Days like this, leaving on a big adventure, people often (ok, always and constantly) ask if you're excited. Well, of course I'm excited, but do you know what kind of day I'm in for today? One and a half hours driving to O'Hare, another hour waiting for my flight, two hour flight to Newark, three hour layover in Newark, six hour flight (overnight) to Belfast. It can be a little exhausting to be excited that whole time!

But of course, I am, and nervous, and scared, and apprehesive, and curious, and ready. I could probably find a reason to say that I feel almost every human emotion there is right now, except perhaps anger. But, give me time.

To all of you I haven't spoken to or couldn't quite connect with in time (Lexi, I'm sorry! Worst game of phone tag EVER!), know that I am thinking of you. Each of you are part of who I am, so you'll never be far away. For those of you who wish you could come with me, I hope you read this blog and see my pictures and are happy, and know that it's never too late to begin your own adventure.

Lots and lots of love and nervous hugs,

Liz(zy)

written by  ebienelson on January 19, 2009 from Thiensville, United States
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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After the much bullshit-ed through interview, Tomás and I had lunch and went shopping, because I needed hair stuff (yes, I know, I've never felt so high maintenance in my life as I did this afternoon). I remember when I was packing to come here, someone (ahem, Mom, ahem) who said "Don't bother packing hair stuff like shampoo and product, you can probably buy much cooler stuff there." Well, no, Mom, not only is their selection smaller and exceedingly focused on hair 'putty' that I can only imagine makes one's hair look crustily emo-esque and greasy, but it's much more expensive. At home, I use Tresemmé volume spray (about $3), Sunsilk Smoothing Serum (about $3) and Suave hairspray (about $2). Good lord. First of all, here it's not Tresemmé volume spray, it's volume gel-spray putty nasty junky stuff, and it's more than 3 pounds, which is about $5. So, for all the things I want, plus the hairdryer and straightener, it was nearly $60. I guess I have to choose between eating and looking good.

Other than that, I'm lovely. It's chilly and rainy (shocking, I know) but I'm quite happy to be here. I took a black taxi into town this morning (p.s. I love how everyone here says 'town' to indicate going into the city centre, much like when people in England referred to London as 'town' no matter where they were or in New York, 'the city'). It's a really cool system because it's almost like a bus, only much faster and smaller. You wait at the side of the road, and when a black taxi with a white plate comes by you stick out your hand. If they have room they stop, you get in, they take you to Castle Street in the city centre and it's only 1 pound 30. Quite lovely and nicer than a bus. Made me feel very Belfast-y.

So. I don't have to get up tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Pretty excited about that since I'm quite tired, though not quite as jet-lagged as I expected. Not sure when the next time I can post is, since we don't have internet at the apartment yet and I don't start work til Monday. Patience!

written by  ebienelson on January 21, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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We ran into one of Tomas's friends and nipped away from the parade and went into this family's house with about 10 other people. She fed us each a bowl of soup and bread and we were in and out in about 5 minutes, perfect timing to join back up with the parade before our friends noticed!

Driving back was almost as interesting. We went with Tomas's friend Donal, who from what I can figure is around mid-40s. We had gotten off the highway in North Belfast for him to get petrol next to an area called Mount Vernon (where I may be observing some groups), whose main attraction is a gigantic mural perched above a soccer field featuring a masked man with a gun that says "Mount Vernon Volunteers: Ready for Peace. Prepared for War." It's lovely. As we drove down through the neighborhoods en route to the Falls Road, Donal told us about where he grew up and where/when he got his "first proper beating for being a Catholic" (his words, not mine). He grew up in an area that was much more mixed than it is now, around Tiger's Bay. He was beaten up by a gang of Protestant boys when he was 4, and the lady who owned the shop outside of which he got beaten gave the boys some icies after they beat him up.

We then drove right through Tiger's Bay, and without so much as a warning, Donal said we were now in New Lodge, which is a Catholic area. No peace wall. No fence. No nothing to separate the two communities (as far as I could tell), but a change from a DUP office on one street to St. Somebody's primary school on the next. Apparently this area (with no surprise) was one of the deadliest during the Troubles. Around 500 Catholics were murdered along one stretch of road, the Cliftonville road, also know as the Murder Mile or something like that. We drove past a police station and Donal mentioned (ever so casually, the way someone in America might mention they'd eaten at that restaurant they'd just passed, not so good food) that his brother had been "put away" - i.e. arrested - for trying to blow it up.

