What's the half life of a saint's radiating holiness?

Today I connected with my imaginary Mormon Pioneer roots by--like the song--walking and walking and walking and walking.

Walking tour of Westminster Abbey... check!
Two walking tours of British Museum... check!
Haunted walking tour.... check!
Walking across London and two bridges... check!

(oof, I think I've said, "walking" too many times; it's losing meaning!)

I got real hungry from all that walking! (really, I'm pretty limited when it comes to selfies)

Westminster Abbey was built in the Romanesque style in 1035 by King Edward the Confessor. He knew who wrote the church history books (and who would pray for him), and so he commissioned the building of the Abbey. It has since been rebuilt in a dramatic Gothic style with stretched pointed arches. Apparently Edward was such an all-around good guy that Rome canonized him. I think this makes him the only Saint who happened to be a British Monarch. fancy.

Anyway, the Abbey became a destination for pilgrims who wanted to soak in some of posthumous holiness emanating from King Edward's body, insomuch that it's a great honor for people to be buried in the Abbey. Such close proximity ensures eternal bathing in his glory and securing a good place in heaven.

Many eminent Brits have been buried there, or since the ground filled up, have a memorial plaque there. Of course King Edward, Queens Elizabeth I, Shakespeare, Darwin, Rayleigh, Jane Austen, Handel (not British), Kelvin, Watt, Joule, Dickens, Faraday, and Newton.

I thought the last two I mentioned were especially fitting because of their scientific work on forces between two objects: magnetism (Faraday) and universal gravitation (Newton). In life, they developed mathematical modeling of inter-body attraction, and in death they are each interacting with King Edward's holiness-radiating body.

...Just for fun, I thought I'd calculate the gravitational pull between King Edward's and Newton's skeletons. Assuming 5 kg for each and roughly 10 m separating the two, we get:

F = G*m1*m2/(r^2)
 = 6.67E-11(N*m^2/kg^2)*5 kg*5 kg/(10 m)^2
 = 1.67E-11 N

or roughly 0.0000000000017 * the force of gravity on Earth's surface.

Let's hope the flux of Edward's goodness into Newton has a greater effect!

Bonus: It appears as though Lord Voldemort is also interred at Westminster Abbey. Perhaps Edward's holiness will rub off on old Voldy...

Also, this marks my final day overseas. Cue Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman singing "Time to Say Goodbye." It's been grand, Ireland and UK. Thanks a million!

Island hopping

I'm making a trip to London in partial fulfillment of a completely ridiculous bucket list item: to see the Swan Lake ballet on five continents. (but aren't bucket lists full of ridiculous items?) I had the chance to see it a few years ago in Prague, but decided to go to a networking dinner (ended up being useless) instead. I was hoping to see the ballet in Ireland so that I didn't have to hop over to Ireland just for this, but it wasn't playing in Ireland and The Mariinsky Ballet--arguably Russia's premiere ballet company--was performing. Plus, a ballerina featured in this documentary (YouTube), starred in tonight's performance. Triple ace.

Anyway, up until last night, my itinerary for Thursday and Friday consisted solely of the ballet on Thursday. I was sorely underprepared, especially considering I wouldn't have a data plan. Time to fly by the seat of my pants!

Side note: I would just like to document that I am currently surrounded by a group of 20 pre-teen Israelis who are living up life without chaperones. I'm old.

Besides seeing Swan Lake an exhausting five times, I also have "go on a Rhine River cruise" and "go to the Olympics (or send a child to compete at one)" on my list. I'm a little nuts about the Olympics. Besides bovine powers, I have an unquenchable thirst for all things Olympics (I can name the Olympics back to 1992 [when I became cognizant] and up to 2020 Olympic Games) (Whitney and I watched the 2014 Olympic every night). And I've lived in three former Olympic host cities (I just can't get my timing right). Where am I going with this? Oh yes, I googled and found a London Olympics walking tour for this morning and clicked on "book" so hard.

