Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (17 page)

Touring the castle is a good distraction. It’s really quite beautiful, although it’s not as old as I’d thought. The original castle was built in the twelfth century, but the current one came several replacement castles later and is only about one hundred fifty years old or so. I have to laugh to myself about this. Where I live, the
only things older than that would be the Lewis and Clark trail and, of course, the Native Americans’ history. In comparison, this is pretty old.

The view from the castle is excellent. It’s situated on a hill called Cave Hill, which has a history all its own. But you can see most of Belfast from up here. And the gardens and grounds are spectacular.

After walking around for a couple of hours, my right sandal starts to give me a blister on my big toe, and I decide to treat myself to lunch in the restaurant that’s located in the cellar. I feel kind of silly at first, eating alone where there are mostly groups or families or couples. Then I remind myself that I’m actually in a castle in Ireland! And I take some time to write some postcards, as well as in my journal, and I try to act as if this is no big deal, like I do things like this every day. Yeah, right.

I’m not that surprised when my food comes and it is excellent. The Irish really know how to eat!

After that, I catch the bus to a shopping district we passed on the way. While most of the stores are out of my price range, I manage to find one store with some pretty cool stuff that’s not horribly expensive. I really feel like I need to get something that I can show off to Katie. Not that she’ll be impressed since she’s probably busy planning her wedding by now. Although I hope not!

By four o’clock I’m feeling beat. I get back on the city bus and, due to daydreaming about how cool I’ll look in the outfit I just bought, I end up missing the stop by my hotel. After riding for what seems too long, I finally ask the driver, and he tells me that
it’s quite a ways back there, but if I stay on the bus and go all the way through his route, which means going up to the castle again, I will eventually get back to my hotel. Or I can get out and walk the twelve or so blocks or try to get a taxi. Due to my now-throbbing toe, I decide to just keep riding. It’s about five thirty by the time I finally get off at my hotel. Oh well.

I go to the room I’m sharing with Sid, and it doesn’t look like she’s back yet. So I soak my hot feet in cold water and then take a little nap. My aunt didn’t say for sure when she’d be back, and when I notice it’s nearly seven and she’s still not here, I realize I’m getting hungry for dinner. But the idea of eating another meal by myself isn’t too appealing. I call Ryan’s room, but he doesn’t seem to be in either. I consider calling down for room service, but I’ve heard that’s really expensive.

Instead, I get dressed in the new outfit, which makes me look like I’m in my twenties, and I leave my aunt a note. Then I head downstairs, where I ask the concierge if there are any good places to eat nearby. She tells me of several within walking distance, including a nearby pub with a weird name. “But it’s quite popular with people your age,” she says with a smile.

“Can you repeat that name again?” I say, unsure of what she just said.

“Ádh Mór!” she says slowly. “How about if I write it down for you?”

So now I have the name of this pub and am standing in the lobby considering my options when I see Ryan coming in. “Hey, Ryan,” I call out as I hurry over to him. I can’t believe how thankful
I am to see a familiar face just now. It’s like I was starting to feel as though I’d been abandoned in Ireland.

“Maddie,” he says as he comes over. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah, right.” I give him my
duh
look. “I was just about to get something to eat.”

“Where’s Sid?”

“She’s not back yet.”

“Want any company?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say in a tone that doesn’t convey how bad I want some company. Then I tell him about the popular pub and show him what the concierge wrote down for me.

He laughs. “You’ve changed a lot in the past week. Remember how you threw a fit when we ate in pubs?”

“Well, I understand that it’s
different here
in Ireland,” I remind him. “Do you need anything in your room before we go?”

He looks down at his T-shirt and jeans and then back at me. “I don’t know, Maddie. You look pretty hot. Do I look good enough to be seen with you?”

I laugh, but I don’t miss the compliment as I tug at his arm. “You look fine, Ryan. But I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

“Should we leave Sid a message about where we’ve gone?”

I consider this. “I left her a note that I was going out for a bite. Maybe that’s enough. I have a feeling she needs some space right now. You know?”

