A Day in the Life

Dundonald Methodist

Someone has asked that I sketch out a typical day here in Belfast.  However, that is easier said than done, mostly because I really don’t have a typical day yet.  This coming week will be the first week that all church/community programs are in full swing, so I have yet to figure out exactly what my schedule is like.  But there are a couple days that I do have a good sense of—Sunday being one of them.  So, per request, I’m going to break open the ship’s log and tell you about my Sundays.

And if you find yourself bored, just blame the “someone” who asked me to do this in the first place.  She may or may not be related to me.  And you might possibly find her in the EBC library on a Sunday morning.  Also, please remember that E! True Hollywood Story has not been beating down my door for the filming rights. 

Yet.

08.00  Go for a run with my housemate Joan.  Joan runs marathons.  I do not.  Thus, we’ve compromised by deciding to run at a “conversational pace.”  But let’s not kid ourselves—she makes more conversation than I do.

09.00  Start getting ready for church. Remember, when turning on the water, to make sure that the shower head is not aimed at the shower wall.  Otherwise, water will pour through the floor and course down the kitchen walls and counters—not unlike a small waterfall.

09.02 Remind self to call plumber about aforementioned waterfall.

10.15 Leave house to walk to bus stop.

10.16 Stop at front door, run back upstairs, and close skylight window so that the pigeons will not be tempted to fly inside my bedroom.  Also, it looks like rain.

10.18 Leave house to walk to bus stop.

10.20 Wish that I had left the house that second time with umbrella in hand. It is raining.

10.26 Arrive at bus stop, greeted by sudden sunlight, blue sky, and a woman with twins in her pram.

10.40 Find seat on the bus.  Not difficult, considering that the only passengers are me, the mother with twins, and an angsty teenager.  Or maybe it is difficult.  So many open seats—an agony of indecision.

10.58 Arrive at Dundonald Methodist two minutes early for 11:00 service.  Ecstatic.  Feel like I’ve just won a Pulitzer. 

11.15 Sunday school begins. I have the older kids in my class—P5-P7 (ages 8-10); there are about 5 of them, and so far our conversations have revolved around Tigons (an animal that is half-lion and half-tiger) and rugby.  Believe it or not, my knowledge of both subjects is limited.  But I’m learning…

11.40 Realize yet again the limits of American English/pronounciation when in Northern Ireland.  True story: one Sunday, I asked the kids what the longest Psalm is—forgetting that Psalm here is pronounced Sam.  One of the boys raised his hand and said, quite confidently, “Stairway to Heaven.”

12.00 Church service ends.  Everyone here has seriously been so generous—not a Sunday has gone by that I haven’t been invited to someone’s house for lunch.

12.15 Arrive at family’s house for lunch.  First things first: coffee and tea are served, along with the ever-present biscuits (cookies).

13.00 Lunch is served.  Sunday lunch, you must understand, is a big deal in Northern Ireland (both literally and figuratively).  There’s always a good piece of meat to anchor the meal—I’ve been treated to hamburgers, chicken, steak, salmon, and pork.  Then there are the vegetables—usually two or three types on the plate: carrots, corn, peas, etc.  I have, of course, put the potatoes in a category all their own (I’ve been told that a single meal can feature up to four varieties of potatoes).  Seriously, I had no idea that potatoes can be prepared in so many different ways: baked, boiled, fried, mashed, or a combination of methods   For instance, one week I was served potato croquettes, which look like oversized tater-tots but—wait for it—are filled with mashed potatoes.  Plot twist.  I had seconds that day.

13.30 Dessert is served (and I’m not talking about simply breaking out the biscuit-tin again).  I’ve had plum cake, apple crumble, rhubarb cobbler, and “proper cheesecake” (the sort you don’t bake…my friends tell me the Cheesecake Factory has it all wrong, and after tasting a chocolate malt cheesecake, I’m prepared to believe them).  All desserts are topped with ice cream and heavy cream (or warm custard).  Oh, and I’ve also had Pooh Bear ice cream, a local favorite—it has crunchy honey clusters. 

14.00 Tea and coffee are served.  Complete with biscuits.  And chocolate.  Seriously, the people in this country have mastered the art of hot drinks, desserts, and carbs in general.  A girl could lose her figure having her priorities this straight.