The site of the games was a huge swath of defunct industrial land that was fortunately close to city center. As the ground was poisoned with decades of industrial chemicals, the Games provided a great opportunity to pump money into the area to pump out the garbage. They even had an onsite "soil hospital" to decontaminate the soil and removed the tires and shopping carts out of the surrounding streams. The organizing committee were dedicated to producing the greenest Games ever, so they reused leftover concrete chunklets into retaining walls and designed super energy efficient buildings. One of the mistakes host cities make is building huge stadiums that will never be used due to the immense capacity (see: Beijing's Bird's Nest). London either built temporary stadiums (stadia?) or designed their stadiums to be down-sized. Furthermore, the whole area is being infused with massive contemporary urban housing developments (they have Europe's largest shopping center), and it was good to see locals and families using the area for everyday and destination activities. Whereas many host cities are faced with empty facilities, London had fantastic foresight in after-the-games usage. Bravo!

view from under-ish a bridge

Between the tour and ballet, I had six hours. I pulled out my subway map, found where I needed to be at 7pm, and found a subway station about 7 hours of activities away. I got out at Green Park, and like Dorothy and company in a poppy field (have I said that before?) I got verrry sleepy. Walking towards Hyde Park, I stumbled to the side of the path and slumbered (don't worry, I didn't look too tacky; lots of people were resting. And if everyone's doing it, it's fine. Right?)

site of nap 1

Twenty minutes later, I got up, walked a few hundred more feet, and was persuaded by a particularly plush plot of grass to nap again.

site of nap 2

I guess this is what I get for taking a 10:30 pm flight and not getting to my hostel until 1 and then writing a blog until 3:30am. Sacrifices.

When I finally came to, I decided to walk to Westminster... Abbey? Cathedral? I wasn't sure. I'd read that there was Evensong at one of them, but as I couldn't check online (no data plan. gasp.), I rolled the dice and went with the cathedral.

Westminster Cathedral is a beautiful edifice with mosaics in the Byzantine style. Despite its beauty, when 5pm rolled around, the only voices I heard were from people praying the rosary. Derp.

Then I started making my trek across the city towards the Royal Opera House. Along the way I stumbled upon the National Portrait Library and checked out many of the famous Tudor paintings (Henry VIII in his classic stance, Elizabeth I) and walked through Chinatown looking for some quick kung pao chicken (no luck).

Then the time came for BALLET.

The prince was so-so (Brazil's was way better) but Odille/Odette was superb. And the violinist who played during their pas de deux had impeccable intonation. In a very fitting coincidence, the mother/daughter pair next to me were fro Brazil! Funny to have this connection to the place where I first saw Swan Lake, when Bev and I bought tickets for an unknown ballet (though the water ripples and feather on the poster should've given it away).

Now I'm back at the hostel fading quickly.... and I have nothing planned for tomorrow! Like Helen Keller said, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." Looks like I'll approach tomorrow like a safari on the hunt for unplanned ex

(London)derry, bitterness for innocence

During my middle school years ('96-'97), we were treated daily after lunch to 11 minutes of non-school in the form of Channel 1, a national youth news network. Every classroom had a tv in it that would provide a little window into the larger world. I specifically remember seeing images of urban guerrilla warfare in Northern Ireland and--to make it more relevant to us kids--they profiled a teen couple who were the Romeo and Juliet of their part of the world (he a Catholic, she a Protestant). The programs that Channel 1 presented were entertaining and informative, but ultimately easily compartmentalized into non-relevant stories. After the tv was turned off, it was back to Mrs. Barrett's social studies class.

Yes, we'd seen issues from around the globe, but most of us went on with our "cream puff" lives. We had the talent show at the end of the year, then I was in a musical at Canby that summer, competing in the county fair kitchen, and then we had high school to look forward to! At the end of freshman year, I went with my family and the youth symphony to Great Britain. Though I'd traveled a bit before, I adored England partially because of the sheep that my brother and I chased, but especially because--being part Scottish and English--I connected culturally with the country. Their victories were my victories, and I idolized their resplendency; I wore a Union Jack flag on my backpack the following two years.

