Field Report 21:
Ireland - September 28, 1999

By Jeff Bell
 

(Half of what I say is meaningless, John Lennon)...

My Favorite Place

Of all the places I have been, Edinburgh, Scotland, is the place I most want to come back to. I imagine coming back and staying for a year, studying or working. There was a Scotsman I met who had found his favorite place on an island in Indonesia, mine is Edinburgh.

I started out exploring Scotland from Glasgow, situated at the left hand side of the neck of England. English people from cities such as Liverpool consider themselves to be Northerners. Glasgow then, is way the heck north, and the Highlands are ridiculously far north. My expection had been that the farther north I went, the gloomier it would feel. But like Tromso of Norway, these far north towns seem to be more lively than I expected, closer to the action that their location would suggest.

I really liked Glasgow. The room I found was on a semicircular English London styled street of three story buildings with blackening sand colored stone facades. The ceilings of my room were tall with beautiful molding around the top and a tall window that looked out over the city skyline, which was marked with sharp steeples and barren hills in the distance suggesting the Highlands beyond. Immediately next door were the grounds of Glasgow University, with its hilly, grassy lawns and the spectacularly ornate main building with its inner courtyard and tall spired tower.

A biweekly magazine listed the goings on in Glasgow and Edinburgh which was invaluable during my stay in those cities. I missed the Edinburgh festival by a couple of weeks, but there was still a ton to do, too much to possibly take in on any given day.

First night I went to see a couple bands. I was attracted by the name of one of the bands, the Snorkels. Sure enough, these guys were worth more than the advertised admission: free. These jokers came out dressed in identical hooded capes with large aviator glasses, totally anonymous. The mix was tunes and off the cuff South Park inspired humor. Some of their tunes: 'Snorkeling All Over the World', 'Crazy Snorkel', 'Snork of a Thousand Men'. Semi-punk trio instrumentation over purposefully rotten vocals. The next band, Johnny 7, (introduced by the Snorkels as a being complete shite), played comically cheesy lounge music with flair. They came out attired in black turtlenecks and fake black moustaches.

One day I spent the day reading, looking out on a blustery day, another night I went out bar and club hopping until 3am closing time. There was a great vibe in the city. At one place, this guy was commenting on some art happening, asking if I followed the art scene. Not a question that typical comes up in most beer drinking sessions.

The Scots and the English (again)

The people of Scotland seemed to me more like Americans than any other English speaking group I've met so far. None of the preoccupation of properness of the English, the provincial quirks of the Irish, or the mixed indentities of some of the Commonwealthers from down-under. I'm not just sayin that because I have a Scottish surname—Bell—I do wonder about my heritage some, but what I know suggest little more than 0.1% Scottish. But it seems that the Scots are largely independent souls in the way that I think of Americans. The Scots seem to have taken some of the best of England - architecture, language, education - and left the much of the social playing to the Queen behind.

Like the English however, the Scots are slow to let things die. There is still some preoccupation with privilege that can be gleened from newspaper articles, reviews of historical novels. Like the Irish, many Scots will not let go of their deep seated resentment of the British and legends of battles centuries ago line continue a long seated tradition of sour relations with England even to this day.

But the British are not without blame. At one Scottish B&B, (a spectacular farm house near a deserted stretch of awesome coastline which rivaled the most scenic of Northern California) I noticed a framed momento on the wall commemorating the loss of the life of a soldier who died in World War II, presumably a family member. It was moving at first, these people so far removed from mainland Europe, deeply Scottish in identity, wishing little more than to be left alone.

Later however, I felt there was something wrong with that momento. The piece of paper had the royal insignia on it and the largest words included giving life for 'Queen and Country'. This invocation of the Queen, this psuedo-religious invocation of little more than a superfical human authority, struck me as the overriding reason that the plaque was still on the wall 50+ years later.

Why do I think that is wrong? There was a young German couple staying there while I was there, and I realized that it was an inappropriate in a B&B with international guests to have this on such obvious display. It seemed symbolic of how the Brits and Scots unwittingly fan the flames of hostility with Germany, and a clear symbolic gesture also of unwillingness to let go of the past. The owners probably only thought they were showing their pride of their sacrifice and proud of their 'thanks' from the Queen.