He nods as we head out onto the street. “Yeah, I thought that same thing today. Do you think she’s still feeling bad about Ian?”

“I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.” Then I point to the left. “The
concierge said this way. It’s about two blocks down on the same side of the street.” Then I ask him about the shipyard and tell him about the castle. It seems we both had a good day.

“Here we are,” I say as I point to the sign.

The pub is noisy and pretty full when we go inside. But we manage to get a table close to the band, which is just starting to set up. I’m guessing it’ll be loud right here, but at least we get to hear live music.

“I was playing my drum last night,” Ryan says. “Could you guys hear me?”

“No.”

“Good, I was afraid someone might call down and complain.”

“You said you played guitar and bass,” I say now. “How long have you played?”

“Since I was about fifteen. I was in a band for a few years, but we kind of fell apart when we went to college. We still get together to jam sometimes.”

“I was in a band too.”

“No way.”

I laugh. “Yeah. It wasn’t much of a band, but we had fun.”

“A girls’ band?”

“No, we had guys too.”

“And you said you played guitar too?”

“Yeah. I haven’t played much this past year. But playing around with my penny whistle makes me want to get back into music.”

He nods. “I was thinking the same thing. I was wishing I could jam with some people who know a little about Irish music.”

I glance over to where the amplifiers are getting set up. “I don’t think that’s what we’ll be hearing tonight.”

We talk more about music as well as other things more pertinent to our lives back home, and it occurs to me that our friendship seems to be going to a deeper level. I also remember that he said I looked hot tonight. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be involved with someone like Ryan. I mean, he’s a great guy, and he’s even a Christian. Why wouldn’t I think about it?

Just as we’re finishing our dinners, the band starts to play. And, man, are they loud! I seriously consider sticking my fingers in my ears, but I don’t want to look that stupid. Fortunately, it seems Ryan has read my expression, because after just one song, he suggests we get out of here.

“Thanks,” I tell him when we’re finally outside and I can hear again.

“That sound system was pretty bad.”

“Not to mention loud,” I reply.

Then we just walk along without saying much for about a block. We’re going in the direction of the hotel, but I’m not really ready to call it a night. And yet I can’t think of anything to suggest.

“Want to find a quieter place?” he asks. “We could get some coffee or dessert or something.”

“Sounds good.”

Then Ryan spots a coffee shop across the street and several doors down. It appears to be open, so we head that way and are relieved to find that, other than some jazz music playing on their sound system, it is relatively quiet in there.

We both order coffee and sit down. But suddenly I feel sort of awkward. It’s that old feeling, like, is this a date? Or are we just two travelers who got stuck together by my aunt, and he’s simply putting up with me? Oh, maybe it doesn’t even matter.

“I didn’t tell you this,” he says as he stirs the cream into his coffee, “but the other day when we drove out to Malin Head, well, I was relieved you came with me. I think it helped to make things easier, you know.”

“Hey, I had a good time. I think your aunt is awesome.”

“It was cool getting to know her, seeing her place….”

“So are you feeling better, you know, about things with your dad?” I hope I’m not being too intrusive, but I am curious.

He shrugs. “It’s still hard to understand, but I guess it’s getting easier. It’s kind of like Ian said, I sort of have to piece things together for myself.”

For some reason this reminds me of Antrim—a puzzle piece I don’t quite get. And before I know it, I’ve told him.

He frowns. “Really?”

“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. But it was weird seeing that sign on the way to the castle. I mean, it’s not like I really cared where Antrim was located before. But for some reason, it caught my attention, and then when I found it on my map, well, I was surprised at how close it was to Belfast.”

“That does seem strange.”

“And it’s pretty close to the airport too.”

Ryan seems frustrated by this. And now I feel even worse for having brought it up. Maybe we all just need to move on.

“I’m sure there’s some logical explanation,” I say, hoping to brush this all away.

“Do you still have Ian’s business card?”

I nod.

“Maybe I’ll give him a call before we leave Ireland. Just to ask, you know. It’d be easier to do it before I get back home.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I study his troubled expression and want to kick myself for having mentioned Antrim. We were having this good time, and I was actually feeling like we were getting closer. And now he’s all focused on his dad again, looking for answers where there might not be any. When will I learn?