Visiting Ireland and learning about the controversial way (to put it mildly) the British government treated the native Irish for centuries has certainly challenged my idolatry. This was especially true during my visit to Londonderry (Derry if you're pro-one Ireland, Londonderry if you're in favor of British rule. I'm gonna go with Derry for brevity.). Like Belfast, it experienced major rioting from the 1960s to the 1990s, but whereas the Protestants were in majority in Belfast, Catholics were the majority in Derry. This made anti-catholic discrimination even more unjust. One only had a vote if they owned a house, but the Protestant-run local government gerrymandered by only built houses in Protestant areas, thus ensuring their continued rule.

In 1972, the a protest march was held (mostly by Catholics) against the British army's recent adoption of internment without trial. Things escalated, and 13 Catholics were left dead. I took a walking tour of the location with a many, John McKinney, whose brother marched in the protest. His brother, William, was videotaping the event and when gunshot started, William dropped the camera and ran. William was among the 13 who died, a bullet in his back.

When I started on my tour with John, I wasn't aware that he had such a connection to the era. When he mentioned that his brother had been among the dead, I imagined the decades of sorrow and bitterness John must have felt. He did say that his family felt immense relief when David Cameron apologized for the massacre (coinciding with the second inquiry, which cleared the names of the 13), but in the seven years since then the government hasn't prosecuted the soldiers. That pronouncement provided temporary relief, but the inaction has begun to sour impressions.

View from  atop city walls--where a British Army post once was--over (Catholic) Bogside, the site of Bloody Sunday. It's tough to see in this picture, but there are several large murals, not surprisingly facing the surveying army.

The woman who runs the B&B where I stayed, Stella Kuzack, had been a young first aid attendant during the protest. She noted that things were going smoothly until suddenly they got an influx of wounded (imagine a time without cell phones!). She remembered a doctor operating on a wounded man's leg without anesthesia, and when the man cried out, the doctor told him to man up for the cause. Later, Stella would be regularly frisked by British soldiers, and when she called them pigs for cat-calling at her and her miniskirt, her family's house underwent frequent raids. She saw the influence the conflict had on her younger twin sisters (who'd gotten their hands on black berets and marched around like girl scout IRA members.... their mother wasn't too happy) and when Stella had a family of her own, she wanted to maintain some distance to ensure her children's innocent upbringing. They moved to the outskirts of town.

That's not to say that everyday life ceased. Stella still went to school (had to walk around British armored tanks) and went to the (Catholic) dance hall. She got a job as a seamstress at a (Protestant) department store because her (Polish) name didn't sound Catholic. In many ways, our teen years were similar, but the constant stress must've taken a toll on developing youngsters and they experienced loss like I never have. Stella's brother-in-law's brother, a member of the IRA, was killed, and she says that even today the IRA functions as a neighborhood watchdog, or benevolent mob.

When I asked her how long it will take for things to resolve, she responded, "Now tat one I'll tell yeh teh answer to after September." Her god-daughter/niece is marrying..... an English policeman, who is the very figure of British government authority. This is a Romeo and Juliet story again, and will be especially telling considering the girl's family's IRA past. Stella said, "I'll at least offer him a handshake and see what's he's like. I'll given him tat. But me bro'her now, I tink he won't say one word. And can yeh blame him?"

The youth, though, seem to be putting issues of the past behind them. I chatted with a ticketing cashier (age ~22) at the Tower Museum following my walk through the venue. I remarked that the video at the end regarding the Troubles, as well as the exhibits, seemed to be fairly balanced from either side. (This in comparison to my talk with John McKinney who was especially one-sided). "Oh yeh, we get that a lot from Canadian and American tourists." "So what do Irish think of it?" "We get people from both sides of the issue in here, and they appreciate that their sides are represented. ...I think this place gives the opportunity for them to hear the other side in a non-confrontational way."She added, "It's mostly the older generation that have problems anyway. The younger kids don't care about religion one way or the other." The history is being passed down, but hopefully not the hatred. Ideally this ensures the innocence of the youth, but not naiveté.

