ROYGBIV

Sometimes, if you look hard enough, an initially grey situation can have hidden pockets of color. Through this magnifying glass you will find passionate reds and cautionary yellows, a never ending spectrum of green, and violets so deep you lose yourself. Standing alone, these colors bleed into one another, each one losing themselves within another. But what breathes strength into their cores and gives each one life is the people that stand behind them.

Jackie: Jackie was my red. She started things for me on Contiki, and got the ball rolling. If it wasn't for her unexpected comic relief due to her lack of patience, I don't know where I'd be. Her uncanny wit and lack of direction steered us far from boring and anywhere else we 'should' have been. One good joke from her was all it took for me to remember that I had it pretty good.

Steph: Orange is the most vibrant color you can find. This is what Steph was to me. Her creative story telling methods and naturally humorous disposition left me in tears when it was time to say goodbye. There was a steady numbing in my heart that thrummed on after we left her in Scotland, but was soon struck deaf after our reunion in Ireland.

Mark: Mark brought me light. And for this, I assign him yellow. He was the sun rise I woke up early for, and the promise that kept me out of darkness. Each day that passed he continued to give me the confidence I lacked towards my art and helped me to believe in the possibility to it through. He was everything good in this world, and everything I needed.

Erika: Without hesitation I link Erika to green. She was lively and fun, and welcomed me more quickly than I thought possible. It was Erika's hotel room floor that I slept on for 3 days after the tour concluded due to lack of funds. She was the group's shopper, birthday girl, and party animal. Because she survived a 42 days European tour before ours, she is our little trooper.

Phil: Mr.Blue. When I was with Phil I could just, be. We fell into sync from day one and always found that no matter what curve ball was thrown at us, our minds remained on the same track. He was easy to be around and was sometimes able to fill the gap that not seeing my brother left. Phil left home, like me, in September with two things; a work visa and the knowledge that sometimes every road doesn't lead back home.

Romps: Indigo matches this gentleman to a t. Like the color, I can never put my finger on him. His foomanshoo and mustache, combined with his shaved head and tattoo collage initially sent me running for the hills. It was his gentle smile, and appreciation for the experiences we were subject to that helped me to uncover the snuggle bunny that we all fell in love with. Two months away from home changed this boy. I will never forget the friendship that formed so quickly between us, and know that somehow our futures will merge.

Ashley: Last but certainly not least is my violet girl, Ash. It is said that if you surround yourself with purple you will have peace of mind. Ash reminded me of this every day; life is short and Spain is beautiful. She was the kick in the ass I needed to do the things I would never forget. In addition to her cheerleaderesque stature, this girl had the stomach of an infant and threrefore consumed my entire gravol collection.

There were few times in my first month abroad that I gave into the will of loneliness. During these times I lost all hope and let solemn greys fall with a torrential force. It was times like these that I forgot in the vibrancy that surrounds us all and lost myself in a sea of black and white. Out of nowhere though, through the breaking downpour and peaking sun, sprouted a seed of hope and in walked the light. Contiki allowed me to befriend some of the most amazing people this world has to offer. Thank you for being my rainbow.

The Cliffs of Moher

Down below, past all numbing rhymes and shallow reasons, the conflict ensues. Here peace is left to decay amongst the tossing tide, and water breaks like forgotten promises. This is where the battle between the lonely sea and ample cliffs escalate into a winter plague. From the beginning this campaign has left the world in a state of unbalanced truth; the sea fighting for what it doesn’t have and the land wishing away what it does. Time and time again, the rock’s face fights the water’s fury as swirling white ribbons roll over each jagged mass. In a fiery protest the land holds its place, just in time for the quick building swell to curl over itself. Like a fickle wife, the waves never cease. Seagulls cry out for a victory; their optimistic applauds echo the wills of the sea. And on and on it goes…

But here we stand on our high up perch, watching the ignorant water as it strikes the broken cliff. I close my eyes. I can hear your heart racing through the loud cracking of the sea below. I lean in, forgetting the salty air that whips around my face and breathe in the warmth of your soul. Our arms wind through each other, like coiling vines and I look at you. I’m miles away from the war, lost in the spinning depths of your russet eyes. Before you catch me, I’m falling from the cliff’s peak and diving into those dark waters below. Rather than perish in the angry wake, I slip into a warmer, hazelnut pool, and thaw my chilled bones. The battle from below has frozen in time as I glide through the rippling waves. Finally I break the surface of the melting honey that envelops me, gasping for air. With wandering eyes I find you, waiting with an open heart to welcome me back. Before I catch my breath, your eyes swallow me once more.

Tossin' Cookies and Ridin' Bikes

The rough Irish Sea threw the ferry from side to side, jostling my upturned stomach. Tiny beads of sweat fell across my furrowed brow as my clenched fists bore white knuckles. In the attempt to hold the sides of my bursting stomach together, I wrapped my arms around my waist. I opened my mouth slightly, testing the limits my gut had agreed to. “Bag!” I groaned, as my cheeks flushed a new kind of scarlet.

