I Capture the Castle

Before the alarm clock rang, I was ready. Sunlight was beginning to creep into the room through the slits in my curtain, and when I opened my eyes, I knew it was time. I threw the peppermint covers off of me and began my morning ritual. By nine I was in the kitchen, nursing a mug of oolong tea and eating CocoPops and watching the other international students in Holly Grove wander in and out as they, too, got ready for Castle Dunluce and Giant’s Causeway.

Hannah and I had bought our tickets our second night in Belfast, and I’d been looking forward to it since then. Cosmin, who runs these trips for us out of Fisherwick Church, had been reminding us daily at iCafe meetings that this was an amazing opportunity, fiscally sound, and fun; he hadn’t had to tell me twice. And today was finally Saturday. I was leaving Belfast for the first time in two weeks and going up to Atrium, at the top of Northern Ireland. For me, it was the top of the world. I had never gone so far north before.

We met at the Treehouse at 9.30. Cosmin was running around in a t-shirt outside, directing buses and volunteers and the international students as we filed in. Hannah and I watched him, agape. Even in the Treehouse, snug in my favorite white sweater and red windbreaker, I was shivering, and when Mehgan met us there she showed off her many layers: purple sweater, warm winter jacket, scarf. Yet Cosmin seemed unaware that there was a chill in the air, or that we were going north, to the seaside, where the world was even colder.

Cosmin is a short, Romanian man, with short, curly black hair, brown eyes, and glasses. He was one of the first people I met upon arriving in Belfast, as well as the kindest, making sure I knew when there would be food, and where it would be, cracking jokes, and helping Hannah set up her bank account by getting in touch with bank representatives. He also got us to IKEA and directed us to Tesco, making sure we ate and had other valuable necessaries. And there he was, running about in a cold that even I, born, bred, and raised in Michigan, would rather avoid.

Psycho.

After driving through a strangely Carleton-esque countryside for about an hour and getting very bored with the sheep and cows, we made it to Castle Dunluce. I stumbled out of the bus and gaped. There was the sea, dark gray and beautiful, the crumbling castle at the edge of the cliff.

 

Castle Dunluce has been falling bit by bit into the sea for years, and when I am dead, it will still be crumbling into the sea, breaking off bit by bit until it is no longer there. But it was my first castle, even if it was a wrecked ruin, and I do not believe one forgets their first castle, even if one knows next to nothing about who lived there.

It could easily have been a grand place, one upon a time. What remained of the floor was intricate and pattered, there was a fireplace in the great hall about as tall as I was, and windows that once would have been glorious. But now there were parts of the floor missing, and a bridge had to connect the two parts of the castle.

“I’m going to kill myself,” I remarked when I slipped by the side of the bridge and nearly stumbled into the freezing water below.

“Please don’t,” Hannah said.

“It wouldn’t be intentional,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill myself today. On accident.”

“Rebekah,” Mehgan said rationally, “You’re here sixteen weeks. Please try to pace yourself. You have four months to go about killing yourself. Don’t do it all in a day.”

I laughed, and bounded ahead into the great hall, blowing on my fingers.

Hannah, Mehgan, and I climbed a tower, and gazed out at the sea, and from one vantage point I saw what looked like a cave. “I have to go down there,” I said, which sparked a conversation about spelunking and Mammoth Cave, but all I knew was that I had to go down the cave, and see it for myself.

The cave turned out to be a letdown, as it was only a mouth to the sea, but there was a large hill next to it that people were climbing. I scrambled up its face, my purse banging at my side.

“We only have ten minutes,” Hannah said below, watching me.

I climbed back down again, disappointed; and I think I will regret not climbing that little hill for the rest of my days.

 

We went next to Giant’s Causeway. Cosmin looked worried now, presumably because he had about twenty or so suicidals in the group, myself included, who seemed determined to get themselves killed one way or another. Even our tour guides were eyeing us carefully and reminding us that the water was icy, and we would freeze.

“Just to remind you,” Mehgan told me pleasantly, pushing her orange sunglasses up on top of her head, “I’m not coming in after you if you fall in.”