Visiting Dublin, Belfast, and Derry changed my opinion of Britain. don't get me wrong: I still love a lot about the UK, but I have a more thorough evaluation of the government's past and present actions. This realization felt like when you first recognize the fallibility of your parents: you get deeper understanding with a side of disappointment. I remember asking my mom once, regarding a war, "So who were the good guys?"Her response: "It depends on which side you ask." And when I asked "So the current IRA isn't negative anymore?" Stella responded, "Well, they were never bad, they just did bad things occasionally." It sounds a little contrived, but is a good illustration of the complexity and duality of our motivations and actions.

Ambling along Antrim

The Antrim coast is on the north coast of Northern Ireland. In fact, if you squint, you can see Scotland from your cottage. Legend has it that a giant named Finn McCool wanted to dual with a Scottish giant, so he plunked these stone columns into the ocean to form a land bridge to Scotland. But upon seeing the superior size of his opponent, Finn ran back to his Irish cottage and his clever wife swaddled him in baby blankets. When the Scot arrived looking for Finn, he saw this huge baby and surmised that the baby's father (presumably Finn) was even giant-er! So the Scot ran back to Scotland, tearing up the bridge along the way. You can still see the hallmark basalt columns at Giant's Causeway in Ireland and Fingal's Cave in Scotland!

Of course, if you want to believe in science, there's an alternative explanation. Somewhere between 50-60 million years ago, a volcano burped a splosh of lava that formed a lake. When thinner sheets of lava cool, they create the sheets of igneous rock that we're used to seeing (remember those videos of the slow-moving lava that you saw in grade school?). But when these large volumes of lava in lakes cool slowly, you get regular polygonal columns of basalt that form. Analogously, think of mud that dries slowly to create cracked dirt.

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Eons of weathering have created the World Heritage Site that is Giant's Causeway.

They say that the formations are continuing to develop! In fact, my very steps influenced their destiny. I feel very impactful.

Also, I found an organ for Whitney to play!

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Afterwards I headed over to Carrick-a-Rede, which is a tiny island from which fishers have been catching salmon for the past centuries. For the last 350 years, a rope bridge has connected the island to a mainland. I don't know if the bridge is still used by fishermen (probably not, as the Atlantic Salmon is now endangered), but money is made off of tourists (like me) who cross the bouncy bridge and then meander around the island.

I convincingly feigned fear.

Bonus: nearby water cave that probably houses a horcrux.

The slow mending of a community

(Brief history of violence in Northern Ireland)

Parts of Belfast are historically Catholic or Protestant, and a 45-foot tall fence makes it very clear where the separation is. Additionally, murals have been painted on the walls and flags wave to remind who's side is whose, and to reinforce the past.

I spent four hours walking along these roads, getting a feeling for the sectarian violence that existed and still exists to some degree today. Three of those hours was on a political history walking tour by a Nationalist man who organized with the IRA (purportedly before it was super violent) and was great friends with many Nationalist heroes/martyrs.

He insisted that his participation with the Nationalists wasn't a religious war, but in retaliation to the systematic anti-Catholic discrimination (I've heard from several sources how it was impossible for a large Catholic family in need to get government assistance, but a smaller, less-needy Protestant family would be readily helped.) According to him, the British government waged an unfair war against the people, and if he is to be believed (and a 2010 British report supports this), then many innocent women, men, and children were murdered.... And nobody has been punished for these illegal acts.

So today was a heavy day, where although I was grateful that outright street violence has abated, I was still received visual reminders of the dark past. Some of the murals are probably unnecessary, and though they are historically significant, they probably keep the treachery of the past at the forefront of people's minds, reminding them to fight for past offenses.

I realize that it's unfair for me--a third party--to step into such a deep and complex situation and assume judgment. But I acutely feel human suffering, and I can try to empathize.

old mural on Sandy Row

new mural--less offensive and pointed

***

Yesterday at Kilmainham Gaol, I stuck around and talked to the tour guide afterward. The guy (Kevin?) was probably 22 or so, and I got talking to him about the future of the island, what reasons there were (beyond an emotional sense) for it to be a unified country, and whether that'd ever happen. He thought for a bit, and responded, "No, I suppose there isn't much reason for us to be unified, except for the emotional reason. And I doubt that we'll be unified. Northern Ireland has been separate for so long and developed its own identity that it wouldn't make sense for them to unite."