It was pretty surreal. You hear all these stories about how things like that happened to people - neighbors being shot, family members beat up, people burnt out of their homes - but it has a very different taste when you're sitting in a car with a man who's experienced nearly every aspect of the Troubles. It gains a very real human face. It makes you afraid. I felt a very real sense of relief as soon as we turned onto the Falls Road, because West Belfast is much more insulated, and there's fewer little onclaves of different communities, making it much more homogenous. I feel safe there. I think that after hearing Donal's stories, I would feel less safe in North Belfast. It's not necessarily that I would feel unsafe in a Protestant community, so much as the fact that interface areas (where Protestant and Catholic communities intersect), tend to be the most violent. In West Belfast, in Andytown, I can be almost 100% certain that every person on the street or in the shop is from the same community - my community now - and that I don't have to worry about there being any flairups. You can see how that kind of mentality very quickly leads to entrenched sectarianism. I think it also applies on the Protestant side. For me, at least, as I said, I would be fine in any community. But according to Tomas, there's still real possiblities at flashpoint areas for Trouble to arise (again, why I wouldn't want to live in an interface community as much). For example, on his way back from a meeting a Derry a month or two ago, he and a few of the guys he was with from the IRSP (Irish Republic Socialist Party) went into a chipper called Bridie's in Drumahoe. Now, Drumahoe is home to a lot of policemen. Apparently, Tomas and his friends got some very, very frosty looks from the people inside, because they were wearing IRSP badges. That's why when we stopped there for Donal yesterday, Tomas told him to make sure he wasn't wearing anything that would identify him with the Catholic/Nationalist community.

And yet, you go out to a pub and you see and hear people from both communities interacting absolutely fine - people that have been friends for years. You wonder why there's such a difference between these people and the people in Tiger's Bay who have alarms in their homes going directly to the paramilitaries, or the people who yell sectarian slurs at each other during old Firm matches (when the Rangers play the Celtics in Scotland; Tomas is taking me to the conference final match next month and I made him promise to glue me to his leg because I'm slightly terrified).

It all gets very muddled, and there's not clear cut answer, though certain people on either side will tell you there is, and it usually involves some variation of kicking "those f*****s the hell out."

It made the Derry march interesting. While it obviously was about commemorating Bloody Sunday, in which 13 innocent civilians were gunned down by British paratroopers during a peaceful civil rights march, it was also about Civil Rights - something that, one would think, all people would support.

written by  ebienelson on February 2, 2009 from Derry, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Ah, that's better. Anyway, it has come to my attention that no matter where you are, no matter how much you love what you are doing, weekends are never long enough. This Saturday the weather was actually quite lovely, especially for Belfast in February and especially given the crap-tastic weather we'd been having lately. Tomas had to work all day (shocker, I know) so I made plans with Zulema, the Spanish EVS intern at Public Achievement. We met at St. George's Market at 2pm, not realizing that was actually when it closed. She had a friend with her, Udi, who was visiting from Barcelona, and we also met Noemie, who is Belgian (!). After sharing 2 pig sandwiches (literally, the spit was right behind our table; I had to concert really hard on not thinking about exactly where my delicious sandwich originated from) we went to the Europa Hotel, because Zulema had heard there was a free jazz concert. Well, I guess there was... if you mean 4 old guys in a hotel bar. They weren't too bad, actually. We were the youngest people in the place by about 30 years, easily. We also met up with Clarisse, an EVS intern from France, Milos, EVS from Poland, and Musti, who's from Turkey. Musti annoys me. He's one of those who just won't let it go that I'm here of my own volition and not getting paid. I swear to God, the next person who says to me "What, you're not getting paid? WOOOOW" I'm gonna smack them. Seriously. Back off, already.

After the 'concert' we went back to Zulema's for dinner (after much deliberation from myself; Musti was annoying the crap out of me and I knew Tomas had a break from 6-7 before he started working the concert that we had intended to go to. Eventually I decided that while I was tired of Musti, I was REALLY tired of sitting around in bars waiting for Tomas. So, there ya go). We drank wine, her Catalonian friend Udi made tortilla patata, more EVS people came, pan tomate was made along with soup and potato gratin by Abdi (from France), and before you knew it, there were about 15 people there, from about 7 different countries - Spain, France, Italy, Belgium, Ireland, Turkey, Poland, America, and Armenia. Holy. Crap.

