Birthplace of Three Legends

Northern Ireland: the fourth principality of the United Kingdom, and the birthplace of many legends. Yesterday, we took a guided tour throughout Northern Ireland, starting by boarding the Irish Rail train from Dublin to Belfast. Belfast, the second largest city on the island, and the capital of Northern Ireland, is where the literary legend CS Lewis was born and raised. In his late teens, he moved to England and became the legend that he is today.

In Belfast, we hopped on a tour bus, driven by a native called Alan Beck. We drove north, seeing the city of Carrick-Fergus first, which is along Belfast Loch, where William of Orange came into the country to stamp out Cromwell’s rebellion in the seventeenth century. From there we kept driving, going along the entire northeastern coast of Ireland. We drove through countless stunning views of the Irish countryside, including about nine glens (or valleys), pastures of grazing sheep, little fishing towns, and the rocky coast of the Irish Sea which turned into the coast of the Atlantic Ocean as we continued to drive north and east along the water’s edge.

I had never seen scenery quite like what I experienced in Northern Ireland, although I expect to be enthralled by the train ride tomorrow through central and southern Ireland as well.

Alan, the driver, was also the commentator, talking to us passengers through a microphone the entire time, giving us information about the area. For example, Liam Neeson (another legend, in my book) was born in Northern Ireland as well, close to Belfast.

Our first of three big stops was the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, a 70-foot long, wobbly bridge between two craggy islands by the coast. My parents opted to pay the five euros a piece to cross it, and I was a witness to the fact that they did. But I’m pretty sure people would have believed them just by my dad’s intense perspiration and the petrified expression on my mom’s face.

Our next stop was Dunluce Castle, an ancient fortification on a cliff that CS Lewis based his Narnian castle Cair Paravel on. Having read Prince Caspian, I felt like I had seen this marvelous fort before, even though this was my first time in Northern Ireland.

Finally, we came to Giant’s Causeway, the farthest point we traveled to along the coast. This is a rock formation that looks like thousands of hexagonal cylinders side by side that juts out into the ocean before going underneath the waves. Apparently, there’s an identical formation off the western coast of Scotland.

I had an audio guide (an electronic device I held up to my ear that told me about the Giant’s Causeway as I walked down to and around it). The audio guide (Jimmy) said he had two stories of how the Causeway was made. First, he told the legend of Finn McCool, a giant who wanted to get across the Irish Sea to Scotland, where his enemy lived in order to fight him. So in one night, he made a pathway to Scotland. But when he got there, his enemy was a lot bigger than he looked from across the Sea. So Finn McCool ran back to Ireland, with his enemy chasing him. He told his wife he was in trouble, so she put a baby’s bonnet on her husband and shoved him in a crib.

When his Scottish enemy got to his house and saw what he thought was the baby of the family, he thought, “Blimey! If the baby’s that big, how big is the father??” He ran scared back to Scotland, tearing up much of the causeway as he went.

The next story the guide told was how over millions of years, a volcano (that isn’t here anymore) made these rocks, then over millions of years, the pounding waves shaped them into perfect hexagonal cylinders. Two fairy tales in a row! I loved it!

Yes, Northern Ireland is a place full of legends. From stories of how this gorgeous scenery became the way it is, to legendary people calling this little place home. All in all, it was a brilliant tour! We saw sights we never thought we’d see, felt the wind and smelled the water of the North Atlantic, and heard a thick Irish accent the entire way.

A Portrait of the Island from a Young Man

Last night, I showed my dad all around East London at night. We went for a walk across Millennium Bridge and Tower Bridge (which we could see from our hotel window). Another night in London was a welcome treat.

First thing this morning, we walked to the Tower Hill Underground station, took the tube to South Kensington, hopped off the Circle Line onto the Piccadilly Line from South Kensington to Heathrow Terminal 1, trekked through the terminal, checked our bag, converted some pounds for some euros, and bippity-boppity, we were at our gate for an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin. Not bad for one morning, eh?

Ireland is a place that has always fascinated me. About half of my ancestors are from this pastoral isle, making this sort of like a trip back home to a home I’ve never been. This very famous island only inhabits around 6 million people: 1.4 million in Northern Ireland, and 4.6 in the Irish Republic. America has become the main home for Irish people, rather than Ireland herself. But here we landed in this lightly populated, green-embossed country, eager for adventure.