14.20-17.30 Relax.  What we do is varied—sometimes a walk, sometimes a little TV, always good conversation.

17.45 Tea is served—and by tea, I mean dinner.  Usually sandwiches (ham and cheese, cheese and tomato, butter and cheese, butter and banana), tea and/or coffee, and (you guessed it) biscuits. 

18.45 Youth Fellowship starts at church.  We’ve got a great group of students—I’m having fun getting to know them.  Our time is, of course, concluded with tea, coffee, juice, and the inevitable biscuits.

20.00-22.30ish Relaxing and spending time with some new friends from church.  American football, Mickey Mouse coasters, and chocolate may or may not be involved.

I know, I know—this was a riveting post, and now I’ve left you on the edge of your seat.  Don’t worry, I’m working on a sequel, cleverly entitled Mondays. 

In all seriousness, though—every day of the week, I’m absolutely humbled by the amount of care and love people show for me here.  And on Sundays, I’m reminded of it even more.  Without a thought, I’m freely offered lifts wherever I need to go, a warm home, food, and friendship.  I really can’t express how thankful I am.

View from church, overlooking the Ballybeen Estate

Fifteen Words for Rain

A couple weeks after I arrived in Belfast, someone told me that here in Northern Ireland, there are fifteen different words for rain.  She couldn’t recite them all for me, but she was confident that they existed.  I, however, was skeptical.  You’d think that coming from a place like Mount Vernon, I’d have already collected quite a few terms for precipitation myself.  I could think of five…and that was stretching things a bit.

But after last Saturday, I can believe that there are fifteen words for rain in Northern Ireland.  Easily.

Saturday, you see, was a much-anticipated hike up Slieve Donard, the tallest mountain in Northern Ireland.  Over 20 people from my church were going, so five of my fellow YAVs and I decided to join.  Before going, I had gotten a few different opinions on the intensity of the hike: some said that it was so difficult that I would need walking sticks, hiking boots, and rain gear, while others said that it was a mild uphill walk.  I figured that it would be somewhere in the middle.

So, on Saturday, my friends and I arrived at the Mourne Mountains (of which Slieve Donard is a part) with light rain jackets and exercise shoes (or trainers, as they’re called here).  When a man from our hiking group came up to offer us waterproof raingear, I said that I would be fine without it.  I had only ever put on that type of gear when I was going out to spend a day in the snow.  This was just a little rain, right?  Besides, I had Eddie Bauer on my side—I was prepared. 

False.

Thank goodness that kind man was so insistent.  I was as blue as a smurf when I put on the gear—and I looked like I had fallen into a bog before I even started hiking—but I was never more thankful for a coat and trousers in my life.  The hike itself was great fun, but the rain never stopped coming down.  It fell on the stones, the green-and-brown hills, and the grey walls.  It filled the streams until they were gushing down the mountainside.  As we climbed, the wind whipped the rain into the air until it seemed like there wasn’t any rain at all—just wet wind. 

When we got to the top of the mountain, we were in the thick of a raincloud, but we still felt triumphant.  And even though I was wet and cold, it was fun to be wet and cold with all of my new friends—and to share pictures, conversation, and biscuit or two along the way.

And just so you know, I’m on a quest to find those fifteen words.  I know they’re out there.

Preparing for ascent.

This is the face of someone who is suddenly confronted with a camera whilst she is trying NOT to slip on the rocks, choke on her mint, and die an untimely death.

A brief respite at the wall.  Jaffa cakes kindly provided by Andy.

The final climb.

At the top.  You've got to love small victories...

St. George Goes to Market

Queen's University

On our first Saturday in Belfast, Doug and his wife Elaine drove us all down to the City Centre to introduce us to St. George’s Market, an indoor variation of a farmer’s market.  It’s filled to the brim with stalls selling fish, hummus, cupcakes, scones, coffee, tea, paella, curry, scarves, and handmade jewelry.  Doug and Elaine left us there to wander, and I quickly found a stall that sold fruit scones for 60p and another stall that offered Americanos with unlimited refills.  The woman who owned the coffee stall was very excited when she heard our accents—but was promptly disappointed when she learned that none of us are Canadian.  Apparently, it was her recent holiday in Canada that inspired her idea for “bottomless” Americanos.