It was so amazing, like a big dysfunctional family. We were the younger, alcoholic version of the UN. Only with less shouting. Ok, maybe more shouting. My favorite person of the night by far was Cailin (pronounced Cahl-yeen), who had just returned from EVS Israel, and who actually lives right up the street from me in Andytown. Fantastic! We have a ton in common and I'm really excited to have a friend that doesn't require a taxi ride to get to. Yay.

At about 10pm Cailin, Jo (from Belgium, we spoke Flemish together!) and Alessandro (Italy) all got in a taxi and went to the John Hewitt, because I was supposed to meet my friend Rebecca at 10:30, and eventually Tomas. Somehow we managed to get a table, which is in itself an absolute miracle on a Saturday night at the Hewitt. It would be like going to the Library on a Saturday night and not being hit on by a pretentious frat house jock nasty cologney man. Near impossible, right? Yeah. We had a really good time, aside from Jo and Cailin getting into a pseudo-political discussion, which would be fine aside from the fact that Jo is super dramatic and was flailing her arms about and practically shouting and making everyone uncomfortable... enter Tomas, and the gay guy he works with Anthony, whom I love! Whew. Everything was much better after that. Tomas brought Anthony, Anthony's boyfriend Matt, and Nicole, another girl he works with, to the pub. So Cailin and Nicole and I had some girl time (yay! I have girlfriends!), so next weekend I won't have to depend on Tomas for my social life. That, I think, will be a huge step in my feeling like this is really my home, to feeling independent and in charge of my life here. I don't like to be or even just to feel like I'm dependent on Tomas. He's been really fantastic, but I didn't come here for him, I came here for myself, and I need to stay true to that.

So after the Hewitt closed at about quarter past one, Cailin, Nicole, Tomas and I went back to the Castle (aka our apartment) and had rum (sidenote: Megan, you know what this is all about. Also, Tomas decided not to throw out your mattress, because Nicole slept on it and said it's amazingly comfortable). Went to bed at half past 4, and did absolutely nothing yesterday. Lovely.

written by  ebienelson on February 9, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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I was in the black taxi with Tomas, and as we we neared the roundabout at the Glen Road (only the second one from our house on the trip down the Andersonstown/Falls Road), traffic was suddenly backed up. Tomas turned around (he, unfortunately, was in the crappy facing-backward-pull-out seat) and asked the taxi driver what was going on. Here, I have re-enacted it for you:

Tomas: Here, what's going on mate?
Driver: What?
Tomas: What's going on?
Driver: What?
Tomas: With the traffic, mate, what's going on with the traffic?
Driver: Oh, security alert, down by, uh, offa the Springfield Road.
Tomas: What for?
Driver: What?
Tomas: What's the alert for?
Driver: Where? Down the road, not sure exactly...
Tomas: No, WHAT.
Driver: Oh right, what, I don't know. Suspicious objects, probably.
Tomas: Aye, three dead clowns.

We got through the roundabout at the Glen road, and inched down past the park and the City Cemetary, and as we got to the intersection at the Whiterock road, the taxi driver went through the roundabout, and then, instead of going straight, swung around at the last second (as black taxi drivers are want to do) and went right, down through the back streets off the Falls. We weaved our way through the streets and then came back up to the Falls past the Whiterock road, and came up finally on the other side of the Springfield Road, where we could see police directing traffic. But the road was still backed up. So he went back through the side streets (the very narrow tiny sidestreets, might I add, so much so that I often thought we're gonna sideswipe that car parked on the sidewalk and I'm going to end up in the driver's seat of the other car) and finally came up on the other side of the Culturlaan. Looking back through the window, we could see that the block the Culturlaan sits on was completely cordoned off and there were a few police vans parked across the road, a few of the cops standing about. Then occurred an apparently typical Belfast conversation that I had never witnessed before:

Tomas: It's the Culturlaan?
Lady Sitting Next to Me: There's no cars parked outside, so it musn't be a car bomb.
Tomas: Suspicious objects outside the Culturlaan. They must've found some Ulster Scotch speakers.

