Transgressing, Imposing, and Generally Walking Where One Shouldn’t.

I’m fascinated by the idea of boundaries in a very general, abstract sense. I’m intrigued by the boundaries that culture arbitrarily sets up– between masculine and feminine, sacred and profane, public and private. I love when boundary crossings show up in literature and popular culture. Last semester, I wrote a paper about Marilynne Robinson’s wonderful and haunting novel Housekeeping, and the culmination of all these small border transgressions comes when the main characters cross a bridge meant for a train. I mean, how much better does it get? The paper practically wrote itself.

You might think this post is going to be a lot more brainy than it actually is. Really, I just want to talk about crossing a bridge.

I'm gonna physically and metaphorically cross this bridge all up in your internets

This one, to be exact. The Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge is about 17 miles from Coleraine, at the northern coast near the Giants’ Causeway. As most of us had school work to do this weekend, we decided to make a day trip to cross the bridge. The rope bridge itself is 30m (about 100 feet) above the water, spanning the distance from the mainland to a small, rocky island. It was strung across by salmon fishermen and is now a popular tourist attraction.

The day we decided to go was very pretty (as you can see) but VERY windy. I have never felt wind like this in my life. It physically moved me. And it was freezing. I do not say this lightly. It was freaking cold.

Fortunately, by the time we had walked the 1 km trail to the bridge itself, the wind had calmed somewhat. We had a relatively smooth crossing on the way over. The only way I can describe the sensation is, well, being on a boat. The bridge swung back and forth almost as if it were on water. I tried not to think about the fact that it most certainly wasn’t, that the water was 100 feet away, until I was safely across.

Here's the view we were rewarded with on the other side of the bridge.

At first, the feeling of the solid ground felt strange after swinging on the bridge, even though I wasn’t on it for long. After regaining my land legs, I walked up the path with my friends to the top of the island (or as high as we could go). The wind got worse the higher we got, so we came down quickly, but we managed to see this:

Yeah. YEAH.

By the time we came back down the hill, it had started to get dark and cloudy. Perhaps because it was so windy, the weather was starting to turn very quickly. I also do not say this lightly. This was a span of maybe 7 minutes.

*ominous music* *perhaps 'Jaws'*

We prepared to make our trek across the bridge again, and noticed that they were holding up people on the other side. I thought that this was our cue to cross. I began making my way across the bridge.

I almost immediately regretted this decision. The wind was picking up much more than I’d realized. Determinedly, I gripped on to both sides and moved until I had to stop.

Deep.

Breaths.

I was about halfway across when the man in the red National Trust jacket told everyone else to go back and came out to meet me halfway.

“Hi!” I called nervously. “It’s windy, isn’t it!” I get chatty when I’m nervous. (See also: The time I told the flight attendant on the plane to London, “Oh my God! They’re babies!” about the small soda cans he was giving out. He didn’t think this was as hilarious as I did.)

“Hold on to this side with both hands,” he told me, demonstrating by holding on to the right side firmly. I followed suit, repeating his words. I honestly couldn’t think about how high up I was, or where I was; all I could think about was holding that rope and breathing. We finished crossing that way. My feet touched the ground and I immediately started shaking.

I felt monumentally stupid. How could I have just begun crossing that bridge when it was obvious, in hindsight, that I shouldn’t have? Was it my bone-headed American-ness? Was it my independent streak? Was it the fact that I was chilled to the bone and too proud to admit I just wanted to get back to a warm building as soon as possible? I looked back and my friends were all standing on the other side. The bridge… looked pretty crazy at this point.

“We’re going to close the bridge for a few minutes,” the man said to the people waiting in line. He told me I’d done a good job, as did a woman waiting at the very front of the line.

“Thanks,” I said sheepishly, walking up the steps to wait for my friends. It appeared they weren’t going to let anyone else cross for a while. I waited a while in what was now a miserable drizzle before deciding to go ahead and walk back to the beginning of the trail, where there was a small gift shop/restaurant. The trek back was, if possible, worse than the trek there. The wind was unbelievable. I finally walked through the gate, where I almost immediately saw my roommate from home, Caitlin!

I couldn’t believe it. You don’t expect to see the one other Agnes Scott student in Northern Ireland  at the same place you are if you haven’t planned it, no matter how small the country is. We talked for a few minutes, and I met her friends from Queen’s, but they were heading for the trail and it was starting to rain… no… hail.

That’s right. It hailed. Being without much protective gear, I ran to the nearest building.

A few minutes later, my friends emerged from their trek, soaked and freezing. We stayed in the tea shop and warmed up before catching a ride back to the university.

This first transgression– crossing the bridge when I wasn’t supposed to– leads me to something that’s been on my mind a lot lately. I’ve spent quite a bit of time here being overly concerned with a) not offending anyone with my brash American-ness, and b) not doing anything stupid. I’m sure there have been plenty of instances where I’ve done both, but I’ve been going out of my way to avoid them. For instance, I’ve noticed how loudly I tend to speak, even though I generally consider myself a pretty quiet person, and have deliberately gone out of my way to speak more softly.

