Belfast - The Fulbright Way

As you probably could see from my pictures that I have been to Belfast not once, but twice over the past three months.  To say I have "done" Belfast, however, would be quite wrong as there are still many museums, churches, pubs, and theaters that were not blessed with my presence.  It would be fair to say, however, that I have a MUCH MUCH better understanding of history behind the years of violence that still haunt this broken city.  

Our friends at the British Council put together a fairly packed weekend for not only the Fulbrighters (all from the USA) but other exchange teachers from Australia and Canada.  When we arrived Thursday morning at the Ulster Museum nestled in the middle of the botanic gardens outside Queen's University, it was so nice catching up with those I haven't seen since our October trip to Stratford-upon-Avon.  We were treated to a rather unorthodox lunch (the food was on a buffet table and we were sitting in chairs sans tables on the perimeter of the room balancing food and drinks on our laps) before the exchange teachers listened to a number of lecturers from Belfast.  One gave us a rundown of the educational history of Northern Ireland - needless to say religion still plays a major role in school segregation.  In fact, only something like 12% of schools in NI are integrated.  Our other lecturer gave us a brief overview of the history surrounding the issues between the Catholics and Protestants.  As I was soon to discover, most people from NI were optimistic about how far the country has come towards making peace with its violent past but every single person was also quick to reveal their own religion - even to a room of complete strangers.  Interesting...

The rest of the day was spent on a bus tour that was even better than the double decker ones I love so much. That was because it was chilly and we were on a nice, toasty bus just for us with our own personal tour guide - a very elderly woman from NI with the driest sense of humor.  I was quite tired at this point as I got up at 5:00 to catch my flight and wanted nothing more than to sleep after our large group dinner at Pizza Express.  Peer pressure got the better of me, however, and I was dragged along to...I can't remember the name of the pub...one of our Fulbrighters, Brad, and his son found where they could jam along with a makeshift music group.  Even in England and Scotland you would be hard pressed to find any pub where strangers congregate with random instruments on a regular basis to just play.  What a great Irish tradition!  Just like senior year of college, when I would come home so tired from class on Thursday nights but Dara would force me to go out, I was so very glad to partake in the gossiping and music making.  I even had an odd 10 minute conversation with the locals at the bar where I think I held my own but really have no idea what was being said the whole time.  The NI accent is quite different than the Scottish one.  The only truly troubling part of the evening was our lively discussion during dinner about the status of our income taxes and whether we get a break for living outside the country or not.  I was sure I didn't but now I'm going to have to bring my taxes to someone else when I get home - any suggestions?

Friday was a bit interesting as each of us was paired up to visit a local school for the whole day.  Our large bus from Thursday brought many of us - myself included - to our schools while the rest of the teachers took taxis.  Lucky for me, at least at this point of the day, I was able to avoid the taxi fiasco of 2010.  The taxis were late or in the wrong place, charged people when their services were paid for by the British Council, and I believe there were more than one tiffs between driver and passenger that ended in a stony silence.  I certainly did not dig for more details but it was the talk of the town when we all caught up with each other later that night.  

My school was a Catholic School about 30 minutes outside of Belfast, St. James in Newtownabbey.  My visiting partner was Ena from Jamaica who is in England for a 3 month administrator exchange.  She is the Head Teacher at a school with over 1,000 students and has individual classes as large as 45 students.  I couldn't even begin to imagine.  We were welcomed for the first hour or so by Mr. McKeague, a wonderfully warm head teacher who spent much time introducing us to staff and enthusiastically talking about his school, students, and teachers.  The rest of the day we were brought around the classrooms by...I am losing my mind, why can't I remember any names anymore...who was the equivalent of an ESOL teacher.  My favorite part of the day was seeing the emphasis placed on music and art in the classroom.  While visiting a P6 classroom, Mr. McKeague and our wonderful host teacher performed a mini-concert for us.  The students played the tin whistle (and even prepared a surprise Yankee Doodle for me!), Mr. McKeague sang to the class while playing the guitar, and two of the teachers played the harp, yes, the HARP!  After lunch, the whole school gathered to put on an entire school concert for us where each grade sang, recited poetry, danced, and played instruments (again, I'm back to the harp - they have a harp program at the school!).  What an amazing celebration of talent!  And I left feeling like a celebrity after all the attention we received throughout the day.  We really should, as educators, visit other schools on a more regular basis. 