Later, when I got into work, I mentioned the back-up to Caoimhe, who also lives in Andytown. She said her 'wee nephew' goes to school just beside the Culturlaan, so she phoned him and asked what was going on. Apparently, it wasn't the Culturlaan at all (which I never really thought it was, it's a rather benign place, at least for West Belfast. I mean, plop the thing down on the Newtownards Road and you'd have trouble, but it's smack in the middle of Republican West Belfast. No problem.) It was the Beehive, which is a pub just across the road. Apparently, someone got killed there.

So there you have it. My first real authentic Belfast experience. Now, for all of you at home, it's your job to calm down my parents and assure them it's not dangerous here. They're probably freaking out. I think I'm safer here than in Murderapolis...

written by  ebienelson on February 10, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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I've heard Tomas say to me many times how safe the area is that we live in. One night we went for a run together, and he left the apartment door unlocked. Most nights it's dark when the taxi drops me off on the Andytown road, and as I walk up through the alley, I remind myself that this is a safe neighborhood, and though I might've felt threatened walking through a similar area in America, I needn't feel that way here. Even last night, as I passed a group of young men in hooded sweatshirts, I didn't feel as urgent of a need to take countermeasures, like crossing the street or pulling out my apartment keys and placing them between my fingers like makeshift weapons.

But lately, there have been a lot of reports on the BBC about attacks and robberies, particularly in North and West Belfast, that I find troubling (though I will come to how much or how little I now trust the BBC later). In the BBC, these are said to be mainly robberies and assaults in the course of robberies. Some of the most recent ones are targeting the elderly, which is especially awful. These reports bring two somewhat related issues to my mind: first, the troubling representation of the motivations of these attacks in the media, and second, why these are attacks are taking place in what's always been safe territory .

On the BBC's Northern Ireland page today, the main article is about a man shot dead by masked men in a neighborhood in Derry. The headline reads: "Dissidents Blamed for City Murder - Politicians have blamed dissident republicans for the murder of a man in Londonderry Wednesday." The article then goes on to say that it's suspected that drugs were involved (as they so often are, according to the BBC, whenever 'dissident' republicans are involved...). Further down in the article, we find out exactly WHO has decided that it was these so-called 'dissident' republicans: DUP Assembly member William Hay. According to him, "That is worrying because you still have organisations out there who think the only way they can solve the problem of Northern Ireland is by killing someone and taking the law into their own hands.They don't have any respect for law and order themselves."

And, lest you think that I am completely biased and do not give weight to the other side of the argument, here is what the Sinn Fein representative for Derry, Raymond McCartney, had to say about the incident. Notice how little it differs: "The people in this city have overwhelmingly shown their support for the republican project as it's going forwards, and if these people are trying to step in to fill any vacuum which they feel exists then they have had their answer. So if this is coming from a group that calls themselves republicans then there is no support for their actions."

Really?

I, personally, know many people who would severely disagree with that assessment. Who would even vehemently disagree with the label of 'dissident.' In their eyes, they are the ones who are continuing to carry on the republican ideal, they are the ones who didn't sign up to an agreement that cedes control of the island, and compromises the constitution of the Republic, and recognizes, for the first time in republican history, the British government in Ireland by participating in the parliament of what they see as an illegal partition - to them, those who signed that agreement are the 'dissidents.' It has become a curious juxtaposition to observe. If one group in power says that the other is carrying out illegal activities motiviated by money and drugs, this disenfranchises them from what they view as their own ideals: republicanism. It prevents the general public from making their own judgment. It makes 'republicanism' the sole purview of one specific group, which cannot be infringed upon, and anyone not in that group who purports to be a republican simply cannot be, and moreover, they are probably a criminal. In this, the motivations of Sinn Fein and the DUP are remarkably similar, and though they are 'enemies,' they are getting a lot out of a not-so-inconspicuous symbiotic relationship.

Second. And probably what I would get most in trouble for saying. Think back, those of you who are familiar, to the nature of nationalist communities during the Troubles. The RUC was largely unable to enter many nationalist strongholds. Where did the law and order come from? How did these communities stay safe? There's one very simple and controversial answer: the IRA. They were nearly as heavily involved in policing their own communities as fighting their enemy. There was a much lower level of petty crime during that period (and no, you're right, I haven't any verifiable figures at the moment to back that up; I know I've read it, but take this as my journalist acknowledgement that I'm not giving you a concrete fact at the moment, and get off my back). Why the rise in neighborhood crime nowadays? People aren't getting blown up or butchered by rival paramilitaries with the same frequency (or at all, really), but elderly people are being held at gunpoint and robbed in their own homes, young women have been raped on the Queen's campus, and homes are getting burgled with shocking regularity and disregard. Why?