I'm in Munich now, and I've gotten a few insights into the poison that gets injected into the soup when you don't let go of the past. It's been pointed out that while Germany lost a significant percentage of it's population during World War II, they have never had the option of grieving through monuments, momentos, etc., and this fact is made worse with the plethora of monuments and momentos, even in B&Bs, overseas. The result? It was admitted to me that some Germans, not many perhaps, react to constant references by the British to the war by angrily stating that they'd like to take them on in a fight again. Scary? Yes. Bad, evil hiding in that sort of aggressive reaction, yes! Well, the Brits aren't dealing with that element too wisely. Truth is, World War II was a case of David prevailing over Goliath, (British pride makes this fact invisible to the Brits) and any David would know that it ain't too wise to rub the victory into Goliath's face. Problem is, all these European countries all feel that the world revolves around them, oblivious to the absurdity and danger of their own pride. A good lesson for us as Americans to try to keep our own pride in check.

On the EU stage, the same drama of national tendencies is playing out, the British being the one country that holds out, won't play along, presumes to make up reasons why. (The French held out on passport standardization for 3 years because they wanted ‘France’ above ‘European Union’.) One article by some transparent aristocrat in England claimed that England didn't need the Euro because purchases through the internet would make the Euro standard unnecessary. The Brits have other reasons for not joining, but at the core is a reluctancy to let go of the past. The British class system, with it's fantasy land of lords and ladies and knights and princes and princesses, has tremendous staying power, even outside of England. My opinion—it does more harm than good; the sooner the English class system becomes a museum topic, the better and safer the world will be.

Two stories: (1) I knew a guy from college who went to live and work in London. Suddenly he becomes preoccupied with his Albanian heritage and develops a ridiculous (not to him) ambition that one day he might receive a title in England. God Save His Soul!..(2) UK folks often suggested to me that we 'drive on the wrong side of the road'. Gave me an insight into Britishness: common sense and contradictions can be thrown out the window, what's British must be better, it just is.

All nations eventually experience decline in importance, England's has been long and from a great height. It's natural I suppose that a nation in this phase would tend to hold onto it's past, be suspicious of the new, and forever be haunted by notions that the glorious days of previlege are preferable to the more comfortable and fair ways of the future. As an example, in England, it is law that the Prime Minister must consult the Queen on matters of great importance. Tony Blair, dealing with some important issue, still afraid to buck tradition, asked whether he really had to travel up to the castle in Scotland to consult the Queen! The Queen's answer: by law, you must!

Outward into the Highland

Back on my bike, into the rain. I left Glasgow and was soon into fjord-like country filled with foggy glens, dark reflecting lochs with water the color of tea, towering mountains devoid of trees showing off their detailed form, tiny quaint villages, castles, enormous desolate moors, big purple, pink and orange sunsets, and beautiful coves and beaches. It's hard to describe how much I enjoyed seeing this terrain, it represented the other polar extreme of paradise, none of the bright colors and warm temperatures of the tropics, but a sort of 'mind-blowing' (a word from my Lonely Planet guidebook) grey, brown, green, sand colored wonderland. Often times it felt like I was looking at some sort of storybook scene of waterfalls, lakes, and rocky moors. At the top of one pass there was a bagpiper in full dress off on the side of the hill filling the valley with sound Another time a large deer was blocking me on a deserted road and she came up and sniffing six inches from my face. I was staring at her black lips and nice lower teeth wondering if deer bite people. I tried scratching it under the chin, didn't like that, it just went back to sniffing. Taking a photo is called 'taking a snap', which I did a lot of.

The Scottish accents were, for me, a lot of fun to listen to, hard to imitate. That is, if you can understand them. They seem to vary and even the Scots complain that they often can't always understand each other. Once I was in a bike shop and just listened, amazed at what I was hearing, half-convinced that they were joking, that couldn't possibly be their true voices.