"Then how will the tension be resolved?"

"By generations of people passing, slowly getting used to the fact."

I thought about how Ireland is the product of several invasions, first the Celts, then the Vikings (Danish, Swedish, and Nordic in their turn), and then the Normans. In all of those cases, I'm sure that previous inhabitants weren't thrilled about these invaders, but years of intermarrying and cultural mingling erased tension. (I also thought about the parallel we have in the US of anti-immigration, and how perspective can be changed to consider European explorers themselves as immigrants in an American Indian land, but that's a separate topic...)

***

While many of the overtly aggressive murals have been erased or altered to be more positive, some still exist that--while not directly inciting rebellion--do quietly plant seeds of discontent. "Remember how awful the [other side] was? Remember how unjustly we were treated? How shall we get even?"

And I can somewhat understand their motivation. One of the posters I saw hung listed each of 100s of innocent Catholics who were killed--probably without just cause--by British soldiers. I can understand the production of the posters as a means of catharsis. How else do you resolve the anguish that you feel about schoolchildren being gunned down? Some action is necessary to bring to closure the grief, but are the means bringing about other ends, too?

Fortunately, many of the new murals I see have messages of inclusion and anti-racial discrimination. While not directly addressing the issues of the past, they do seek to unify the people on one topic. Maybe it's a starting point. What definitely is a starting point is the source of such murals: children. As an illustration of prison guide Kevin's point, by starting with education of the children, slowly the generations will have more open dialogue, hopefully leading to open discussion and healing.

Despite the change in tone I see in the murals, taking in the ghosts of the past in the present was taxing. It's difficult to generate hope when barraged with messages of anger and unresolved crimes. Then I passed City Hall and noticed people setting up votives in some sort of demonstration across the lawn. I stepped back to read the message:

What unites human beings:
ears, eyes, loves, hopes and toes
is huge and wonderful.
What divides human beings
is small and mean.

Rather than conveying anger and encouraging retaliation over the divisive past, the statement seeks healing through commonality. The was, at least for me, starkly juxtaposed against the polarized messages just blocks away. It gave me hope, really lifting my spirits, that people were seeking resolution by inclusive, productive means.

A brief summary of Northern Ireland's recent history

Allow me to give the briefest of summaries regarding the creation and developments of Northern Ireland (credit to Rick Steves), especially for those of us who only remember a few news stories from the 90s:

1600s: England starts strategically "planting"Protestant English and Scottish to help assimilate Ireland into British economy.
1921: Ireland wins its pseudo-independence, but only 26 of the 32 counties join the Irish Free State.
1949: Republic of Ireland leaves British Commonwealth to become fully independent, six northern counties (only ones with Protestant majority) remain part of the UK.
But within those six counties, many Catholics (35% of population) living who feel disaffected.
"Unionists" describe those who want to remain part of Britain, "Nationalists" want all 32 of the Irish counties to be united.
Many forms of anti-Catholic discrimination are adopted, leading to the Troubles that plagued the region from the 1960s to 1990s.
1960s: US Civil Rights movement inspires Catholic minority to begin nonviolent struggle to end discrimination, but extremists polarized issues and things turned violent.
Unionists are afraid that if the island became a unified nation, relatively poor Republic of Ireland (the south) would drag down Northern, and that the high population of Catholics would lead to repression of Protestants.
1969: As things become more violent, British Army enters initially as peacekeepers, but then becoming the muscle behind the Unionist government.
1972: More than 500 people die (men, women, and children) as a result from petrol bombs and guns. A more violent IRA (Nationalist) emerges.
1968-1998: more than 3,000 people killed in Northern Ireland.
1990s: Ireland's EU membership and increasing economy, and the Catholic Church's lessened influence, lead to an easing of tension and
1998: a ceasefire is signed.
Today, there aren't bus hijackings, or checkpoints, or chaos on the streets. But there is still underlying tension and unresolved grief.

