Don't deny me the simple pleasure of a tall mocha frappucino after 6 months

Right, so I'm picking back up with the Dublin trip. Wednesday morning.

We had to get up early to take a 2-hour bus ride North from Dublin to Belfast. At some point along the journey, we passed into the United Kingdom, which basically only meant that the currency changed from euros to pounds. We stopped for a bathroom break near a Starbucks (and, yes, I know that Italian coffee is far far superior to Starbucks, but I can't help it that I really dig a sweet, frozen, creamy, chocolatey Mocha Frappucino every so often) so I was fairly stoked. The teachers almost didn't let me go in and get one seeing as we were in a rush and all, but I pulled out the Are-you-seriously-denying-me-the-simple-pleasure-of-a-tall-mocha-frappucino-after-six-months-without card and so I was able, which made me infinitely happy. Let me tell you, no mocha frappucino in the history of Starbucks has ever before or since tasted as good as that one did.

When we actually got to Belfast, we just wandered around and honestly didn't see that much in the morning. They had us in the shopping district, which was just like anywhere else in the world. I found the afternoon more interesting. We had two Irishmen give us tours focusing on what's been going on in Belfast in the past 50 years or so. I found them fascinating, but I felt bad for those of my classmates that don't understand English very well, because I could tell the translators were not doing a good job at all. They would consolidate about 5 minutes of talking into 2 or 3 sentences of Italian, which barely brushed the surface of what the men were saying, and plus often took on the translators' own interpretations and biases. It was a huge annoyance for me, understanding both languages, and it made me wish I could do the translating myself. 

Anyway, the first half was spent with a Catholic tour guide, the second half with a Protestant guide. They spoke mostly about the period of time called the “Troubles.” I’m not going to pretend I understand it all very well, but the “Troubles” were basically a period of fighting, considered a war by some, between Protestant Unionists, Catholic nationalists, and the British army over Northern Ireland’s constitutional status within the United Kingdom. The “Troubles” lasted from the late 1960s until 1998, when the Good Friday Agreement supposedly ended it – but violence still flares up from time to time.

The stories from the last 50 years are horrible, terrifying and bloody. There were bombings, murders, and hunger strikes. Almost as horrible is the way it is there today. I, naively I suppose, thought the attitude they have there was only the stuff of history books, not a part of life today. There is much dissidence between Protestants and Catholics in Belfast. They live in completely separate neighborhoods and while they’ve officially agreed to be peaceful and put an end to their violent acts against one another, after years and years of fighting and terrorism, both sides are still terrified of each other.

For this reason, in Belfast there is a HUGE wall dividing the two sides. The only way through this wall is an opening that closes and locks up every night at 4 or 6 p.m., depending on when it gets dark. It is not unlocked for ANY reason after that until sunrise the next morning. This isn’t a hundred years ago, it’s today – every single day. The saddest part is that there’s no end in sight. They’re not about to tear down the wall because they think they need it to keep safe from one another. There’s no hope for progress over generations, because parents teach their children all that fear and hate, and the kids never get to see or play with each other because they’re always on separate sides. The Protestants always stay on the Protestant side. The Catholics always stay on the Catholic side. The Protestant kids go to Protestant school and the Catholic kids go to Catholic school. Being an exchange student and seeing how people of different cultures, religions and beliefs are all the same and can get along is a major part of this year for me. I’d been feeling brilliantly hopeful about some level of world peace and intercultural understanding. But visiting Belfast – an otherwise progressive city where two forms of Christianity can’t even get along – threw a wrench in it all for me. I thought we’d come further than that. It’s a horrible, complex situation and I want to FIX it, but I don’t know any way that I (or anyone) can. It’s really frustrating. I brooded about it in the back of my mind for most of the ride back to Dublin, but figured that wasn’t doing any good and concentrated on enjoying the trip as I had been before.

That night, back in Dublin, we had dinner at Porterhouse Brewery. I had fish and chips. After dinner we went back to the hostel and we all got prettified. At midnight, we went to Dtwo (one of Dublin's best clubs/discos) located on the beautiful Georgian area of Harcourt Street. It was nice dancing and seeing all the outfits. The Irish are much more trendy with their outfits than the Italians. They also get a lot more drunk. Or maybe the same amount drunk but with a lot less style. They were pretty gross about it. I'm definitely glad I've gotten adjusted/accustomed to alcohol consumption the comparatively sophisticated know-when-to-stop Italian way and not the eww-they're-throwing-up-on-the-sidewalk-outside-the-bar Irish way. Icky. But it was a fun night. We stayed until the place closed and the music stopped. Afterwards, out in the street, it was quite entertaining. Like, people were singing and stuff. We had to walk a long distance back to the Hostel.

The next day after breakfast (every day's breakfast was toast with butter and jelly at the Hostel) we went to see Trinity College, where we looked at the Book of Kells. Then we went to the James Joyce Center, which I loved because I'm always super interested in the lives of writers, and I bought a copy of Ulysses. I had lunch at Subway with some of the guys from my class, then we took a train to a suburb of Dublin called Dalkey where we went to the Cultural Centre for presentations about life in that area during the time of the Tudors. When we got back to Dublin/ the Hostel we had some free time. I went off by myself because I needed a break from being surrounded by people. As well as I'd been getting along with my class (I think I spoke more in  those 5 days than in the entire first 6 months) it was nice to be on my own for a while and do some me-ish stuff in peace. I located Dublin's Urban Outfitters (I miss that store, but I prefer it in the US because the European prices are way too expensive) where I bought one sweater and one dress. Then, I went to this WONDERFUL bookshop called The Winding Stair where I could have happily spent the rest of my life. They had tea and old books and new books and twinkling soft classical music and it was just heavenly. 

We all met up again at the hostel at 8 and went to dinner at an Italian restaurant. I won't tell you again how I feel about that in general, but it was actually pretty nice. My food (penne with smoked salmon) was good and it was cool speaking Italian to the Italian-immigrant employees outside of Italy. After dinner we went to Fitzsimmon's bar and pub, which had live music, and then we discovered that downstairs they had a disco/club so we went there. It wasn't as nice as the place before, but it was still fun. 

The next morning we got to sleep a bit later and when we woke up we packed. We'd missed the hostel's breakfast, so I went with Irene, Ilaria, Elisabetta and Beatrice to Starbucks for breakfast. Another tall mocha frappucino, or it's possible that I decided to mix it up and so a Java Chip one. Either way, delightful. We had some time after to peek into some stores and I think that's when I bought a really cute headband for only like 2 euros. My entire class met up for lunch at a Spicy Portuguese Chicken place. I only ate a small portion because I was still full from the late breakfast, but I had to give it a try anyway, of course. There was a false-alarm moment where I thought they had sweet iced tea, but I was mistaken. Gosh, I miss sweet iced tea. 


After lunch it was time to collect the already-packed bags at the hostel, board a bus to the airport, and make our way back home to Italy. And just like that the trip to Ireland was over. I enjoyed the whole thing a lot. And I loved that coming to Italy was coming home. Driving with my host mom back to our house felt so familiar and comfortable after those days in a new place. That was nice. It was all nice. It was a very successful trip.

Read more here: http://www.heraldonline.com/2012/03/14/3820944/chandler-west-italian-school-trips.html#storylink=cpy