Everywhere in the Highlands there were sheep. The EU has given places like the Ireland and Scotland lots of money for roads and historical preservation, but they also subsidize sheep to the tune of 25 pounds per head. Result? Everyone went for the quick dough, surprise! and now there are sheep roaming all over towns, roads, and the hills. And the market for sheep also cratered. People in the highlands were selling their sheep for 1 pound each and the wool is nearly worthless, perhaps 50p for a kilo.

Traveling alone has it's disadvantages and advantages. In the far north, a took a bunk in a hostel filled with a coed mix of travelers half my age. I felt strange, but on the other hand, I woke at 5am, and spontaneously decided to hit the road, catching a long, clear, beautiful sunrise along a cliff-lined coastline.

I gave up riding in the rain after four days and rented a car to cover much of the long, uninhabited northwestern coast. En route, I saw a bicycle jamming along with a pace vehicle behind it. What's this? An ultra distance race? Turns out it was an 8 man relay team attempting an end-to-end record attempt of the UK. They were about 50 miles from the end with only an hour and a half left, they weren't going to make it.

At a place called Kylesku I took a boat ride out to the end of a long loch which featured seals and Britain's tallest waterfall. The guide was a complete ham and told jokes and fibs about the loch, but one of the most interesting moments was when the boat hand fished up a netted box for trapping sealife. It an assortment of huge prawns, crabs and starfish. The fellow said that in this remote place, only one guy fished the place for a living. He reminded us that life was a bit tough and depressing in the middle of February. Back at the dock, the solitary hotel had great food! I ran into the cook and he said he was good because his father was a cook, his father's father was a cook, and so on and so on. He'd been around the world and come back to this place. (His son was a cook also.) Specific trade skills passed down through generations seems to be one of the things that the modern world sadly has a tendency to eliminate.

Strange thing to ponder: Many years ago, back in the 1500s or so, people lived in stone homes in the Highlands...with no chimney or windows. Tough.

Edinburgh

Edinburgh is on the right side of the neck of the UK, opposite Glasgow to the left. As humankind is want to do, a rivalry exists between the two cities, in spite of being an hour apart by train or car. The center of Edinburgh is truly magnificent, filled with secret little streets, architecture on a grand scale, but to my mind what can be found in Glasgow can be found in Edinburgh and vice versa, though perhaps in different doses.

The energy of Edinburgh grabbed me right away. Nighttime beauty dominated the feeling of the city. People told me it's spectacular in the sunlight, I never saw it and still loved it. The nightlife is great, 3am is closing time for a lot of places, something going on seven days a week. I met and hung out with some Aussies living and working there. For some reason I felt as if that city was somewhere I would want to burrow in, filling my time with the things I really wanted to do. Studying came to mind. There was a sort of cocoon effect I felt, perhaps because of the rainy weather, keep in mind it was September and I was getting emails from people describing hot, sunny weather. At minimum, I felt that the Edinburgh festival, in early September, with all it's movies, theater, art, is a must for next year.

Scotland and America

(Ever take note that we American call invisible tape 'Scotch tape'. It typically has some green plaid design on the label too. It was evidently invented in Scotland. Strange how that was invisible to me before.)

The Scots, and now that I'm in Germany, the Germans as well, take strong note of an American preoccupation with guns and violence. Politically, I heard mention of a perceived link between this preoccupation and, as one person jokingly (?) put it, our 'tendency to get involved in other people's wars'. They see a link between the way we solve police problems inside our country—armed with guns—and our predisposition for solving international problems with force. Leaving aside the issues of what works and what doesn't internationally, it is interesting to understand the way our credibility is affected by the way so much of our culture involves guns and violence.

Over these past months I've been struck by how much of the world lives in peace. But I do see how many people worry, especially in Europe: people who are uneasy, feel powerless, and people who I suppose, spiritually, are not at peace. It's evidently little comfort that the gulf between the suffering of war and mental suffering is astronomical, the human mind cannot help but shrink the difference to something less than it is. Europeans give a view into what the future holds: large masses of people who live comfortably, but feel some distance from the center of the world power pole. Rich enough to worry about matters bigger than where your next meal is coming from; comfortable enough that the deepest sufferings are abstractions. Free enough for each to be allowed their own opinion, but powerless to affect consensus. Stable and rich enough to live full lifes in peace; and generally, but not always, comfortable with the existence of a distant superpower nation.