Ties that bind, issues that divide

Today I visited a jail, called Kilmainham Gaol, that housed thousands of Irish prisoners over its 128 years in commission, and was a site of critical events in Ireland's fight for Independence.

Kilmainham Gaol was a prison built in 1796, and featured a new style of detainment. Past jails were generally housed all of the convicted in one or a few rooms, but the extensive fighting and deplorable conditions often led to the ex-cons leaving worse than they’d arrived. Instead, the new style of jail was designed to reform the convicted through silence, separation, and supervision. One cell was to contain one person who silently pondered their misdeeds for 22 hours per day. The “supervision” part was achieved physically and psychologically; cells were arranged in a panopticon style where the guard could readily see into each cell (and even sneak up on them via carpet-quieted footsteps). This jail was used from 1796 until 1924, including imprisonment of the destitute during the 1840s Great Famine, who committed crimes so they could enjoy the guaranteed food and shelter of jail.

Eye-like carving around the peephole on the inner-side of the door
reminded convicts that they were always being watched.

There had been independence movements since the 18th century that had varied levels of support from the ethnic Irish. On Easter of 1916, a group staged a rebellion by proclaiming the secession of the Irish Republic (called the Easter Rising) that was initially lacked the support of the Irish; the people considered this group adventurers. But the English-led army quelled the rebellion in six days and ordered the execution of most of the leaders in Kilmainham Gaol following court martial. This swift

Site in the jail stone-crushing yard where the 16 leaders were executed.

and rash action by the British actually served to change public opinion of the rebellion, and these men were seen as martyrs rather than foolhardy.

W.B. Yeates wrote of the events,
“Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born”

Many Irish consider Easter 1916 as their Independence Day, the beginning of the Irish Republic.

Notes written by those hours before their execution are sobering. In this one, Michael Mallin reflects on his hope to be reunited with his family in heaven. Also, he exhorts his children to enter church service to "be away from the cares and trials of the world." His daughter became a nun and two of his sons became priests.

Public sentiment had changed and now strongly supported Irish self-government. Many of the insurgents were sent to internment in England, where they forged a closely-bonded group with single-minded determination. To cap it off, England attempted to implement conscription, which deepened the mood of alienation. The Free Irish State movement gained traction and fighting continued in earnest until 1922, when the English granted partial independence. In short, Ireland could have its own parliament, but would still answer to the British Crown. Oh, and the six northern counties would still be part of England. [The English had been planting English landowners in Ireland for centuries (see: reasons for Irish resentment) and there was a large Anglican population in northern Ireland who wanted to remain English.]

This treaty was met with polarized responses. The Pro-Treaty Irish thought that this was a pretty good deal, and that they could continue to work for complete independence within those constraints. However, others who were anti-Treaty thought that this was a slap in the face of their sacrifices and that England would continue to control them by puppet strings.

At this point, I think about other groups (from the U.S. feminist movements to Mormons) that are bonded together in a cause, but then the members have rifts in their approaches to achieving objectives. This division is often messy and tragic.

As it happened, the two Irish factions divided, and civil war followed. The Pro-Treaty group (who had come into power) imprisoned many who were Anti-Treaty—whom they had just fought beside—in Kilmainham Gaol, and executed their former brothers-in-arms for treason.

These events are heartbreaking. I’m sure it was difficult for those who were pro-treaty, and that they felt like justice bound the hands of mercy; if they wanted a new State where law prevailed, they had to uphold the law at all costs. But were these actions justified or effective in the long run?

I believe that ultimately we’re all on the same “team”, though that’s difficult to remember when issues often divide us. By learning about the Irish’s war for independence, and the infighting that followed, one thought comes to mind: how can I best navigate divisive issues, when they do arise, to avoid casualties while achieving objectives? I think a good guiding light is for me to remember that at the root of it all, we are brothers and sisters. It may sound trite or cheesy, but trying to approach difficult issues with fellow humans—albeit flawed—in mind, rather than which side they’re on, will help me to be more compassionate, fair-minded, and understanding. Hopefully this leads to objectively better resolutions.