After our taxi ride from the airport to our hotel in Dublin, we set out on the town. We passed by St. Stephen’s Green on our way to Grafton Street, which is where we stopped for a bite. Following our dinner, we made our way north on Grafton street, past Trinity College, in and out of a souvenir shop with a couple prizes, and to the River Liffey. This river separates North Dublin from South Dublin. From the bridge we crossed, we could see a massive metal pole north of the river, stretching as high as any skyscraper. We learned that it was called the Monument of Light.

Close to this monument was the statue I was eager to see: James Joyce. This early-20^th century writer, author of such greats as Dubliners (1914) and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), is one of my favorites. All of his books and short stories took place right here in Dublin, the city where Joyce was born and grew up. In one of his books, Joyce wrote about a place in this city called Sandymount Strand. He said while walking along it, it felt as if he were walking into eternity, never seeing the shore. So, like every fan of James Joyce would do, I took my parents 30 minutes outside city center to the massive coast of Dublin Bay.

This was my favorite part of Dublin. The tide comes in and goes out like at any beach, but this tide goes out over a kilometer, to where at low tide (when I went), I couldn’t even see the Irish Sea from the sand! It truly was like walking into eternity along Sandymount Strand. Crush, crack, crick-crick. Joyce had his hometown pegged.

Dublin certainly feels like it has retained the early-20^th century feel more than cities like London and Cardiff have. This may be for a number of reasons. The city is a bit dirty, and the buildings and boats look rather run-down. Unfortunately, it’s a fairly economically depressed area, with many impoverished residents. But at the same time, Dublin is as safe as a city of 1.4 million can be! I reckon that’s the Irish way, though. You can be down in the dumps all you want, but leave others out of it. And Dubliners really couldn’t be friendlier! The people in Ireland, Wales, and Northern England have made the people I’ve dealt with from Southern England look as unfriendly and rude as can be! I had thought the entire UK was that way, but I stand corrected.

In these ways, Dublin has kept its rustic past, whether its people wanted to or not. The future for Dublin is tense and uncertain. With Facebook and Google moving their UK headquarters to this city recently, it’s clear to see that Dublin is really trying to become competitive on the European map once again. And I, for one, truly hope it succeeds.

Please Mind the Gap Between the Platform and the Train

Before I delve into our travels in Cardiff, allow me to offer up a little background information: The United Kingdom is divided up into four unevenly-populated principalities.
England: 60 million people
Scotland: 6 million
Northern Ireland: 1.5 million
Wales: 3 million
The capital of and largest city in Wales is Cardiff, a place of about 400,000 people. It has only been a city since 1907, back when Wales was a pioneer in the coal industry. That was the next stop on our journey around the islands.

We enjoyed another hotel breakfast this morning, then walked down the street to Cardiff Castle. This castle was built in 1136, making it nearly eight centuries older than the city in which it resides.

The gates and walls surrounding “the Keep” were restored in the early 20^th century, and the outer wall that surrounds the grounds of the castle has twenty different animal statues resting on it, one at a time as you walk down it. We opted not to pay the 11 pounds per person to go inside the castle, but seeing the beautiful structure from the outside was more than satisfactory.

From there, we made our way to Bute Park, a lovely inner-city park that seemed to be green from top to bottom. 
On this cold, cloudy day, the bright green grass and trees were a much appreciated visual.

We then boarded a “water taxi” (with a very friendly tour guide!) on the River Taff that took us from city center all the way down to Cardiff Bay, which was once the largest coal-exporting bay in the world. Even busier than the port of New York City! Today, the coal industry in Wales is dead, but the bay is most definitely still alive. With a rugby stadium seating 75,000 along the river, a massive yacht club right as you enter the bay, and a bustling shopping center where we docked, Cardiff is indeed Wales’ 21^st century city.

As we gazed out at Cardiff Bay, we saw everything from seagulls hovering uncomfortably close to our heads, to geese with their heads underwater and their hind-feathers up (Tail to the Queen?), to enormous structures right along the coastline.