The police service in Northern Ireland is still hotly contested and incredibly controversial (I really need a thesaurus, 10 points to whoever can suggest a new word for controversial for me, thanks). They still encounter gangs in many areas they try to act in. They aren't a strong presence in most (nationalist) communities. What used to be there, that took the place of an effective police service, is the IRA. The IRA acted against 'anti-social behaviour,' as it's known here. Whether you agree with their methods or not, and most don't (kneecapings, punishment beatings, etc.) it's hard to argue against the fact that petty crime has gone up since the decommissioning of the IRA. I don't think a young man should lose the use of his legs because he is severely misguided and engages in activities that are illegal, but I would also like to retain the safety I feel in Andytown. I can only assume that there are others out there who feel the same way.

This is important. So much of what the world now knows about Northern Ireland has a rosy sort of a glaze over it, huddled in the 'success' of the peace process and the supposed transition to a post-conflict society, swathed in triumphalism and phrases like reconciliation, hope, peace, moving forward, moving past...

I'm not saying there hasn't been progress. Obviously, there has been a tremendous effort and society has transformed in many significant ways. I wouldn't be able to live here safely if that wasn't true. All I'm saying is that, as one person said so succinctly to me when I was here in July, "Northern Ireland is a post-violence society, not a post-conflict society." There is still fear, there is still struggle, and there are still so many who feel disenfranchised and left behind. How can Northern Ireland truly become a "post-conflict" society until these issues are addressed?

written by  ebienelson on February 11, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Today, I experienced another Belfast first. Or rather, a Belfast impossiblity, an urban myth... that's right folks, you didn't think he existed: The Cautious Taxi-Driver.

I swear, we sat at the Kennedy Way roundabout this morning for a whole 3 minutes. That's a whole day in taxi-terms! I mean, I like not being killed by crazy reckless driving as much as the next person, but I almost felt sorry for this guy. Obviously no one sent him the memo about how you apparently have to be near suicidal (or homicidal, I suppose) to be a Belfast black taxi driver. I sense an intervention may be needed here. This guy obviously suffers from some serious confidence and lack-of-a-God-complex issues.

Anyway, back to business. I have groups three days a week, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Tuesday nights are my group in the Westland, a very Protestant conclave surrounded by nationalist communities in North Belfast. It takes place in a community center, and the young people are the youngest Public Achievement has ever worked with, ranging from (by my amateur judgement) 8-12 years old, all girls. Generally, they have been the sweetest and easiest of all my three groups. It's been a lot of fun to work with them. The first session we (Zulema and myself) were there, 3 weeks ago, one girl grabbed my arm as we were leaving and said "I don't want you to go! I like you!" An incredibly sweet introduction to my PA coaching career.

Oh, it's all been downhill from there. Not necessarily with this group, though this Tuesday's session was a bit more challenging as Zulema was away in Denmark and naturally the girls picked that night to be rambunctious. How kind of them. But my other groups are a bit more challenging, particularly in St. Gerard's on Wednesday afternoons.

St. Gerard's is a a special-needs school in far-West Belfast, in Whiterock, which is basically straight up the hill from where I live in Andytown. When I say special needs, I generally mean ADD, ADHD, and a few kids with mild autism. We're specifically trying to use more of my personal arts-based strategies with this group, as writing and traditional learning is not their forte. It's been extremely challenging, which I suppose shouldn't come as a surprise. This past Wednesday was our second session with them. It started off pretty well; we played the Name Game that I learned at Homestead Drama with Mrs. McCain (thanks Mac!) which seemd to go over pretty well. Then we broke into smaller groups, and I was leading a group with three boys: Francie, Fra, and Ciaran. Fra is the smallest boy in the class, very sweet, lots of energy, but generally very well engaged in the activites. Ciaran is very quiet, and often has to be "coaxed" (read: forced) by the teachers to participate in activities. We were doing an exercise called the laundry process, in which the young people were looking for pictures and words in magazines that represented something in their community that made them feel angry, sad, bored, or that they wanted to change. It was difficult from the very beginnings. Curse those teachers, we asked them to bring in old magazines, and for some unknown reason, they didn't think to check if these magazines had half-naked pictures of girls in them, which, of course, they did. Now. Imagine trying to get three 13 year-old boys to focus when there's pictures of Britney Spears in a bikini floating around. Almost impossible. Honestly though, Ciaran and Fra weren't so bad. It was Francie. That kid was determined to hijack the entire process, talking over me, asking inane questions about Britney, not listening, saying stupid things to the other boys, etc. You get the picture. It was made even more frustrating by the fact that when really talking to Fra and Ciaran, I could get them to engage somewhat in the activity. Granted, they only thing they would cut out were footballers, which wasn't really the point, but it at least stimulated a conversation about sport, staying fit, and whether there were enough opportunities for them to play sports in their communities. This made it that much harder when Francie would deliberately talk one of them away from me. I tried so hard alternately to engage him, to ignore him, to ask him to stop, and even to ask one of the other coaches for help.