Scots point out how often we Americans engage in self-congratulatory behavior. Rightly, because we are generally oblivious of how it irriates those who are not in on our little party. Let's face it, the world is a rapidly changing place, and it's disorienting to a lot of people, their lives may be better, but they may not feel happier. To the European, it's as if we live in a dream world where we are making everybody, everywhere happier. Fact is, it's a mixed bag of results on an individual level. Still, it does seem to me that our reputation around the world is generally good and perhaps slightly better than it was a decade or two ago.

Grateful, but not Dead

At times, I pump myself up by taking note that it would take 20 years of 2 week vacations to cover the ground that I've taken in over this year. But that overstates the importance of taking a year off to travel. Ten months are gone and it's coming to a close. People I've met are occasionally mystified, escaping living paycheck to paycheck equals being rich. No, I just had a good job for a few years, I don't have kids or a mortgage, and I always wanted to see the world. But does that really explain what I'm doing?

One person I met was an American, from San Jose. Something was different about her, she was about my age, and had come to live and work in Edinburgh, content with a simple, low paying service job. She had a quality of loving what she was doing, a freedom, and a desire that I could only describe as one of carving out relationships with people of all sorts, as if for the sake of adventure alone. She was at times bold, but without an agenda, and seemed to enjoy life according to a rhythm that only she understood. I could recognize her Bay Area roots, but half of her was to me an unsolved puzzle.

Later, one of the Aussies who knew her explained that she had dated a fellow who had unknowingly contracted HIV through a series of blood transfusions. The time it took to take a test and discover that in fact she was not HIV positive evidently changed her life, and set her on her course to Edinburgh. It occurred to me that this sense of freedom which was for her born from tragic circumstances was similar to the sense of freedom unleashed during the 60s and 70s, for different reasons, still related though to tragedy—the war and civil unrest.

At first I thought their was no similarity to my situation and this person’s. Days later I took stock of the past and I made a connection. Two years before, my brother, Derek, had been shot in a senseless mugging and narrowly escaped death. I wasn't aware of it until that moment, but that event did affect me. The uniqueness of that unlikely life situation surely influenced me to get out and see the world, to get what I wanted out of life now. It was like the old hypothetical question, if your life ended now, would you have any regrets? Two years ago when my brother was shot that question started meaning something.

And how was my brother affected? What did he want out of life? Within a year he was engaged, got the job he was looking for, and is now happily married. In typical human fashion, I could immediately see the effect on him, but the effect on me was invisible. Until now.

Reading

I read a book on Scottish history. I've got a good book going on the brain and experiment which give strange insights into the nature of consciousness. I bought and read 'Trainspotting', glad I did. It's a picture of madness, much like a truthful book about the Mafia. If you've seen the movie, the book is similiar, but more full featured. It shocked and changed the literary scene here, because it was different, and because it detailed frightening truths about the fringes of Scotland: troubled youth, criminal behavior and the horrors of heroin.

Re-connecting with reading is one of the thing I treasure most about this year of traveling. I say re-connect: looking from this road, at my working person habits, I see myself in a different light. I’m embarrassed or maybe sad about how much I can let important interests lapse. The modern dilemma in the end seems to be one of figuring out how we should spend our time, when we know very little about the choices, and are trapped by a variety of preoccupations. We are all to some extent like a bunch of full time drunks, stumbling through life, having convinced ourselves and all those around us that we are basically sober.

What Some Young American Girls are Like

What is it with, like, some young American girls, that they, like, talk to each other, like, differently. You know, it's like they like to talk to each saying, like, nothing. Like they wanna get in a groove of saying, like, you know, something but, like, nothing is OK too. Does it like, drive other people crazy? Or is it like, you know, Scotch tape, like, no one notices it? It’s so weird, should I, like, get over it?
 

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