W
ant to take a black-taxi tour today?” Sid asks us at breakfast. It’s our last day in Belfast, and she’s almost done with her peace-camp research and, as a result, seems in a pretty good mood.

“What’s that?” I ask as I butter my toast.

“It’s a tour of West Belfast,” she tells me.

“And?” I still don’t get it.

“It’s where the troubles took place,” Ryan fills in.

“How come you always know so much?” I tease him.

“I’ve done my research.” He turns to Sid. “And I’d really like to see it. I heard you can even get a glimpse of the Sinn Féin headquarters.”

“What does that mean?” I ask. “Sinn Féin? I’ve heard it before. Is it the name of someone?”

“It means ‘ourselves,’” my aunt informs me.

“It’s about Irish self-rule,” Ryan continues. “In the early part of the twentieth century, there was this huge turnover in the Irish parliament. I think it was about 1918 or so. But Irishmen were elected to the majority of parliament seats, booting out the British loyalists. And then the new Irish representatives refused to meet in England. They insisted on Dublin instead. And as a result, things got sticky.”

“That was the official beginning of the IRA,” my aunt finishes for him.

“Thanks for the history lesson,” I tell them. Actually, I’m glad to know this. It helps me to understand this country a little better.

“So you up for a black-taxi tour, then?”

“Sounds good to me.”

We check out of our hotel and put our bags in the car. And at ten o’clock the taxi arrives and takes us into West Belfast.

“This is Falls Road,” the driver tells us. “Mostly Catholic republicans live here.” Then he points out the Sinn Fein headquarters, and Ryan leans out the window to get a shot.

“They’re really into graffiti here,” I observe.

“We prefer to think of it as art,” he tells me.

I notice strings of fluttering flags along the roadside. “What’s that?” I ask.

“Them’s the Easter lilies,” says the driver.

“Easter lilies?” I’m confused. For one thing, they look nothing like lilies, and besides that, it’s June.

“To remind us of them that died in the Easter Rising back in 1916, as well as for them that’s died since.”

“The Easter Rising preceded the Irish War of Independence,” Ryan adds.

“Tha’s right.” The driver nods vigorously, as if he’s impressed with Ryan’s grasp of Irish history. I know I am.

The driver points out more things, explaining some of the meaning behind the graffiti art. “That one there’s for the H-Block Martyrs,” he says as he points to a large and well-done mural.

Okay, I’m thinking, does he mean H&R Block? And what does that have to do with Ireland?

“Bobby Sands,” my aunt says.

“Tha’s right.” The driver nods again. “Him’s the inspiration behind it all.”

Ryan looks at me and grins. “You have confusion written all over your face, Maddie.”

I kind of shrug.

“Bobby Sands went on a hunger strike,” Sid explains, “and some fellow IRA inmates followed suit.”

“And died,” adds Ryan.

“They starved themselves to death?” I ask.

“Tha’s right.” The driver slows down and points to what appears to be a cemetery. “Most of ’em are buried there. Tha’s Milltown Cemetery.”

He parks nearby, and we all sit in the taxi and just look.

“Now would you like to see the other side o’ things?”

“Sure,” my aunt tells him.

He drives on until we come to some sort of an entrance. There are tall gates painted red and white, and he drives through.

“Welcome to Shankill Road,” he tells us.

“This is the Protestant side,” Sid adds.

We drive alongside a tall, imposing wall that seems to slice through the neighborhoods like a knife. It appears to be made of concrete blocks, and the bottom part is painted white and covered with all sorts of graffiti. I notice that the houses on the other side, the Catholic side, are crowded together and sit very close to the
wall, whereas this side, the Protestant side, seems much more open, and the houses are situated a comfortable distance from the wall. I wonder why that is.

“Tha’s the peace wall,” the driver says, pointing to the ominous barrier. “Put there to keep the Catholics and the Protestants from killing each other.”

He slows down so we can actually look out the window and read the graffiti. Soon we are reading slogans out loud to each other.