More research stuff: Jessa's first participant observation!

Today I went to an arts class, designed to facilitate cross-community ties as well as to teach marketable craft skills and math. I quilted a potholder! (Okay, I sewed the little strips of fabric together and the teacher did everything else). The instructor was an imposing, gregarious woman who was mortified that I didn't know how to use a sewing machine and tutted over my ironing abilities. I was actually very glad to have her bossing me around, though, because sometimes when I'm nervous my brain switches off and I just need someone to tell me what to do. My nerves were acting up because was my first participant-observation, which is a research method for collecting qualitative data.

The students in the class were a little quiet at first. One of the employees at my organization warned me that people in Derry are wary of outsiders who come in to "study" them. Once I started talking about where I was from and my family, they let their guard down and became very friendly. One of the students spent a lot of her time helping me each time my thread disappeared into the sewing machine. Another person told me that the program had cured her of a recurring health problem.

I actually found that quilting a potholder was very relaxing, and was surprised at the complexity of some of the students' projects. To tell you the truth, when I first walked into the class I looked upon quilting as sort of provincial. Actually, though, there is a lot of thinking and math that goes into getting the patterns and measurements right, and you have to cut and sew very precisely to get a good product. I asked what happened when someone messes up, and one of the students said “we just don’t. The fabric is too expensive.”

Tea time was the best; the chatting and social time are as important for the program's success as the employment skills. I had a very enlightening conversation with the program coordinator, who explained to me that the type of reconciliation that goes on in that room is very under-the-surface. When you are in the company of normal people in Northern Ireland (it's different if you're with a public figure), it's considered a faux pas to bring up religion. The people in the class never talk about what religion they are; however, you can almost always tell whether someone is Protestant or Catholic by where they live. The way the coordinator explained it to me is that there is a collective ethos of moving on from the past that gives people a sense of hope and progress, but it also prevents people from bringing past wounds out into the open.

Actually, the class itself illustrates a peacebuilding theory that if you set people to work on a common goal, they will forge bonds that help them overcome their differences. I was very impressed when one of the students asked for help on a problem with her project and all of the others came rushing over to help them work out a solution. After they were done helping, one of the students piped up, "is it tea time yet?" If you ever go to Northern Ireland, be prepared to have a lot of tea and "biscuits" (flaky, thin sugar cookies).



Yes, when it comes to things that I make, functional DOES mean ugly.

Deer

For the first two weeks that I was in L'Derry, I thought the Irish were obsessed with deer. Everyone around me was saying, "that grocery store has many deer," and "France has too many deer." When I got to the grocery store, I wandered around the meat department, puzzled by the lack of deer. I wasn't actually gonna buy any, I just wanted to see if they had it. It turns out that "dear" is an Irish slang word. It means "expensive." People were actually saying, "oh, that grocery store is very dear," "France is too dear," etc.

It was my brain's way of making sense of it all. Derry folk talk fast and use a lot of slang, so for the first couple of weeks I just kind of let everything run through my head and tried to smile and nod. Of course, now that I've been in Derry for a while, it occurs to me that Derry people talk normally and Americans talk excessively slowly. Hmm...thinking about this leads me to wonder what else I misunderstood during my first couple of weeks. Do you think maybe that guy wasn't asking me if I wanted to buy some crack? (Another piece of Irish slang is "what's the craic?" It means "what's up?" They pronounce it: "what's the crack?")

Young lady, explain yourself!

I'm a rising junior at Swarthmore College, going for an honors major in Economics with a minor in Peace and Conflict Studies. Peace Studies is a relatively new, inter-
disciplinary field, so there is some room to explore how to approach peacebuilding from an economic standpoint. Swarthmore gives out summer research grants, so back in February Professor Magee from my Intro to Peace and Conflict Studies class helped me write a proposal for a grant in the social sciences. She also wrote my recommendation letter. I was awarded a Joel Dean Summer Research Fellowship, and I'm in Derry/Londonderry for nine weeks to learn how economic development contributes to peacebuilding. I also want a pony.

Sheep!

The Airporter is a bus that runs from the Belfast Airport to L'Derry. It's very convenient, if a little dear. As I make my way from baggage claim to the Airporter, my first contact with an Irish person is about to begin.

"Yoogamabloogabloo."

"Excuse me?"

The bus driver slows down, making an extra effort to enunciate.

"Yoogonntoohoppallkeeside?"

"What?"

"You goin' to the hospital or Quayside*?"

"Umm..." My insides are wailing with despair. All five of the L'Derry locals are staring at me with an amused look in their eyes.

So I call Denise, who will heretofore be known as my Savior, and whine, "Denise, am I going to the Hospital or to Quayside?"

(My mom gets the same phone calls, except substitute Highway 85 and Highway 280 for "Hospital" and "Quayside.")

After sorting out where I need to go, we all get on the bus. I'm playing around with my new camera (thanks Aunt Debi and Aunt Sara!), and pretty soon I realize I'm missing my first hour in N. Ireland. That's one of the tough parts of having a camera. I was never really a camera person, figuring that I would remember anything worth remembering. Unfortunately, that logic works about as poorly as when I use it as my excuse for not writing a journal. Still, I learned early on that it's hard to balance taking pictures of your trip with actually enjoying your trip. Does anyone else have that problem? What do you do about it? (Points eyes meaningfully toward the comments section).

