Slán go fóill Ireland

On the ferry heading towards Wales, which means we are leaving Ireland behind us. In some ways, I feel like the millions of people before me who have reluctantly left this land, some seeking a better life in far off places, some fleeing what they saw as religious persecution, and some escaping poverty and famine. We are not doing any of these, but in our two short weeks here we have developed a real love for the country. 

Belfast Botanic Gardens

Our first memories will be of unbelievably beautiful countryside, the greenest pastures I have ever seen, the woolliest of sheep, rugged coastlines and beautiful rivers. But this is only part of the Irish story. The other part includes what can only be described as organised chaos on the roads, and a very relaxed approach to life where nothing seems to matter too much, and a people who, to me at least, can’t quite decide where the past ends and the future begins.

This symbol means don't put your hand on the elevator. You can park in a bus stop, pull out in front of traffic anytime, any place, travel 100 kph in a 60 zone, and generally do whatever you like, but for God's sake 'Don't Touch the Elevator'.

The Irish people are enigmatic; a very friendly and happy people, but with a palpable sadness to them. Perhaps this comes from their traumatic and troubled history, a history which is rich in tradition and heritage, and in many ways rooted in the past hardship. It is hard for me articulate this sadness, yet I do sense it. 

Not far from where we stayed - a typical Belfast street (not working class)

To visit cities like Derry and Belfast is to see these extremes exemplified. In many ways, these cities are modern, culturally vibrant cities; world cities by any standards. Yet take a short bus ride and you can be driving through housing estates which look as they would have fifty or even one hundred years ago. The largely working class areas of Bogside and Creggan, the Shankill and Falls Roads really reminded me why, to some, the Irish have long been seen as an under-class within the Empire. In these areas, we saw young girls who could not have been much older than twelve or thirteen, dressed up and trolling the streets as if looking for something far beyond their years. We saw gangs of young boys, around the same age, congregating in boredom perhaps, waiting for the chance to make mischief. One such group pelted our bus with rocks as we drove past. The reaction of the bus driver spoke volumes when he told us that it happened all the time, and there was nothing that could be done. This, too, was Ireland.

"It is my fecking birth right to play golf, and no English bastard can ever take that right away. My father fought and died for the right for me to be able to use a 7-wood, and I will die for the same right if I have to." Oh for God's sake, shut up, Rory.

I came to Ireland knowing of the sectarianism of the past, but not really expecting too many visual reminders or manifestations of it. In some cases my expectations were realised, but not universally. The murals of Belfast and Derry may serve to capture the tourist dollar, but they are much more than this. To many Irish, the murals and the flags are proud reminders and symbols of who they are, in much the same way as a football fan might wear their team scarf home from The MCG to tell the world who they support. 

This photos says a great deal about modern Ireland - the murals in the background, and the modern voting propaganda in front.

Sectarianism in Ireland, particularly the Unionist north, is alive and strong in parts of the city, and the residents are proud to tell you this. Paradoxically, across the river, or the freeway or the railway line, modern Ireland is almost indistinguishable from any other Western city. It is almost an apartheid by stealth, with the deciding factors being poverty, and then religion, because in this part of the world at least, they are inextricably linked. 

The lovely Lagan River winding its way through Belfast

I certainly can’t say I leave Ireland knowing what makes its people unique; I know they are, but I don’t know why. They are proud, yet equally self-deprecating; globally aware, yet introspective. We love Ireland, but I’m no clearer on what makes someone Irish than when I arrived – and perhaps it’s this that makes it so mysterious and charming.