I could hear the cruel snickers from the sloshing waters outside as I tried to soothe the fire that grew within, if only to douse the walls with a calm thought. But then the voice of an angel spoke; we were nearing the harbour. I leapt up from my place in the cabin, shoved past the slow moving passengers, and struggled my way to the top deck. The knot that my stomach had become untangled itself as my feet found solid ground.

As I stepped off the ferry I was greeted by dozens of tiny fishing boats that bobbed along the slapping waves. The fog from the sea hung in heavy clusters and I could feel the pungent sting of the salt air on my tongue with each cool breath. Beyond the harbour lay a backdrop of olive hillsides divided into checkering squares by crumbling stone walls. Tiny white cottages were nestled together alongside the shoreline and their firelight flickered through the sea broken haze.

Drawn by the lazy streams of smoke that rose from each chimney, I headed toward the village. As I neared the shops I was led astray by a growing crowd. I followed the flock and found myself amidst the commotion; a growing que for bicycle rentals. Entranced by the romanticism of winding through the ancient cobblestone streets, I paid the shop owner with a fistful of crumbled bills and mounted the nearest bicycle. I took off in a dead sprint, flagged on each side by fellow riders, chasing nothing but my own shadow around each bend. Pockets of drizzling rain formed tiny puddles that we laced between. Our only worry was the mud our tires kicked up behind us.

My mind was at ease; no thoughts to crease my brow, no fears to consume me. I was content with the whistling melodies of the wind and the clinking of bike chains. This is what peace feels like, I thought to myself. As we rounded the last twist of our journey, an aching formed deep within my stomach. It didn’t burn like on the ferry and my fists remained unclenched. This raw truth I found on The Aran Island of Inishmore wouldn’t last forever. I would go home and remember this feeling as if in a dream. But despite all realities that awaited me, I was reminded if only for a moment of the tranquility that wells deep within us. Sometimes it just takes a bike ride in the rain to find it.

Good Things Come in Threes

Being overseas has taught me to live in threes. Always have three spare pairs of underwear with you at all times; a rule that completely contradicts my dad’s idea of “throwing your underwear at the wall like spaghetti; if it doesn’t stick, you’re alright.” My next rule: a meal isn’t complete unless there are three types of potatoes involved (my starch count went through the roof after day 2 of being in Ireland). One Aussie is fine, two is company, and three is a party (thanks to Romps, Jackie, and Mark). Last, but certainly not least were my three all time favorite rules that I feel hold great significance to any travel itinerary, and so I have graciously elaborated these below:

Number one; scan your hotel room before you checkout for misplaced items. After having stayed in nearly every hotel in the UK and Ireland, I felt I needed to leave a little piece of myself behind. Or maybe five pieces. I had forgotten my toothpaste, razor, and convertor plug (by the way I borrowed this from my brother before leaving Canada… oops), phone charger for my brand new Irish phone, and of course countless unmatched socks. When everything you own fits neatly in a backpack, you become attached to the little you do have.

Number two; sometimes it’s best to judge a book by a cover if that cover is moldy, unhygienic, and completely overpriced. This life lesson was best learnt while in the Scottish Highlands when I stayed at an Indian Hotel in the middle of nowhere. Not only were there little curly black hairs waiting in piles throughout the room, but the water remained a pleasant stream of freezing cold during my entire stay. Zero was the only setting on the thermostat, and for the first time since being overseas, I thought I might encounter temperatures colder than at home. The cherry on top of this leaning tower of crap was in fact the incredibly inflamed prices I was suckered into paying for some liquid relaxant; a necessity I felt kept me from partaking in a murderous rampage. So be weary when you book accommodation, and don’t feel bad for placing your fate in the hands of occipital judgement.

Number three; try as you might, you can never truly capture your travels. Those pictures aren’t worth a thousand words, and the home video you’ll never watch again is for a good reason. Sometimes you have to open your hearts with your mind and watch as the wonders of the world share themselves with you.

With moving from city to city, I’ve had the privilege of meeting so many great people. It is these people that I find myself most at ease with. Their artistic minds weave into one another and their thirst for culture feeds them. I’ve met painters, and speakers, sculptors, and musicians, linguists, and writers, all with one thing in common; the desire to preserve this raw magic. We’re all just trying to remember the freedom we had at our fingertips, the knowledge that what we want is achievable, and the realization that it won’t last forever. So as you sit on that park bench, legs crossed and book poised, grab onto that feather of hope that floats past, enjoy it while you have it, and miss it when you don’t.