It's extremely discouraging when something like this happens, especially when you've no real experience coaching. It become really hard to remember why you're there, and to remember that most likely this is not about you at all. These are kids from extremely disadvantaged backgrounds who obviously already struggle in school settings. You know that they have issues. You knew ahead of time that it would rough. But it's still hard to prepare yourself for something like this. And then something happened that reminded me not only of why these kids were struggling, but also of how much they needed a opportunity like PA.

Francie had been misbehaving all day. Ciaran was quiet, but manageable. As we were cleaning up the room from our group activity, Ciaran was taken into the corridor by the teacher and absolutely screamed at. Top of the voice, angry gestures and pointing screamed. By his teacher. In front of the entire class, and us. Afterwards Francie was also yelled at quite vociferously. I know that he was being difficult all afternoon - believe me, if anyone experienced that, it was me. But the way he was yelled at really shocked me. It was just so unnecessary and over the top - almost violent. But really, Ciaran is the one I'm worried about. He's already very quiet, and you could just see the anger and frustration in his face after the teacher yelled at him. Personally I didn't witness him doing anything particularly disruptive or awful, so I don't know exactly what the teacher's reasons were. But I'm concerned. Yelling at him isn't helping. I'm afraid he's withdrawing more. Ciaran's teaching isn't helping or educating or nurturing him. She's oppressing him, as far as I can tell. And when I got him to talk about football, I couldn tell there was more there than a withdrawn, misbehaved kid who hated school. He plays on a football team. He really likes to play and training with his team, his friends. He can talk intelligently about these things, if you give him a chance. And this is really what PA is trying to get at, to get young people to feel like they have a say in what happens to them, to give them a chance to talk about what matter to them to help them work through and throw off the different forms of oppression around them (especially my project, which is literally based on the Theatre of the Oppressed).

As much as I get frustrated with young people, which anyone who knows me knows that I do, I want someone like Ciaran to have a chance to not get screamed at. I'm still not convinced that I'm the best person (or even the least bad person) to try and help him do this, but I guess I'm giving it a go.

written by  ebienelson on February 20, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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I don't understand! Who in their right mind thinks that when someone asks for ketchup, they mean on their fish? Why would I want that? I was extremely upset. Not even so much that there was ketchup on my fish (I think I was more upset that my chips were dry) but that I seemed to not know the rules in this place... Tomas acted like 'of course they were gonna put it on your fish, what did you think?' Like there was some kind of secret fish-and-sauce code to whichI hadn't been given the key.

It's really frustrating, even with small things like this, when you don't understand what's going on. Really, it's the small things, the little understandings that make you feel like you belong to a place. This really made me feel like a totally ignorant outsider, in its own small seeming inconsequential way.

The next day, however, I got my first taste of what it's like to be on the inside here. I went with Sean, my line manager, to meet our new HECUA intern, Ben. Sean brought me along since I had been a HECUA intern myself, obviously. So I asked Ben what they were doing, what stuff they had seen, to see if the program was still largely the same. It was so weird, hearing him talk about how they'd been to Derry, and how after our meeting they were going up the Shankill and the Falls to see the murals... it made me remember the time when I was a new HECUA student, the first time I had been to Belfast, how I (and everyone else on the program) had been fascinated by the conflict and its everyday manifestations, and had it on our minds everytime we talked to any one from here. Now I was looking at it with much different eyes, and it was odd to hear him talk about these things that were relatively normal (though obviously not as normal for me as for people who grew up here) and a part of daily life as if they were something to be discovered in a morbidly fascinating museum exhibition.