The heavens opened in Dublin

The weather has been pretty dang awesome for the time I've been here: not Atlanta-hot, and only occasionally drizzly. In fact, when Irish hosts apologize for those times when it rains, I just reply that it doesn't bother me and just reminds me of my Oregon roots.

Today I really felt at home.

This morning I received a campus tour of Trinity College before seeing the Book of Kells and their picturesque library. About 20 minutes into the tour, the guide was describing the campanile and the surrounding Oregon Maple trees that are the largest in the world of their type, when he stopped mid-sentence and remarked that he'd had enough of the liquid sunshine. (It really wasn't that bad. Somewhere between an Oregon Coast Mist and Halloween Drizzle.) A couple in the group beat me to it, "It's okay, we're from Seattle!" I had thought there was something special about them; out of our group of roughly 20, the three of us were the only ones not using an umbrella. (Side note: at Oregon State University, that's how we knew who the Californian out-of-state students were.)

Also, no wonder the Oregon Maples did so well in that location; it's like Oregon weather x10.

I got into line early enough to avoid the death line that built up later in the day, saw the Book of Kells (how many monks went blind illustrating that? Holy cow!)

I really wish I'd meant to make that pun. Let me explain: the pages are made out of vellum, which is processed and preserved calf skin. As this vellum has the Four Gospels written on it, it is literally a holy cow! I'll pretend like I planned it.

Then I saw their gorgeous library and took the requisite photos that 3,213,567 tourists take every year. As I left, I pitied that poor souls that had to wait in the extended line in the rain.

A coping/strategizing method that my mom taught me as a child was to look at tricky situations and imagine that I were an orphan who had to resolve it alone. Well later in the day today, the rain got into full-on Late November Storm level, and I had to keep telling myself, "Just pretend you're a monk on Skellig Michael." It was moderately assuaging.


***I've heard that there are many different ways of describing levels and types of frozen precipitation in the Russian language because so much of their winter is full of snow/hail/дождь со снегом. It's fitting that I am so well-acquainted with liquid precipitation that I can easily classify levels of it.

Finding St. Kevin

As I was driving this afternoon from Limerick to Dublin, the road took me through the Wicklow Mountains. After several miles of gentle uphill, I finally reached the pass (Wicklow Gap) and as I turned the corner, the view was one of those that takes your breath away (I feel like I've written that once or twice...). I suppose objectively speaking, it was a visually interesting area: I was in the "saddle" between two mountains, with views of valleys in front and behind me, with peaks on my left and right. But in addition to that, the scene had a calming ambiance about it, with a cool breeze that at once kept me in the present and gave me the sensation of soaring above the earth.

I noticed a little path marker with an insignia I'd seen elsewhere in Ireland, and upon reading the plaque on the side of the road (always read the plaque!) I learned that it was St. Kevin's Path. It leads across Ireland to Glendalough, the site of St. Kevin's monastery settlement.

St. Kevin was an ascetic monk who--like the monks of Skellig Michael--sought to test his faith and serve God by living as a hermit. However, it after some time, he was discovered (actually, the story of his discovery is fun: a local farmer's cow produced twice as much milk as his other cows, and the farmer followed the cow to see what its secret was. He found it licking the feet of a sleeping St. Kevin, who was resting in his lakeside cave!) and he developed a following around 540 AD. This group grew and eventually became a monastery settlement, a community of both religious and working folk.

At the time in Ireland, there were really no cities or even towns, and these monastery settlements--independent in nature (not Cistercian, Benedictine, etc)--provided the benefits of communal living. Over the next few centuries, people would pilgrimage to Glendalough, especially pregnant women for prenatal blessings, and the Catholic Church considered seven trips to Glendalough equivalent in indulgence to one pilgrimage to Rome. Pretty convenient if you lived around the corner!