Catholic vs Protestant

The next step in our journey was a quick visit to Northern Ireland. From what I'd heard through the grape vine, I was going to be entering a religious hot spot. I pictured in my mind a very supervised, get your pictures and get out, nerve rattling event that would haunt me for nights to come. Little did I know that cities like Belfast and Londonderry had so much more to offer than a bleak past; they had an optimistic future.

For nearly 30 years "The Troubles" named Northern Ireland as a major headline, focusing on the battle between the Protestant North (British) and the Catholic South (Irish) or the nationalists and the unionists. But this conflict was not easily described as a fight between whose religion was the best: Many of the issues that caused violence between the two extremists rested in the hands of the ruling political parties.

"The Troubles" were a time of civil injustice for the Catholics who were left without equal access to public housing. This led to numerous families seeking refuge under the same roof, struggling to stay alive. The only hope for these families was a new government, one that took notice of these people's hardships. On the other side of the wall (literally speaking: Londonderry has a wall that separates the two sides of the city), the Protestants were fairing quite well with every family living struggle-free. This was where trouble was met: Each household was given only one vote. The Protestants outnumbered the Catholics merely in residential status but made up only 40% of the total population. They worried that if the Catholics were given equal rights, any benefits they reaped would be stripped away. In addition to facing a housing bias, Catholic neighborhoods received less government investment and underwent various levels of police harassment. This social unrest led to the Battle of the Bogside, a Londonderry based riot that left over 1000 people injured.

Although violence in Northern Ireland has yet to meet its end, it has dwindled. It's difficult for a place such as Londonderry to escape its grim past and move forward. The wall that once separated the two sides of the city still stands in Derry, but a new generation resides on either side. New housing developments have erected throughout the city, once again joining the Protestants and the Catholics. Here you will find mini communities flourishing together while the old, segregated neighborhoods seek destruction and slowly wither away. No one is sure whether the Derry wall will every be demolished. Some say time heals all wounds and that when they are ready, the people will call for a falling of the wall. Others feel that routine is an easy trap and the wall must be demolished in order to move on.

Ronan, a Londonderry resident views this ongoing battle with an open mind. He believes in the ability for Northern Ireland to find its long since overdue peace, and trusts that its people crave the same thing. Segregation is the first stone thrown, and acceptance is the glue that mends. Acknowledging the mistakes of the past and recognizing the hopes for a future without war, without fear, and without labels, is a future well worth seeing.

Giant's Causeway

Once upon a time...

There was an Irish giant named Fionn. His Irish descent left him confident and soon he thought of expanding his boundaries. One day, as he ventured into the forbidden Highlands of Scotland, he found himself lost. As he penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest, he crossed paths with Oonagh, a stunning Scottish princess. Fionn's attraction to Oonagh was unshakable and after learning of her engagement to his Scottish nemesis Benandonner, he knew he must have her. Oonagh shared Fionn's affections and the two fled from Scotland. Being the clever giant that Fionn was, he gathered in his hand enough water to separate the two land masses, calling it the Irish Sea.

After finding Oonagh's letter of betrayal, Benandonner attempted to follow the couple and destroy their newly found love. He was appalled to find the body of water that left him marooned from his one love and his heart darkened into a pit of mould and decay. In a fit of rage, Benandonner threatened the young, arrogant giant and the constant quarreling between the two nations flourished. The hostility felt between Fionn and Benandonner grew relentlessly as if it had been nurtured in a garden by a tender hand. The two enemies struggled against each other's will from across the fitful Irish Sea and both itched at the land barriers that kept them from face to face battle.

Being the least patient of the two, Fionn quickly grew weary of the distanced quarrel. He soon built a Causeway that would allow him access to his foreign enemy. The prospects for final dominance over the Scottish giant were eminent, but the arrogance that welled within the young Irish giant out stretched his abilities, leading him to fall into a deep slumber. As he slept, Benandonner's suspicions of Fionn's scheming steered him in the direction of the Causeway. He was instantly enraged to have found the bridge, thinking it was Oonagh who had led Fionn back to Scotland. The thought of Oonagh betraying him for second time was just cause for him to cross the bridge first, his broken heart trailing behind miserably.

Oonagh, Fionn's wife knew how deeply her husband Fionn slept and became anxious when she saw Benandonner stalking towards their house. In the hopes of saving him, she covered him with a blanket, praying the Scottish giant might be fooled into thinking he was their baby son. Oonagh's plan worked, and Benandonner, frightened from the size of the Irish giant's baby, quickly left the home. As he retreated back to the Causeway, Benandonner became lost in his thoughts and was soon overcome with terror at the possible size of Fionn. He continued to move quicker and quicker until he found himself sprinting across the bridge, tearing up the Causeway with every step so as to prevent the Irish giant from following him. Benandonner knew the love he had for Oonagh had pierced through his soul and so, the giant left pieces of the Causeway for his beloved, if ever she decide to come back home.