Crack and dope.... Arrival in Derry

If there is one thing to be said for the Irish, they have their priorities straight.

On my first campus tour of the university yesterday, I couldn't help but notice that the fitness center held a mere 8 pieces of equipment and fit into a room the size of my family's living room. The on-campus bar and disco, however, sprawled for three rooms, taking up half the basement of an entire building. It serves, in case you are wondering, a full slate of spirits, wine, and beer at a subsidized cost.

Could I sign myself up for a liver transplant already?

I suppose it should come as no surprise that quickly upon arrival I learned that Northern Ireland leads the U.K. and perhaps the whole of Europe in instances of heart disease. An expected side effect of a potent mix of vast quanitities of alcohol, neverending cigarettes, and a diet of meat and carbohydrates.

But besides the potential health risks of choosing to study in Northern Ireland, I have nothing but excitement and optimism after my first few days in Derry. I arrived on Sunday afternoon to bright skies and brisk weather (nothing, I was warned, I should get used to) and spent much of my first day settling in to my new "flat" and getting to know my new flatmates, three Americans, one Scot, and a girl from Northern Ireland. Quickly upon introducing ourselves, Haley (Irish), sat Jon (Scot), Ben (American, also a Mitchell), and I down to give us an unofficial guide to living in Northern Ireland. The highlights:

1) Form your own opinions but don't feel the need to express them in pubs.
2) If you feel unsure about a neighborhood, speak loudly in anAmerican accent.
3) Don't call the Irish "English" but "British" is OK.
4) The Scots and the Irish hate the English. Everybody hates the Welsh.

Haley also humored our constant barrage of questions about "the conflict," as they all call it. Once we realized she didn't mind chatting about it, we peppered her with questions for about an hour. She told us about walking out of her home each day to see someone dead in the street. Told us about being a police officer and living in constant fear of being a target. Explained the differences between being loyalist, republican, nationalist and unionist. And then she summed up what I imagine may be an overwhelming sentiment of much of the population, "I don't much care about the details anymore. I just want a good job, a roof over me head, and a family. And I don't want anyone else to die. I have a feeling that as it is now is about the best it's going to get."

I'm curious to know more but I'll take it as it comes.

We also learned quite abit about the stereotypes between countries in the U.K. In Jon's words, for instance, "Scotland is a country of losers. We make failure a glorious tradition. Once our stars make it big, they have to leave because nobody likes them anymore."

Ben also relayed an interview he saw on TV between a baseball bat manufacturer in Northern Ireland and a reporter. The reporter, obviously oblivious to the context, kept inquiring how the baseball bat manufacturer could do such a strong business in a country where no one really plays baseball. I'll leave you, like the reporter, to wrap your mind around that one.

After chatting, we headed out for our first N.I. meal. Being the bold, adventuresome travellers that we are, we opted not for the standard "fish and chips," a bit of sheperd's pie, or a bite of Irish sausage. Nope, we christened our arrival with tin foil vats of "Bamboo Garden," the local Chinese take-out. Surprisingly, it was a bit different from American take-out, a bit like Chinese and curry mixed together.

I actually crashed quite quickly upon unlocking my flat door, thanks in part, I'm sure, to jet lag. I woke up early the next morning to try out my new shower, which perhaps requires a bit of background on my living accomodations.

As a postgraduate, I'm fortunate to be living in a new phase of on-campus housing called Duncreggan Student Village. The rooms are impeccably clean and quite spacious. My bed even includes a rollaway guest bed (Which, I suppose, makes up for the fact that sitting on it is a bit like sinking into a pit of quicksand.). The door to my flat reveals a hall of locked bedroom doors, much like a suite in American universities, with a new, modern kitchen off to the side. It's not quite as open or friendly as American apartments and there's not a tele nearby (there goes my Footballers Wives fascination) , but overall I couldn't be happier. The only problem, I suppose, is the en-suite bathroom.

