end of the march (the area contested by the two sides). I wasn’t on the scene quick enough to take in the atmosphere at the beginning of the march but once it got up to Shankill Road, the centre of the local protestant community, the police presence was limited to a hardly noticeable traffic warden role and the march took on the feel of a community parade. Local people lined the street to watch and listen and waved to people they new in the parade. People were smiling and sharing a joke or two rather than looking grim faced and determined to make a political or even military statement as you might expect from media reports. Even with some of the protestant murals, which are not exactly conciliatory, I got the sense of a strong local community simply performing one of it’s rituals. The local community here, while definitely suburban, is still much stronger than the one in my neighbourhood and one could argue thus better off despite it’s difficulties. (This is another piece of anecdotal evidence supporting my theory about human identity being formed/strongest in opposition to something else. We define ourselves by what we aren’t rather than what we are. When there’s nothing to oppose, local community ebbs away.)
The following day I also saw the other sides of Belfast. I rode through the Catholic area and while I didn’t see the community in action the murals there, while being fewer are, on the whole, more conciliatory. I was also interested to see quite a few Palestinian flags demonstrating a sense of solidarity with that cause. In another part of town an Indian festival was well attended by the wider community, great food and lots of fun had by all – it could have been any city. And I ran into some more dragon boaters, just a one-off two boat race event for charity.
After Belfast I took off along the Antrim Coast, the highlight of the which is the Giant’s Causeway, a series of hexagonal columns of rock, caused by the cooling process following volcanic activity. They are really unlike anything I’ve ever scene and while they’re blown out of proportion by the tourist industry the whole coastline is quite scenic. Hills, cliffs, valleys, rocky coastline and sunshine made for a couple of great days riding before a short train ride to Derry.
Derry is Northern Ireland’s second biggest city, right on the border with the Republic. Again it’s history (and to a lesser extent it’s present) is shaped by ‘the troubles’. The most significant thing I encountered there was the work of the Bogside artists, three Catholics who have painted a series of peace murals around Bogside, including one painted jointly with a protestant artist. They are renown enough worldwide to have their studio is listed in the tourist brochure so I decided to stop in for a visit. I found them sitting down to lunch (apparently it’s rare for all three of them to be in the one place at the same time) and I think I caught them at a bad moment as they didn’t seem too keen on having visitors but I had a good chat with them and it was fascinating to get a perspective on the conflict and peace negotiations from someone really within it.
The other thing I learnt in Derry is that it is the origin of the word ‘catwalk’. This goes back to the time when the two communities were much more segregated and the wealthy protestant women who lived on the hill within the town wall used to strut their stuff and their nice gowns etc along the top of the city wall showing off to the poorer Catholics who lived below in the marshy suburb named Bogside.
Despite all that though, Derry is a friendly and pretty town getting on with life in the 21st century. It was also the site of the first flat tyre of my trip and the second one! At least they both happened in a city close to bike shops and not far from my destination. All in all I much enjoyed my three nights in Derry.
more coming soon on the Republic of Ireland
After six weeks in Scotland I was ready to get to a new region and arrived with a sense of anticipation for exploring Irish culture. Northern Ireland was a mixed blessing in this regard, a mix of Irish and British culture in this still British territory. I guess that’s what ‘the troubles’ are all about a people divided over their identity and I suppose the solution is finding a way of blending the two flavours.
Exploring the history and current status of ‘the troubles’ was also a large part of arriving in Belfast, a city we here about more than many but that doesn’t mean we get a good picture of what it’s like. The effects of ‘the troubles’ were clearly in my face the night I arrived. I’d heard about the armoured police vehicles, but didn’t expect to see them swarming all over the place. We’re talking serious armour here, making these beefed up 4WDs look as close to tanks as they do to the Toorak tractors I’m used to back home. This creates an atmosphere of considerable oppression. Then I heard the sound of marching pipes and drums and discovered that I’d arrived on the night of the last Orange Order march for the season. Thus this was not a normal police presence but extra in case of trouble. I was certainly curious to see the march and the atmosphere in which it was conducted but also had a sense of apprehension as I set off (following my ears) to have a look. I followed along behind for a while keeping my distance and trying not to look too much like a tourist. As I went I discovered that the police presence was really only heavy at the city end of the march (the area contested by the two sides). I wasn’t on the scene quick enough to take in the atmosphere at the beginning of the march but once it got up to Shankill Road, the centre of the local protestant community, the police presence was limited to a hardly noticeable traffic warden role and the march took on the feel of a community parade. Local people lined the street to watch and listen and waved to people they new in the parade. People were smiling and sharing a joke or two rather than looking grim faced and determined to make a political or even military statement as you might expect from media reports. Even with some of the protestant murals, which are not exactly conciliatory, I got the sense of a strong local community simply performing one of it’s rituals. The local community here, while definitely suburban, is still much stronger than the one in my neighbourhood and one could argue thus better off despite it’s difficulties. (This is another piece of anecdotal evidence supporting my theory about human identity being formed/strongest in opposition to something else. We define ourselves by what we aren’t rather than what we are. When there’s nothing to oppose, local community ebbs away.)
The following day I also saw the other sides of Belfast. I rode through the Catholic area and while I didn’t see the community in action the murals there, while being fewer are, on the whole, more conciliatory. I was also interested to see quite a few Palestinian flags demonstrating a sense of solidarity with that cause. In another part of town an Indian festival was well attended by the wider community, great food and lots of fun had by all – it could have been any city. And I ran into some more dragon boaters, just a one-off two boat race event for charity.
After Belfast I took off along the Antrim Coast, the highlight of the which is the Giant’s Causeway, a series of hexagonal columns of rock, caused by the cooling process following volcanic activity. They are really unlike anything I’ve ever scene and while they’re blown out of proportion by the tourist industry the whole coastline is quite scenic. Hills, cliffs, valleys, rocky coastline and sunshine made for a couple of great days riding before a short train ride to Derry.
Derry is Northern Ireland’s second biggest city, right on the border with the Republic. Again it’s history (and to a lesser extent it’s present) is shaped by ‘the troubles’. The most significant thing I encountered there was the work of the Bogside artists, three Catholics who have painted a series of peace murals around Bogside, including one painted jointly with a protestant artist. They are renown enough worldwide to have their studio is listed in the tourist brochure so I decided to stop in for a visit. I found them sitting down to lunch (apparently it’s rare for all three of them to be in the one place at the same time) and I think I caught them at a bad moment as they didn’t seem too keen on having visitors but I had a good chat with them and it was fascinating to get a perspective on the conflict and peace negotiations from someone really within it.
The other thing I learnt in Derry is that it is the origin of the word ‘catwalk’. This goes back to the time when the two communities were much more segregated and the wealthy protestant women who lived on the hill within the town wall used to strut their stuff and their nice gowns etc along the top of the city wall showing off to the poorer Catholics who lived below in the marshy suburb named Bogside.
Despite all that though, Derry is a friendly and pretty town getting on with life in the 21st century. It was also the site of the first flat tyre of my trip and the second one! At least they both happened in a city close to bike shops and not far from my destination. All in all I much enjoyed my three nights in Derry.
more coming soon on the Republic of Ireland
posted by James Tonson | 7:46 am
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