Canada 1, America 0.

After we had finished looking around the market, the Dream Team headed out to see what else Belfast has to offer.  I’m happy to say that we found a lovely secondhand bookshop and the even lovelier buildings belonging to Queen’s University.  We also spent some quality time in the nearby Botanic Gardens and the Ulster Museum.  We finished off the afternoon with a meal at Boojum’s, a Mexican restaurant close to the university.

Now, I have to admit that there were two things that I desperately missed when I last travelled in Britain: pancakes and all Mexican food in general.  I am happy to say that I have found pre-made, plastic-wrapped pancakes at my local grocery store (although I haven’t yet had the courage to try them) and that Boojum’s makes burritos as big as my face.

It’s going to be a good year.

The Many Faces of Mount Vernon

I’m not sure if you know this, but there’s a Mount Vernon in Ohio.  There’s one in London and in Australia.  There’s even one in Belfast.

When I say “Mount Vernon” here, this is the area that people think of:

Finding My Feet

City Hall, Belfast City Centre

Our first week here in Belfast was spent in orientation with our site coordinator, Doug Baker.  Besides helping us to get a bit more familiar with the city, Doug took us all around to see the different churches and organizations that we are going to be working with over the next year.  It was a great opportunity to see where my friends are going to be spending most of their time during the next 11 months—but it also gave me a sense of hope.  The more we trundled around the city in our white minibus, the more I was struck by the way tension still lingers here: it is in the divided neighborhoods, the intensely political murals, the memorial gardens, the walls along the roads.  It is in the Gaelic shop signs and in the British flags fastened to lampposts.  But, even as I was sobered by the evidence of the conflict, I was encouraged to see the people and organizations that are working to bring peace and reconciliation to this city. 

If you’re interested in some of the churches and organizations that are striving to meet needs in Belfast, I’ve listed their names and websites below.  I’m sure that they will do a better job of explaining their missions and their work than I ever could:

• East Belfast Mission (http://www.ebm.org.uk/)
• 174 Trust (http://www.174trust.org/v3/index.php)
• The Vine Centre (http://www.vinecentre.org/)
• WAVE Trauma Centre (http://www.wavetraumacentre.org.uk/)
• The Link (http://www.thelinkcentre.org/)
• Dundonald Family and Community Initiative (http://www.dfci.org.uk/)

This is one of the things I began to understand during orientation: how little I actually understand about this conflict.  It is so much more complex that I ever imagined.  But I’m also beginning to see how God is working in this city to save, to heal, and to provide.  And that is an exciting thing.

Word of the Day: Chuffed (adj.)—very pleased

First Impressions

As most of you probably know, I have not just arrived in Belfast.  That actually happened about 2 weeks ago (on August 31, to be exact).  I’ve just been a bit delayed in getting this blog up and running.  I know what you’re thinking: the words Allison and delayed in the same sentence?  Impossible.  That’s about as ridiculous as saying that I’m slow or late. 

Ha.

But I digress.  Two weeks ago, I arrived in Belfast with my fellow Young Adult Volunteers (hereafter to be referred to as “The Dream Team”): Joan, Adrienne, Miriam, Edward, and Moses (the 7th member of the team, John, arrived a few days later after working out some visa difficulties).  To be honest, after a week of intense orientation in New York, a seven-hour flight, roughly four hours of sleep, and an over-buttered croissant, I felt like I had been hit by a train.  This feeling persisted throughout the next couple days, so I wasn’t in much of a state to reflect or record my observations.  Sorry to disappoint.  However, now that I’ve successfully emerged from the fog of jetlag, I can piece together some of my first impressions:

Early morning sunlight on green fields.

Bricks and steeples, yellow cranes and scaffolding.

The door to my house is red.

Narrow streets make for creative driving—especially when hauling a van full of Americans and their luggage.

Frozen pizza makes a curiously satisfying first dinner in Belfast.

Word of the Day: Craic (n., pronounced crack)—good fun, excitement; as in, “I went to the game this afternoon—it was good craic.”

My 3rd-floor room.

No, the fireplace does not work.  I may regret that in a few months.

The view from my skylight window.

The Family at 11 Bathgate:
(clockwise) Miriam,  Me,  Joan, and Adrienne