Monday, May 10, 2010

The Window to Europe

After we left Glencree it was off to Galway for a much less academic few days. We spent a day exploring Galway independently, and then boarded a ferry for Inis Mor, the largest of the Aran Islands off the Western Coast of Ireland. Aran is a Gaeltacht area and is known as "the window to Europe". It is a most beautiful place with wonderfully friendly people. We were not even off the bus to our hostel before a man was telling me all the good pubs, and explaining that one has no closing time, depending on which one of the two police officers on the island is on duty.

The next morning we were off on a marathon walk around Inis Mor which is 9 miles long and 2 miles wide. Previously I thought the Antrim Coast was the most scenic area of Ireland, but Inis Mor is now in close competition in my book. The ground on Inis Mor, and Connacht in general, is a bed of solid limestone, and there was a plethora of rock walls to nowhere all over the island. The coast is dotted with remnants of old forts and churches, some having been built, and some having been destroyed by Cromwellian invaders. The walk along the cliffs with our guide, a native of Inis Mor was certainly what people vision when they think of Ireland. Drastic cliffs and the odd cow or goat were the constant of our journey, and the sun was beating down on us, reflecting off the waves and limestone rock resulting in a bit of a sunburn (I didn't know it was possible to get a sunburn in Ireland).

We stopped for lunch in an ancient circular fort, and lounged around in the sun while our guide told us anecdotes and facts about Aran. Throughout the semester I have avoided the stereotype of the "plastic paddy", an American who has some romantic vision of Ireland, and somewhat corny feelings towards his or her ancestors, however I could avoid it no longer. I began thinking of my own ancestors from Connacht, and how they must have lived in dwellings much like this one. I thought it amazing that they, like our group had stopped for lunch and a conversation while exploring their own surroundings, maybe in a similar fort. Our guide told us about the history of Co. Galway and how his own clann, the O'Flahertys, were banished by the 12 tribes because of their ferociousness. He told us how many people from Galway have dark skin and hair and almost North African features, and similarly a tribe in North Africa has the odd red head. He spoke of vibrant clothing worn in ancient times, brought in through the ports from Spain and Greece. He also talked a lot about myths and how they can coexist alongside science. I really like this thought and have grown to love the bountiful mythology of the nation.

We spent the last night of the program in Galway and were treated to something special, courtesy of our school. The program director and assistant collected us and took us a surprise location for a final dinner. They probably could have told us where it was to be held and we would have never believed them. We pulled up in a van in front of an old castle and there was a look of disbelief all around. Upon walking through the door we were greeted as "My Lord" or "My Lady" and given a goblet of meade. It was a fun night and a great way to end the semester.

I'm currently on a bus back to Dublin to wait for my parents and Brendan, and hopefully they were able to get here in spite of the volcano. It's funny, after having a walking tour of Inis Mor filled with talk of myths and legends and meanwhile man's mighty creations are being proved useless in the face of a volcano. It is no wonder people made up stories to explain things they didn't, and still don't understand.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Frisbee and Farsi

We ended the program by going back to Glencree to present our papers. I think everyone was relieved to be done with our academic work, and also happy to be seeing their families soon. While at Glencree we were lucky enough, that through a strange stroke of luck, a group of community workers from Afghanistan were able to talk to us and have a conversation. They had been at Glencree for a few days, and because of the volcano going off, could not return to Afghanistan. Apparently it is extremely hard to get a travel visa for Afghani's and they had to now find another plane that would take them back via Germany, or else they would have to apply for new visas. They made the best of this unfortunate situation, and were happy to talk to our group. The Afghans spoke different languages amongst themselves, and only some of them were conversational in English. One of the men, Shareef, translated, and as we found out later, it wasn't because of his English skills, but because he is very politically motivated and usually takes charge of the group.

The most odd thing had happened before the meeting when a group of us were playing frisbee out on the lawn to occupy our time. The Afghans came over and joined in on our strange American game and I really wish I could have gotten a picture of this group of American students and Afghan civil society workers laughing and enjoying a game, without even speaking the same language. The women in the group had a fun time tossing it to all of us and doing their best to catch the disk, while the men focused on seeing who could launch the frisbee the furthest.

It was a little bit of a confrontational meeting between the two groups and there was a strange tension in the air. This mood was added to by the fact that all of the Americans were sitting on one side of the room, and all the Afghans on the other. Shareef started off the questions by asking why would a group of Americans study conflict? (with a noticeable smirk on his face) It was no-nonsense questions like this that made some people uneasy and no doubt, resentful off Shareef, but I feel that he can ask me whatever questions he wants, however vague or loaded they are, I think after his life of experience with Americans I owe him this. Shareef also ended the conversation with an interesting pun that made some of our group, and also some of his own a little uneasy. He talked about how he was glad he could talk with us and he thought us to be good people, but unfortunatley if we came to Afghanistan and a Taliban fighter saw us, he would shoot us dead without the thought that we could possibly be good. He knows us now, and knows that students are good people with "big hearts", "but (he is) also talib". This little bit of humor was lost on us for a while, because we thought he was saying that he was a member of a group that would shoot us dead without a second thought. However the word talib simply means student, so he was actually saying how much we are not unlike each other.

I thought the conversation went well, and I was glad to see everyday people from Afghanistan. Not the images of Taliban fighters or corrupt politicians that plague the country, and American news sources, but instead local people finding local resolutions to local issues within Afghanistan.