Wales is certainly a pleasant place to visit, and Cardiff is a fine city. Not quite as marvelous as York was or as I expect Dublin to be, but it’s not a bad place to spend a quiet Tuesday. Not a bad place at all.

Mint Chocolate City

Yesterday morning, after taking a taxi, the tube, and the train from London to Cambridge, the three of us had the pleasure of worshipping at Resurrection Lutheran Church. 

My parents got to meet my pastor/tutor, I changed into casual clothes, and we were off to the train station once again. This time… to York!

We had to get off the train at Ely, hop on a bus to Peterborough, and then make the train to York from there, since the tracks from Ely to Peterborough were under construction. On the second train, we had quite a bit of trouble finding our seats. We couldn’t even find our section! So we sat down in three open seats, only to find out five minutes later that they were reserved for someone else! So we got up again in the moving train, fought our way through the aisles (if you can call a passageway that small an aisle), only to find that the next seats we nested in were reserved as well! So after three moves, my dad getting off the train, looking on the outside for our section, and finally finding it, we made it to York.

And boy, was it worth the trouble! I think it’s safe to say that York is my favorite city in the UK so far. We got off the train, made our way past the ancient city walls, York Minster Cathedral, and Monkbar Gate to our hotel. After asking the receptionist where he would recommend we eat, we headed for Cross Keys pub. Here, I got my third and best (so far) order of fish and chips and the best half-pint I’ve had so far. Then we made our way back to the hotel to make our plans for the next day.

This morning, we enjoyed a full hotel breakfast before embarking on the town. Our first stop was a street my girlfriend recommended that we go to while in York. Christa got the opportunity to visit York while in England for the International Piano Competition last September. And now, it’s my turn! The road (called The Shambles) had two buildings on either side of the street, which was so narrow that you could stretch out your hand from the window of one of the buildings and shake your neighbor’s hand in the other.

Our next sight was Clifford Tower, a twelfth century lookout post and military building. Following the York Castle area, we went to Betty’s Tea Café (another must-see from Christa). After enjoying what was the best cup of tea I’ve had so far in England, we walked on the city wall, from which we could see the Cathedral. Speaking of the Cathedral, our next stop was the Cathedral.

York Minster was my third cathedral and my parents’ first. It was, in their words, “unbelievably huge.” And was it ever! While I’d say Canterbury was slightly more beautiful on the inside, York Minster is the most stunning from the outside. It has been a place of worship since 627, but was made into the grand cathedral that it is over a period of 260 years, starting in the thirteenth century. It has always been dedicated to St. Peter, so on the inside, there is a stained glass window of him holding the keys to the kingdom of heaven in one hand and a miniature York Minster Cathedral in the other.

My favorite part of the sight, aside from perhaps its two identical towers at the front entrance, was the statue of Constantine the Great at the side entrance. Constantine was proclaimed Emperor of the Roman Empire in 306 right here in Yorkshire! He was the emperor who ended the persecution of Christians by converting to Christianity and making it the religion of the empire.

I proceeded to stop by a Turkish barber to make myself look a bit more presentable, after which we grabbed some lunch and hopped on another train. This one is taking us to Manchester, then to Cardiff, where we’ll be spending the next 24 hours. Three cheers for York!

Barnes' and Sherlock's Old Stomping Grounds

Around 10:00 this morning, I was greeted with a text from my parents saying they had landed at Heathrow, taken the tube (London’s subway) to King’s Cross train station, ridden the train to central Cambridge, hailed a taxi, and were on their way to Westfield House. Ecstatic, I hustled out to the front of the House to greet them.

After showing them around WH and Luther Hall, meeting many of my new friends along our way, I took them to see the historic colleges of Cambridge University. They were happy to see Trinity, Kings, and Gonville and Caius. But the one place my dad wanted to see more than anything in England was the White Horse Inn. This is the place where English Reformers met in the 1520’s to discuss Luther’s works and ideas. One of the men who led these meetings, Robert Barnes, was the first Lutheran in the British Isles. Since Henry VIII despised Luther and the ideals Barnes stood for, Barnes was burned at the stake in Cambridge. Today, there is a radio podcast entitled the White Horse Inn, in honor of what happened here in Cambridge. Unfortunately, in this very anti-Lutheran land, all that is there to commemorate this historic spot is a small, circular plaque with the name and a description on it. Nonetheless, my dad and I were happy to get a picture beside it.

