It's our last day in Ireland.
The permeating feeling of finality juxtoposed uniquely with the bright, warm, joyous day yesterday to create a sense of both being present and absent from the places we visted. We enjoyed ourselves, making the most of the little time remaining in Belfast... but ever present was the taint of absence.
Physically, we got up early and made our way to the Culurlann, one final time, for our last Irish lesson with the elderly group that adopted us. "The American scholars" they called us. We spent the morning among them, laughing and learning, trying not to imagine that we would probably never see any of them again.
We ended up not getting an interview with the teacher, a man well described in Ethan's blog, "The little things, that's what," afterall. What we did get was a generous packet of information on the Irish language to add to our massive collection of pamphlets and a copy of the old Irish song, "The Lakes of Pontchartrain" to take back home. It's the one thing that is guaranteed to come up when someone in Ireland hears that I'm from Louisiana. ... I've never had the heart to tell any of them that there's really only one lake... and it's really more of an estuary.
It was only after we were walking back up Falls Road, away from the Culturlann, that we realized that we had gone without so much as a goodbye to the place. Maybe the quiet solemnity that arose out of passed opportunity was tribute enough to the building which had contributed most to our cause in Belfast.
We had already decided that, for lunch, we were going to go back to the Subway that had begun our financial crisis all those weeks ago on our first day into the city. Then, for dessert, we were going to walk a little ways down to an "Authentic Home-Made Itlalian Ice Cream" shop we had spotted from the bus, in the hopes that they'd have the elusive Honey Comb flavor.
The girls who had treated us so kindly when we were lost, confused, and without cash, were not working. Two unfamiliar faces served up our subs, and we ate them in the contemplative silence that generally characterized our attempts to make final, lasting memories.
To my delight, there was a spot for Honey Comb at the ice cream shop. To my dismay, it was empty.
Ethan quickly offered up an alternative. Feeling more optimistic, warm in the sunlight, and with the hope of candy infused milkshakes, we strolled amiably back down to That Wee Cafe. For the final time, we entered and were greeted by the, frankly gifted, young man behind the counter responsible for the brilliance served up inside. Ethan finally got his Reese's milkshake, and I finally settled on a Snickers.
It was while we were waiting for our milkshakes that our thoughts turned to more important things. If this man could make a living crafting such delicacies out of milk, icecream, and candy... then it served to reason that we could make a killing back home if we tried something similar. Ethan's exact words are hard to recall, but they were something along the lines of, "Somebody buy me a blender, and I'll figure out the measurements!" Not wanting to settle for the mundane, I suggested that we try a new flavor, and specialize in that. First, though, we'd have to find someone who could whip up some amazing snickerdoodles. Not just the ones that are gotten out of a tin can, but the soft, yet crisp, warm and gooey, yet firm, cinnamon sprinkled, vanilla wafted variety. We'd then buy them in bulk for a cut of the prices, and chop them up for our hit snickerdoodle-milkshakes to be sold out of our apartment next semester. It could happen. ... Patent pending.
We walked back down the road to catch a bus, sipping the creamy candy-flavored concoctions, savoring every last drop... because we didn't know when we'd have another like it.
Finally we caught the bus to City Centre and made our way to the bus/train station where we purchased our train tickets to Dublin for the next morning.
Having done all of our shopping the previous day, and with very little remaining on our agenda aside from finishing the narrative map for the CeLT, we took the bus back to our hostel. We then walked into the Farset International for the final time.
Ethan composed his last blog in Ireland, and then, after discovering that he had no cash, made a trip down the road to find an ATM so he could pay for our final order of Chinese delivery. We ate it watching Doctor Who, and then settled down for bed early so we could make the train the next morning.
It's been an interesting two and a half weeks in Belfast. Nothing quite like I had expected. There have been lots of ups and downs as we've both grown and glimpsed how far we still have to grow. At the end of our time here, I'm honestly not certain how useful we've been to the CeLT and to the Kingdom. We collected a lot of information, but, to me at least, it doesn't seem like enough. I can't help but feel as though there is more I could have done. And there is.
One thing this trip has brought to my attention is how efficient I've become at working quickly and alone. This doesn't fit Ethan's style at all, and so we've both had to cope, very uneasily at times, with working together on a single project. Really, I probably could have gotten more done if I had been given full control to do everything myself... but that would have been against the purpose of the entire trip. If brothers in Christ can't unite under a single effort and cause, then how could we ever expect the Irish to get along?
I just hope that, when it's all said and done, a time approaching very rapidly, our time in Belfast will have created more than just lasting memories.
- Sam R. Franklin
Last Day in Ireland
No comments:
Post a Comment