Of course, it’s never good to offend people. But crossing that bridge made me realize that sometimes, doing something stupid can both make for an exciting story and make you wiser for the next time.

A word to the wiser-than-me: if it’s windy and they aren’t letting people cross the bridge, don’t try it. Don’t assume anything. Just… don’t do it.

Then there was the literal crossing, of course. Both times I crossed the bridge, I wasn’t thinking about all the scary stuff around me. I was concentrating on one task: get to the other side. I apply this determination to a few things in my life: running, walking outside in the cold, getting from the warm bed to the shower very quickly, essays on tests, flying across the Atlantic, crossing a scary bridge. Get to the end. Don’t think about how many scary or seemingly impossible things you have to do on the way there. Just go.

It also isn’t until the end that I realize how much I actually had to do to get there. It seems like someone else did it. Was that me? Did I do that? How on earth did I do that?

I don’t know.

I just did.

Another instance of uncertain boundaries occurs, for me, when I’m approached with such kindness by people around here. This happens everywhere, of course, but I’ve noticed it more since being here. Two weeks ago, my friend Abbi and I visited a church in town called The Vineyard, where we met a nice woman who took us out to coffee after the service. I’m always touched by simple gestures like that, and I’m always surprised. Sometimes it verges on awkward, because I hate accepting things from people when I don’t feel as if I’ve earned them, but I’m slowly learning that it’s not imposing if someone wants to do something for you.

This afternoon, I was invited to accompany my friend to her “host” family’s house for lunch. She had registered early in the month with a program called International Friends, and was matched with an incredibly welcoming and sweet family with three young children. We went to their house and stayed for a couple of hours, playing Wii and having a delicious lunch beef stew with mashed potatoes, apple crumble and custard, and tea and biscuits. It was lovely.

I am always so concerned about visiting people’s houses, even in the U.S., because I hate imposing or intruding on people’s lives. But they were so genuinely hospitable and friendly that I didn’t want to refuse, and I didn’t feel like I had to.

In this case, I wasn’t pigheadedly crossing a bridge or talking loudly in public. I was interacting with people in their home. And still, somehow, I felt as if I was transgressing some sort of interpersonal boundary. In reality, I wasn’t; they had invited me, after all, and were incredibly generous to do so. It was really my hang-ups I was battling against here.

I suppose what all this comes down to is comfort. It takes me a while to feel comfortable anywhere, and until then, I have to tread carefully. Sometimes, I get impatient and begin traipsing around and trampling the metaphorical flowers in the garden. That’s when there are problems. That’s when I end up clinging to a rope on a bridge between two rocky islands.

But sometimes, getting out of your comfort zone gains you some sweet new friends or gives you a spectacular view.

Or both.

 

Interlude: Weird Internet Ads

As I’ve been a bit sick for the past couple of days, I haven’t done much except go to class and drink tea. I have, however, begun to notice ads strangely tailored to my geographical location. For instance:

Apparently, something about me makes the internet believe that I want to view men in Jordanstown. Not meet them, not talk to them, not even learn about them… view them.

I’ve got a few problems with this assumption:

1. I can view men… pretty much anywhere. Even Agnes Scott, believe it or not.
2. From what I’ve viewed so far, I don’t think I’ll like what you have to offer.
3. How do you know I want to view men? So specific. I’m disappointed. Didn’t have men on my list of “things to view,” really.
4. All the men you are offering up for viewing aren’t even AVAILABLE. I mean, one is idle. If I wanted to view that particular man, I couldn’t, because he’s idle. That’s what I call false advertising.
5. I took the trouble to google how far it is to Jordanstown:

We’re practically neighbors!

 In conclusion, I find the fact that the internet knows where I am kind of creepy sometimes. This is not one of those times.

Recording versus Experiencing, or, Passing Up Creepy Photo Opportunities

Each of my blog titles is getting longer. By the time I leave, they’ll be longer than the entries. I just want you all to prepare yourselves.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how to describe this place to you. I still haven’t completely decided, but I have realized that it’s difficult to decide what to tell people and how to tell it.

My American friends and I took a day trip to Belfast this Saturday. Despite the fact that I had to get up at 7:45 in the morning (also known as stupid o’clock), it was worth it. I never pass up an opportunity to travel by train. (Anyone who’s talked to me in the past two months knows that I have been revisiting my train obsession since I wrote a paper centered around a train in a novel last semester.)

It's like a plane. On the ground. And awesome.

Riding the train was a cool experience because I got to see the countryside turn into the city as we got closer to Belfast. I also got to people watch, which is one of my favorite things to do. I saw an older gentleman get on the train with his newspaper, whose headline read BRITAIN TO RECEIVE 6 INCHES OF SNOW THIS WEEKEND or something similar. One girl answered her phone about halfway through the hour-and-a-half journey and talked the rest of the way there.

We arrived in Belfast at about 10 a.m. and immediately headed for the city centre, where we were greeted by this:

City Hall, Belfast

Unfortunately, since it was a Saturday, City Hall was closed, and there were no tours until the afternoon. As Abbi and Kathryne checked the map, I took the opportunity to snap some pictures. Despite my distaste for looking like a tourist, I felt the need to capture it.