Since we had already booked a hotel in London for tonight, we took the train back down to King’s Cross, checked in at the hotel, and made our way to my dad’s second and final must-see in England: 221B Baker St. This is where his favorite character in all of literature (and one that’s pretty high on my list as well) resided: Sherlock Holmes. We were able to get our picture taken with a “bouncer” dressed up like Detective Lestrade, each of us wearing either a Sherlock or Dr. Watson hat. The Sherlock Holmes Museum right next door was nice to browse through as well.

Now, as I type this up from our West London hotel close to Hyde Park, I see a magazine resting on the nightstand that says on its cover, “Welcome to the World’s Greatest City.” Eh… I wouldn’t go that far. In the couple of trips I’ve taken to London, I’ve seen a great deal and enjoyed a fair chunk of it. It’s certainly a historic and important city. But it’s not my place. I think it’s a bit more raved about than it should be, even though it’s a fine city. I’ll be coming back here a couple more times for sure: once on our flight back from Ireland in a week, once in passing on my way to Paris, and finally to fly back home. I enjoy London… But there’s a lot more to see on these islands.

The End of Augustine Term

Today marks the end of my first term at Westfield House. I'm here for two uneven terms. The first one that I just finished was called Augustine Term. It ran for 5 weeks, and now we have a 10-day break before Michaelmas Term begins. I've learned and experienced a great deal in these past 5 weeks as my previous blogs can attest. Now, at the close of term one, I'm caught up on my readings for my classes and am currently figuring out what my essay topics for each class will be. My "final" for each of my 5 classes will be a paper (between 8 and 20 pages, depending on the class) about an approved topic of my choosing. I'm sifting through ideas of Creation, Luther's biblical prefaces, Reformation issues, and Henry VIII's Ten Articles of 1536 at the moment. So I guess my workload for Michaelmas is cut out for me.
I know I've only blogged about 2 of my classes thus far. The rest are coming in Michaelmas Term, which is 10 weeks long, after which I'll be headed back home in time for the tail end of Advent. But before the fun of Michaelmas Term begins, I have 10 days of family fun awaiting me! My parents are making their way across the ocean tomorrow to spend the week travelling with their boy. We'll be hitting up Northern England, Wales, and a wide swath of Ireland this coming week. I couldn't be more excited. And rest assured, I'll get around to blogging all about it for you guys as soon as I can find ten spare minutes to type.

Cemeteries of Cambridge

Last week, I took a cab with some friends of mine to the Cambridge American Cemetery.

This is a graveyard and memorial for all the American soldiers, sailors, and airmen who were stationed in England (the Allies' headquarters) during World War II and died.

As we walked in, we saw dozens of rows of white marble crosses, each with the name, battalion, and native state of an American soldier, including the date they fell. After a fair amount of searching, we found one man from Mississippi. His tombstone said his name was Frank W. Furr and he died on October 8, 1944. I never thought I'd find a memorial to a fellow Mississippian across the Atlantic Ocean, but I guess I underestimated the English. Gazing down the columns of crosses (with a handful of stars of David interspersed), I realized just how much people around the world appreciate my country and what we have done in history to make the world safer and make their lives better.

There was a massive wall with thousands of names on it, and large 4 statues along this wall. Each statue was an American from one of the divisions of the military. There was a statue of a soldier from the American army (in 1940's garb), along with Americans from the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard. As I later learned, the wall was filled with the names of American soldiers whose bodies were never recovered, most of them being lost in the Atlantic.

There is an enormous American flag placed in the center of the pavilion, along with a pond similar to the one by the Washington Monument, and a grand memorial building that is currently being made into a church. Inside, there are colored windows with the seal of every state on them; and on the ceiling, there is an intricate mosaic of angels flying beside Allied WWII planes on their way to war, culminating in a mosaic of our Lord behind the altar, giving the soldiers his hand of protection and salvation.

Thinking back on history, the world really does owe a great deal to the United States. It's fantastic to see that some people in Europe recognize this fact and are thankful enough to make this grand cemetery and memorial for those who made the difference. When I hear Europeans say Americans are dumb and closed-minded, now I think, "I wish I could take them to this cemetery."