Though having avoided the taxi drama, our own came after the assembly when we discovered the students are dismissed at 2, not 3 on Fridays.  Our bus was due to pick us up around 2 but seeing how it had multiple other schools to visit and we were definitely not the first ones dropped off, it was unclear as to when we were going to be picked up.  To top it off, no one from the British Council was on the bus so each time I called to see what was happening, I ended up talking to someone who had no idea where the bus was and could not contact our driver.  Deep breath...  After waiting like idiots on the street for about 35 minutes, very cold Jamaican Ena realized we could walk to one of the other schools where some of our exchange partners were also still waiting for the bus.  By the time we made it there, the bus had finally arrived but this was, for me, the only major screw-up I felt happened all weekend.  (so all things considered, it was a fairly well run weekend for us)

I was convinced our late departure from the schools meant we were no longer going on the Black Taxi Tour Melissa had planned for some of us later that day.  Fortunately, I was wrong.  What is a Black Taxi Tour you say?  Well, when we were on our Thursday bus tour of the city, we were brought around to look at some of the propaganda murals all over the city.  We also drove through the Peace Wall in West Belfast which divides the Catholic Falls Road area from the Protestant Shankill Road.  Our funny tour guide suggested a Black Taxi  Tour where we could actually learn the history of the Peace Walls and can get out and walk around both sides.  There are over 90 Peace Walls in Belfast whose purpose is to simply prevent the Catholics and Protestants from having easy access to one another, especially at night.  The Falls Road/Shankill Road one is one of the largest walls and is a few miles long and some 25 feet high.  There are a limited number of cross streets that allow people to drive from one road to the other and all of them are gated and locked around 6:30 each night.  Isn't that crazy?  I think so many people think that issues such as these can only exist in areas of Afghanistan or Iraq but this is the UK.  It just seems to be a strange reality for 2010.  Especially in a city where everyone keeps saying, "Things are really so much better."  And I was told things are better by someone who should know, our Black Taxi tourguide, Tom.  Tom grew up on the Falls Road side of life and went to school having to circumnavigate burning buses on the street.  Every few years, the British army would raid his household, cart of him and a few of his four brothers to be questioned about their knowledge of IRA activities.  They would be gone for up to 3 days and his parents were never told where he was taken or when he'd be back.  How nerve wracking for a parent (and a teenager!).  But, to Tom, this was part of growing up. I learned so much from that tour and have some great pictures.  I could probably write a blog and half on the information I learned but I won't.  I'm happy to pass on what I have learned if you ask, however.  

Upon returning, we headed out for dinner and ended up at the Crown Liquor Saloon, an old bar owned by the National Trust.  Much of the place is still gas lit and there are booths that are essentially little rooms so your party can, well, party in private.  There are even buzzers in the booths to page a waiter or waitress to come get more orders.  It was there I decided I would partake of my first ever half pint of beer.  Knowing that Guinness is the least offensive to my palate, I spent the next 45 minutes really nursing it.  It was only when I was being threatened with abandonment from my tired friends that I downed the last little bit.  Smooth going down but what an odd aftertaste.  We met some nice Welsh at the next bar, ran into some old friends, met some new ones, and headed home quite exhausted.  So it was to my utter dismay to discover it was only 11:15 by the time I walked back into the hotel room I was sharing with Mindy.  But that meant we were able to chat and get a decent night's sleep before our big trip to the Giant's Causeway.  But, at this point, that will be another blog.