Giant’s Causeway reminded me of Michigan, but in a good way, and not a homesick way. We walked downhill, on a path right next to what I should probably term a cliff but was more like the green face of a very large hill. On our left was the sea, splashing up against the rock, smelling of salt and beaches and home. The world had warmed up since we left Castle Dunluce, and I was starting to wish I hadn’t bothered with a coat at all.

Giant’s Causeway was named thus because the early inhabitants of Eire believed a giant had made the peculiar rock formations that rest there. The story is that a giant named Finn McCool lived on the coast, and that he had a throne and a house, and a camel, and when smoke came from a group of rocks that looked like a chimney, he was at home.

One day Finn decided to make war with the Scottish giant across the sea. So he picked up a group of hexagonal rocks and made a bridge all the way to Scotland, and then he ran across them. But when he made it to the other side, he saw that the Scottish giant was—gulp!—even bigger than he was! Finn ran back to Ireland, losing his shoe in the process, but was spotted by the Scottish giant, who followed him.

Like a smart man, Finn told his wife of his troubles, and Oomagh laughed. “Quick, dress like a baby and lie in the bed,” she ordered. “I will put the kettle on.”

Finn did as she ordered, and did his best to be quiet. There came a knock at the door, and Oomagh opened it and invited the Scottish giant in for tea. Because the Scottish giant was no fool, and very polite, he sat down and made small talk. Oomagh said she was sorry that her husband was not home, and he should be coming along shortly, and did the Scottish giant know she had recently had a baby boy?

When she said this, she gestured towards the bed, where Finn lay disguised as a baby. The Scottish giant grew pale, and he turned and ran, for he knew that any man who had had a hand in creating a baby so big and monstrous must be a bigger giant than he. And he ran back across the bridge, breaking it apart, but parts of the stones still lie in Ireland, and on the corresponding Scottish side. 

 

I got to see Finn’s camel, as well as the bridge, and Finn’s shoe. Mel and I scrambled heroically all over the stepping stones, with Hannah and Mehgan following sedately in our wake. I was never satisfied until I had reached the lip of the sea, watching it crash onto the rocks, or taking the more difficult route to a higher location. Mel outshone me in courage, though; she would not be satisfied until we had mounted the highest point.

There was also some really hideous German art just beyond the Causeway that consisted of two sided poster boards, one side red and one yellow, that had been put up on the cliffs for the London Olympics. I really hate modern art, but those flags took all of the beauty of the mountains away.

On the way back I put my camera away, and took in the beauty without looking at it secondhand through lenses, or through the eyes of my friends back home. I heard the rushing of the sea, and felt the wind on my cheek, and the sun’s warmth in my hair, and marveled that I was actually in Ireland. I had never expected to come here. Ireland had never been my dream, as it had been for others that I knew, and while their dreams had fallen apart at the seams, I was now living it.

So much of today was rooted in history and geology, and I thought back to last summer, when I had taken Earth Science at the community college and fallen in love with history in a new way. There I was in Ireland, simultaneously in awe over Finn McCool’s story and the history of this planet, that through storms and lava, hell and death and destruction, such beautiful things could come. Even though Ireland might never have been my dream, I feel as if my life has been leading up to this. This is where I need to be, where I want to be. Sometimes it seems as if God has been leading me here, and every time I asked Him what was to become of me, and He answered in a way I didn’t understand, all led ultimately to this.

I feel very much ashamed of myself for wanting to give up so soon after I had arrived, and giving in so much to homesickness and culture shock. This place is so beautiful, and I am so honoured and glad to be here.  

And I am changing, slowly; evolving to my role here. Tonight I ate spaghetti for the first time since elementary school. Those of you who went to AuthorQuest remember the day I tried to eat it there, and couldn’t; but I ate it today. Hannah and I went out to the 24 hour gas station and bought salt and pepper and chocolates that are apparently illegal in America, and we made spaghetti, and I ate everything in my bowl. And I found that it was good. This is a miracle; that the girl who does not eat could take food she would never look twice at and inhale it. Maybe it was because I was, and still am, hungry. But I like to think that it's me, evolving. I walk everywhere, and am learning to keep up with the native’s fast paces, despite my foot and knee aching. I am learning to fight the wind and the rain, and I am learning to take what is offered, knowing that these chances may not come back again. I am learning accept the help that I need.

This is the paradox of Northern Ireland, as I see it: I am both stronger here than I have ever been, and weaker.