I was truly enchanted by the place.

We decided to make our way to the Ulster Museum, which several sources had informed us was a good place to visit. Besides, it was free. We were under the impression that it was a much shorter walk than it actually ended up being, but I liked getting the chance to look around and walk down the street, which I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to do as of yet.

The Ulster Museum has a great exhibit about The Troubles. It's very informative and, for me, it was shocking to see that all of this was so recent. I don't think it really hits me until I see pictures.

This was the first place I didn’t feel quite right capturing pictures. It always feels odd to me to take pictures in museums, because I feel like they should be experienced. There’s a lot more at the Ulster Museum than The Troubles (but it’s quite a good section). We only had time to stay for a little while, though, as we had a castle to see and a late train to catch.

I should mention that the Ulster Museum is right next to a certain Queen’s University Belfast, where a certain roommate of mine is also studying abroad this semester…

A wild Caitlin appears! (This picture is from a bit later in the day, but just go with it.)

After meeting up with the Caitlins (my friends know another Caitlin, who is studying at the Jordanstown campus, and she also met us in Belfast), we went to eat at Maggie May’s, which is a lovely restaurant with delicious food. I had an omelet and chips that filled me right up!

After we left the restaurant, we made our way back to the city centre, where we finally figured out that any 1 bus would take us to the castle, which is a little outside of the city centre. In true Northern Ireland fashion, it had, of course, started to rain. From the place where the bus let us off, it was actually quite a trek uphill to the castle, but the sight that greeted us when we got there was definitely worth it.

This is a place that exists.

We explored the castle, which had several rooms full of information about the castle and its history, which was of course quite interesting, but the thing that stuck with me the most were the wedding photos from as early as the 1940s. For some reason, I love old wedding photos. I love studying people’s faces, their expressions, how they’re presenting themselves, and of course the changing fashions. It was another thing I didn’t quite feel comfortable taking a picture of– a photograph of a photograph of people I don’t even know was just a little too secondhand for me. As you might be able to tell, Belfast Castle is quite a picturesque place, so it’s no wonder people want to hold important events here. While we were exploring, there was a woman having a birthday party in one of the rooms. The view from the castle is rather spectacular.

Put on your fancy clothes 'cause this is a fancy party.

I got some nice pictures, but nothing beats seeing it in person. I realize you can say this about most things, but it’s truly an experience: you’ve got to have that cold wind and that odd sort of silence that comes from being so high up and far away from everything. You’ve got to be able to see the cars moving like tiny raindrops across a window. Unfortunately, my camera can’t capture that. And I don’t quite know that I want it to. (Touristy pride aside.)

After leaving the castle, we made our way to Victoria Square for a tiny bit of shopping (I bought the most exciting of all items, bath towels). Then we asked a woman at the bus stop how to get to the train station, which ended up being a short-ish walk. The moon was almost full, and had a lovely ring around it. I always like walking through cities at night because it gives you a completely different view of the same streets. Belfast is no exception.

Victoria Square

By the time we boarded the train back to Coleraine, I was pretty exhausted. I watched the lights out the window until I couldn’t see them anymore, then turned my attention to people watching. (It always gets more interesting to watch people at night. You usually get a much livelier crowd.) One image that stuck with me was a dad walking around with his very young daughter (she must have been about a year old) and letting her look at all the cool stuff on the train. Occasionally, he’d hold her up to the clear luggage racks so that she could see him through it. I’m not doing this interaction justice. It was precious.

Anyone who knows me might know that I adore children the most when they are about 10 yards away from me. So this was at an ideal distance. It’s only just now begun to strike me that perhaps it’s a bit creepy to watch other people interact with their kids, but it’s one of my favorite things to see, and there’s no shortage of sweet family interactions here. At the church we visited on Sunday, The Vineyard, we attended the early service, which is apparently the one to attend if you have kids. For the entire hour, the room was never completely silent. I don’t even think it got close. It was a unique sort of noise, being surrounded by children for the entire service.

It’s another one of those things you can’t snap a picture of, partly because it’s sort of weird to take pictures of a person you don’t know without asking permission, and partly because you can’t capture what’s so enchanting about a small human being in just a picture.

And I suppose, in a broader sense, there’s a lot of this experience that I can never capture for you, not in words, not in pictures, not in any way known to man. Perhaps if I had a pensieve, like in Harry Potter… but even that concept has always been a bit problematic in my mind. Memory is a tricky thing; every time you remember something, your brain literally reconstructs the memory. You’re never going to capture a moment and keep it whole. It will always be broken down somehow, something will always be lost.

But that’s precisely why I’m here, to experience these things for myself. I know that I can’t keep every part of this forever, and that’s okay. I’m happy to be here and able to record as much as possible, but at the same time, I don’t want to get so caught up in recording it that I don’t experience it at all.

Enough musing. Look at my Shakespeare book!

Talk about things you can't keep. This would take up practically half the weight limit in my suitcase!