I mentioned this to Sean after we left Ben, and he said that it was of course different for me now that I was living here - Ben was on the outside looking in, whereas I was now more on the inside, looking out.

I realized that he was right, and it was the first time I'd felt that way since being here.

written by  ebienelson on February 27, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Now I understand how different it is living in a small place compared to a big space. It's almost as if the space your lungs can expand to occupy is mirrored by how small the country is (or vice versa). Just thinking about America and rolling fields and big skies makes me unconsciously take deeper breaths, whereas bringing my focus back to Belfast and Northern Ireland, I feel my shoulders slouch in a little bit, as if I'm subtley making room for all the people gathered around me in close proximity.

I feel somewhat claustrophobic here, of late. I miss open spaces, I miss distance, I miss being able to stretch out my hands knowing I won't hit someone. Or a wall. I don't know if that distance makes us more distant as people in America. I think perhaps it does. There is, after all, such a vast distance between myself and someone from Texas, or Seattle. Sure, there plenty of differences here between people from Belfast and people from rural Fermanagh, and even from people from the South. But are they closer in mindset? Are they really one big community? Are we not?

I can understand how Cailin gets frustrated with living in Belfast and consistently running into people she knows. Just this Saturday I met her and some of her friends at Bar Twelve in Botanic Ave to watch rugby. When I walked in, I saw Rebecca and Claire. Suddenly we realized we all knew each other... we just didn't know it. Belfast is the definition of a 'small world.' Sometimes I really like it, because especially for me, it's safer to know that people know each other, that I have a good chance of all my friends already being friends. I think Tomas likes it too. He literally seems to know almost everyone; we can hardly walk into a place without him knowing someone. And in many ways, I'm looking forward to being known as well, especially in Andytown, so that when I'm waiting for the bus, people don't think they have to let me get on first because they can see I'm a foreigner and assume I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing (I usually do, though).

This weekend we're going to Donegal with Megan. I don't know if it's because I've been working hard and feel like I need a vacation, or really truly am feeling the manifestations of closeness and claustrophobia, but I can't wait to get out of the city. I want to see the countryside. I want to run down a street and not be afraid of being hit by cars, I want to smell fresh air, I want it to be quiet enough to hear my own thoughts.

So maybe Anita's right. Or maybe, it's just about what you're used to. She can't imagine living in a place so big, too big, to really know all of it, and I'm having difficulty living in a place so small.

written by  ebienelson on March 5, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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On March 7, the Real IRA, a splinter of the Provisional Irish Republican Army, shot and killed two British soldiers as they retrieved a pizza from a deliveryman outside the Massereene army barracks in Antrim, about 25 minutes northwest of Belfast. Forty-eight hours later, another IRA splinter group, the Continuity IRA, killed a police officer as he responded to a call in Craigavon, a town about 40 minutes southwest of Belfast.

[shameless plug, the preceding summary was excerpted from an article written mostly about me by the lovely Megan Hupp in the St. Patrick's edition of the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel]

Since then, there's been a 'security crackdown,' which in my experience so far has meant getting stopped in a taxi going home up the Falls Road and it getting searched, and having an increased amount of helicopters circling overhead.

It has also meant an increase in the rhetoric of politicians condemning the attack and firmly placing the 'dissidents' not only outside of the peace process - where they place themselves anyway because they don't agree with the direction it's taken - and outside of any kind of dialogue, steadfastly refusing to engage with those with differing opinions on any terms.

Do I agree with the violence? Absolutely not. Do I understand why it happened? Yes. Look, all you have to do to understand is read some of the statements from 'Republican' leaders (read: Sinn Féin, whom these attacks are REALLY indicting, not the Unionists) to understand the kind of dispossession, detachment, frustration, and anger experienced in some segments of the traditional republican populations. There's also talk that there's absolutely no support for these factions within the Republican community - then how do they have safe houses to disappear into afterwards, how did they have the space to plan the attacks?

The current political climate and the normalisation of the separation of the 2 main traditions here created the space for this violence to occur.

Another factor in this is the ombudsman's decision to reintroduce the SAS to Northern Ireland. I haven't the finger-typing power at the end of a long work day to explain the whole thing, but if you're interested, read 'The Dirty War,' by Martin Dillon. Excellent expose of British and IRA tactics during the Troubles; very disturbing. It leads you to wonder where this latest round is heading.

written by  ebienelson on March 23, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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