Imagine a fairly spacious bedroom with a small corner cut off to form a bathroom. The longest side of this triangular room is about six feet. The smaller, then, would be, well, I'm a history major. I'll let Thushan do the math and let me know. No matter, it's small. So there's a sink and toilet and shower all beside each other creating a feat which I believe can only aptly be described as Ben did: it's the first bathroom where you can literally go to the bathroom, showever, and wash your hands all from the same spot. It makes showering a delicate balance between drowning yourself directly beneath the water or hurtling backward and naked into your bedrooom.

Ho hum.

Besides the morning acrobatics of getting clean, I'm finding the slang words are a bit difficult to navigate around. Take for example, this excerpt:

Jon (Irish, head of student union): I once had an American for my flatmate. He was totally crack in the head. Crazy. Wild.

Me: He was a crackhead?

Jon: Yeah, totally crack guy he was.

Me (alarmed): Oh no!

Jon (a bit confused): No, no. It's OK. In a good way.

Ben: Oh, wait, what does crack mean?

Jon: Like fun, having a good time.

Me: Not drugs?

Jon: Not at all.

Me: Ahh, cause in American. You just said your roommate does cocaine.

Much of our second day involved tradition orientation details. A campus tour, registration, a health exam, peeing into a tiny vial. (It's true, shortly after "Welcome to the university," someone plopped down a little cup and sent me down a hallway to retrieve a sample. I must admit I was still a bit bewildered as I climbed back up the stairs trying to cleverly conceal the vial beneath my coat jacket.) One highlights of the schedule was a trip around town with Karen, the student services advisor. She took us to see the most important things, in my mind, the pubs, the restaurants, and, of course, the mall. She also explained an interesting tidbit of information.. Apparently more than 95 percent of the children in Northern Ireland still attend religiously segregated schools. It's hard to imagine an end to this cycle if that is the case...

Later, after sorting out a few other loose ends, we met up with the rest of the international students for a bit of a meet and greet and then our first trip to a pub, Peter O'Donnels, where I sat with four other Americans, two from U. Richmond, one from U. Denver, and a delightful German girl (Sorry, working on names.) to down a Harps. Only problem -- I hadn't eaten all down. Needless to say, I was a bit woozy and decided to call it a night after one.

I couldn't get past, however, how much this pub resembled the romantic idea I had invented of Ireland pre-departure. My, rather stereotypical in my mind, idea of a pub would be a dark, wood paneled place, walls covered in random art and Guiness signs, with old sages slamming down the pints, laughing uproarously and pounding one another on the back. In the background, I imagined, a bearded chap would be playing some sort of Irish jig for us all to raise our pints to.

Surprisingly, I wasn't too far off.

Sure, there were no hearty back slaps reported and no beer wasted in a slam down on the bar. I didn't hear many bellowing laughs or chat about the "old country" with any aging storytellers. But... there was a man playing Irish jigs (OK, he didn't have a beard) and the crowd was a mix of randy college students and locals of various ages, some whose weathered faces and tired eyes made me imagine, on my own, the stories they would tell. We were a rather large crowd and rather conspiciously un-Irish, however, so I'm now thirsty for some more authentic pub experiences.

My favorite part of the night was just how openly bold some of our company was. Take, for example....

We watch as Maive, an Irish student, pulls Chris, an American, aside.

Us: What was that all about?
Chris: She wanted to know where the guy next to me is from. I told her Denmark and she goes... do you think he has any dope?

Sure enough, two minutes later we watch as she asks him and he politely says that no, he left all of his dope in Denmark.

I fear this is all a bit bland but I had a bit to catch up on once I stole Ben's idea for a blog. I promise my next posts will be more fun, more fabulous, and, in a nutshell, more me.

Until then, I'm going to bundle up in my raincoat and head out to find some hangers....

New Contact Info:

Mobile:
0-790-885-3136
0-796-263-8921

E-mail:
carie.windham@gmail.com (same)

Post:
Carie Windham
Block 14E Duncreggan Student Village
85 Duncreggan Student Village
Magee Campus, University of Ulster
Londonderry, BT48 0AA