Now...on to the scenery. How much cliche could a cliche chuck chuck if a cliche chuck could chuck cliches? Imagine the most beautiful pasture you can think of, riddled with sheep and a few cows. Now, turn the green dial up several notches, make the sky blue with only a few clouds in it. Looking outside the window, I had to laugh. The place is so picturesque and beautiful, it's hard not to feel like they're playing a joke on us jaded Americans. The rolling hills of farmland look like something you would see in an exaggerated movie. The cliche is there for a reason...because it actually exists. I've just never seen it before, so I thought it was a thing of the past.


Okay, this was my first day with the camera, so my pictures don't really do it justice. I hope you all spent some quality time imagining.

The interesting thing to me about the countryside was the landscape. Each plot of land is quite small, and divided from the other squares of land by a border of trees and bushes. I took a very interesting class in the spring semester on European economic history from 1500-1800. Something I focused on was the agricultural element of the economy. Looking out the window of the bus, it seemed to me that a large part of N. Ireland appears the same as it did before the Industrial Revolution.

Something that puzzled me was the size of the plots of land. The trees formed a very clear border for each plot, but each plot was so small that I could not imagine anyone growing a surplus. Perhaps each family just has a subsistence farm? I wondered about that every time I drove through the countryside for almost a month, until someone told me that each family owned numerous plots, but that they were all dotted around the area. It has something to do with the way they divided up the land way back when. Anyway, this just added to the list of reasons why I'm glad I took that class. It's not very often that I see something in real life that I can directly apply back to the classroom. Oh sure, when I really think about it there are lots of things about the world around me that I can apply to my sociology classes, but this was just so readily apparent that it made me excited. If there's one thing that competes with Peace and Conflict Studies for me, it's got to be economic history.

Anyway, after an hour and a half of cows, sheep, green grass, blue sky, and rolling hills, the bus driver drops me off at Derry Quayside,

*for the uninitiated, Quayside is pronounced KEYside. I know. Who do they think they are?

which is a shopping center in the middle of town. Denise is there with her eldest daughter to meet me. Denise (a.k.a. Person who Saves) is the coordinator for Swarthmore's semester abroad in Northern Ireland. Since I'm coming to N. Ireland independently of the semester abroad program, I was surprised when she told me that she was coming to pick me up and take me to my dorm. Going over and above her job, she has helped me set up contacts with the people I need to interview, met with me weekly to go over my research, and just generally been a friend and a good person. It's inspiring to meet someone who so willingly gives of their free time and energy to help people out. I once asked her why she does all this, and she said, "Oh, it all comes around in the end." One can only hope.

Honey Roasted Peanuts

There's something about overnight flights that I just love. I love all flights, actually. I even like airplane food. (I know, right, my profile interests say good food?) I think it has to do with the yearly trips we would make back to Maryland to see Grandma Margie. My theory is, if you want your kid to like flying, take them early. Actually--I take that back--my theory is that all parents with infants should be guided into a soundproof compartment and locked in for the entirety of the flight. Oh, come on, I'm not that cruel. We can give them a few bags of honey roasted peanuts before we shut the door.

Overnight flights are great for a number of reasons. British Airways has an almost infinite selection of music, movies and TV shows. That alone makes me feel like King for a Day (or a really good internet pirate). You get to see the sun rise and set. They still serve food on overnight flights. People are paid to bring you pretzels (or snack mix, if you're lucky) and drinks while you sit on your bum. And you get to watch your plane on the little tracker computer thing. To me, this is heaven.

They also use the planes that have a little extra seating room--a big blessing for the usually overcrowded international flights. I lucked out--although the plane was 99% full, the middle seat in my row was empty. I got the window, which is my favorite spot. The guy sitting on the aisle was a 20 year old American college student heading for a semester in Amsterdam. He took full advantage of this academic opportunity to drink every bottle of wine that they brought him (plus all of mine). Way to get a head start on school, dude! Ah yes, on overnight flights, they also bring you wine.

Grab Your Coat

Greetings from Northern Ireland! It's my first day here, and I'm so excited! What a trip, right? Just kidding, it's actually six weeks into my trip and I get to go home to California in three ;) I'm looking forward to seeing everyone! It took me a while to figure out what I want in a blog, so now that I have it set up, hopefully posting will be the easy part. On the bright side, my blog is so aesthetically pleasing that you'll want to spend lots of time reading as I update things :-D

I've enlisted a series of elves (don't worry, I vetted the evil ones) to build me a time machine so that I can make trips back and post about my adventures. I've kept good notes in my mental diary, so it'll be like I was posting things as they happened. A new poll...The Internet: blessing upon humankind or the best procrastination tool ever invented?

Aside: The title of this post is from one of my favorite songs, "Sunny Side of the Street." I was going to name my blog Grab Your Coat, because it reminds me of a happy song, it has associations with travel, and it brings to mind a California girl packing up and heading East. In the end, though, I decided that I can't bear to be reminded that I left optimal weather conditions each time I sign onto my blog, so the title will snag an honorary position as a label. What are labels, you ask? They are little tags I add to my posts to tell you what they're about. Down at the bottom of the page, you can click on the label and it will show you similar posts :) The optimist in me predicts there will be more than seven posts, so that they won't all fit on one page and new readers will be forced to use my encyclopedic labels in order to read my blog. Muahahahaaa...