However, the settlement (like most Irish monastery settlements) started to decline at the turn of the 13th century due to the rise of Dublin, the invasion of the Normans, and the increasing pressure and influence of Continental religious orders.

Unlike my experiences elsewhere, like St. Bridget's Well, I didn't notice any pilgrims there. I did notice that there was a stall selling trinkets and a few ice cream stands... perhaps to tie in with the cow that had a fondness for St. Kevin's feet?

A non-rhetorical question I have is: why did religious devotees feel like living life as a hermit would be the best way to fulfill their devotion to God? I mean, I can't blame the monks for choosing Glendalough and Skellig Michael (among others) as gorgeous places to settle, but what was the motivation for wanting to leave "the world"? I would think that, like many other people of faith, they would want to serve God by serving others. Perhaps the seclusion allowed them to ponder God's majesty and test their resolve. I have a sneaking feeling that my questions would be answered if I checked out Wikipedia's hermitage entry...

Anyway, it turned out that the many monastery settlements in Ireland, most of which grew out of the secluded religious community movement, were instrumental in keeping the "torch of civilization"alive during the Dark Ages; after the fall of Rome, when Western Civilization was crumbling away on the European mainland, secluded monks were hunched over manuscripts and parchments, pondering and duplicating religious texts (like the Book of Kells). This preserved Western culture and purportedly made the Renaissance possible.

I'm very fond of walking

One of the first things I did when I took the offer to do this study abroad program was to virtually venture through the campus via Google's street view. I remember how impressed I was with the lush, green, countryside setting. As this is my last day in Limerick (just finished grading my portion of the final exams!), I thought I'd chronicle the walk from dorm to town so that when I'm back in the concrete jungle of Atlanta, I can re-read this and be transported back to this peaceful setting of fluffy clouds, gargantuan hogweed, and the trickling sound of the River Shannon.

Starting and ending at the dorms, upper right corner.

The buildings in the lower right corner of the photo below are our dorms, Thomond Village. They're actually in County Clare, across the Shannon River from County Limerick, so when we cross the bridge every morning, we're commuting from one county to another.

Our view from the bridge.

On our little jaunt today, we'll turn right (west) after the bridge to walk along the south bank of the River Shannon. Vegetation abounds (as it often does along rivers), including these pretty little things:

And these nasty plants, called hogweed. I've remarked on them before, and apparently they are a noxious weed. Also, if you get their plant juices on your skin and then expose it to light, it can cause purple scars. (suddenly I'm less disgusted and more intrigued. How exactly does this photo-activated mechanism work? And why purple scars? And do they look cool like lightning scars?)

This guy was easily 6 feet tall.

After about a mile along the river, we'll turn left (southwest) to walk along a canal that was built to connect Limerick to the River Shannon. I've heard that Shannon was used extensively by the Vikings to raid inland towns, and also by distributers of Guinness. Apparently the three-day journey from Dublin was perfect for getting the beer its ideal flavor.

I'm gonna go ahead and guess that this is the remnants of a crane that was used to load and unload boats on the canal. These youths are using it for parkour (though the guy in the back looks like he's interested in buying a horse...).

This area of town is a little rough (some Irish call Limerick "Stabtown"), but besides some ruthless puppies being walked that might lick you to death, it seemed pretty fine to me.

A billboard was being changed, which required the guy on the ladder to pull down sheets of old paper and plaster. It looked pretty fun, and I kinda wanted to stand below the falling sheets to see if it'd be like the parachute game that you play in elementary school. Probably not the same.

We're now in Limerick town proper! It's nice, but didn't make it into my guidebook. Meh, I guess that just means that it's genuine, no-nonsense Irish!

Did I mention that we're walking through a slightly rough part of town? Evidenced by anti-austerity and tax-the-wealthy signs.

After three miles, we've made it to our turnaround destination: St. Mary's church! Parts of this church were built back in the 12th century, and its active graveyard has been in use since 1726. Sadly, it was closed, so I couldn't get any photos inside.

Let's make our trek back to the dorms, and enjoy a nice sunset over the River Shannon!

...Okay, I really should start packing now!