August 17: Meet Louise (Derry)

July 11, 2022. Belfast.

Orangemen’s Day on July 12th is a Protestant celebration in Northern Ireland. (I’ll be calling the region Northern Ireland for clarity, but many Irish prefer to call it the North of Ireland or Ulster.) The Twelfth marks the day of the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, when the Protestant King William of Orange overthrew the Catholic King James II. This followed years of turbulence between the wealthy English colonizers and the Irish communities they invaded, and would lead to centuries of continued unrest and violence. (This is an oversimplification, but if you’re interested, I can share more.)

I wasn’t sure whether or not I was going to attend any of the “celebrations” that day. As an American visiting the country, who was still piecing together a complicated history that I previously knew little about, I was unsure whether or not it was my place. I received a range of advice about the day. My Protestant co-workers likened it to Americans’ July Fourth and said I mustn’t miss it, but my Catholic co-workers advised me to leave the city on those days. The office would be closed anyway, they said, since it was located in a historically violent area and was a likely location for marches and riots. The latter co-workers were leaving town, too, as they did every year on this day to avoid the “celebrations.”

I am sympathetic to the Irish Catholic position. I find it hard to be neutral when I consider the power and reach of the English monarchy, the many other lands it colonized and stripped of their culture and natural resources, and the decisions it made in the interest of expanding its own wealth and control — not to mention my own family’s heritage, which has Irish roots on nearly every line. This is not to say there was not brutal violence and cruel manipulation on the side of the Irish throughout this dark history, but my stance on this remains regardless.

That said, I was living in a Protestant neighborhood during my stay (yes, neighborhoods are still divided in some areas) and I found myself curiously observing the preparations in the days leading up to the event. The primary celebrations consist of two components: a parade on The Twelfth and enormous bonfires the night before, known as the Eleventh Night. These bonfires are not what American readers might be picturing. They are massive towers built of wooden boards and pallets that stretch hundreds of feet into the sky — the largest of which reached over 20 stories. They take days or weeks before to build and there have been multiple deaths reported of builders who fall from their heights in the process.

I ultimately decided to observe the event from a distance with two of my friends, mostly motivated by sheer curiosity. I’m glad I went only in that it granted me a much greater understanding of the pervasive tension that still brews beneath the surface of an otherwise fairly neutral social atmosphere day-to-day. (Neutral compared to those of the United States right now, I should clarify.) Other than that, I was horrified by the event itself. Once the towers had been built, people had hung Irish flags and pictures of Irish Catholic politicians on the beams. I watched in shock as the towers were lit and those flags and photos caught flame. Around us, people cheered and English marches played over huge speakers. I felt my stomach turn over, not necessarily with fear of the present moment, but with deep empathy for the fear and hatred that has persisted in the area and haunted people for generations.

July 12, 2022. Belfast.

It was the next day that I met Louise. My friend and I decided to skip the marches and parades (still disturbed by the energy of the previous night) and head up north to go hiking. While on the platform, I observed a small woman who was struggling with her bags. I offered to carry them onto the train for her, which she accepted gratefully. Once on the train, however, a man in the row before us started watching videos of the English marches on his phone, the speaker volume all the way up. Although I’m not Irish, I felt such disgust and genuine discomfort at the sound. I didn’t need a reminder of the scenes we had witnessed last night, so we decided to switch cars. I knew Louise was Irish because she had said she was going up to ‘Derry,’ a city the English would refer to as ‘Londonderry.’ (These are the types of things you learn to notice when you’re living there!)

I asked if Louise would like to move cars with us and again, she agreed happily. We spent the rest of the ride talking about our families, our travels, our dogs, and our observations of the “celebrations” that day. At some point, Louise and I each learned of each other’s chronic illnesses and pains. We became fast friends. Her husband picked us up from the train station to take us to our hotel and we met the next day for coffee and treats at her daughter’s bakery. (Bakery is Yum Cakes in Derry! I cannot recommend it enough!)

Louise is friendly, generous, opinionated, and determined to leave her world in a better place than she found it. She has more spirit than you’d expect from her small frame and she practically bursts with gratitude! She will give anything to the people she loves but will not back down from any challenge. Her family members, as well, are all kind, welcoming, and determined people.

August 17, 2023. Derry.

Here we are more than a year later and I am back in Louise’s garden, writing this as a cool breeze gently tosses the tree branches and her dog, Benji, sits with his paws on my feet. This is what I love about travel - the trust it requires in other people, the openness it encourages.

Over the last year, Louise has texted me messages of support through some of my hardest health moments (even when I am a horrible return texter!). She’d note my voice when I called: if I was tired or energized that day. When I told her that I was no longer getting married, she responded with nothing but support and love, never once questioning my reasoning. She practices the trust she demands and stands up for what is right, regardless of the context. I am learning from her and she is an encouraging teacher.

This is the perfect place for me to start my journey — a place where I have friends, family, peace, and rest. Travel is not always for the excitement and the optics of something new. Very often it’s a return: a return to a place, a return to a person, a return to self.