Lennon Wall

For fans of Beatles music, especially that of John Lennon, the Lennon Wall in Prague is a source of inspiration and community. During the communist period, it was a blank wall across a small square from the French Embassy. After his assassination in 1980, the residents of Prague turned the wall into a makeshift memorial for John Lennon. It honored his life, music and ideas with graffiti that depicted his image and lyrics. Oftentimes, people would write messages about their hopes for peace, tranquility and fulfillment. The music of the Beatles was officially banned in Czechoslovakia. The authorities would whitewash the wall in an attempt to keep a lid on a celebration of Western music and ideas, only to have residents to reestablish the memorial again.

The Lennon Wall in May 2016

Since the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe in 1989, the wall has remained largely unmolested by the government. It has become a gathering place that attracts more and more tourists and travelers each year. The wall has featured images of the Beatles, references to lyrics, but more importantly implores peace, love and internationalism. People leave messages, identify where they are from and celebrate their love of music. It is not uncommon to fund musicians encouraging visitors to sing alone. Because there are new messages and images every day, the wall is constantly changing.

I have been visiting the wall for several years. The increase in the number of people has meant that the Lennon Wall is no longer a secret shared among a few people. Once, I could bring a dozen students to the wall and we would constitute a majority of people. It is sad to see that more nationalist images have begun to crop up. Two large Czech flags adorned the wall this year. Nevertheless, there remains a feeling of goodwill and comradeship. It is common for people to join in song and greet one another while visiting.

I was talking to a student who was in the military, standing at the edge of the square watching the visitors. He was clearly moved by the experience of being at the wall and interacting with others. He noted that it was nice to see people speaking different languages, from different parts of the world, singing together rather than trying to kill each other. I am willing to bet that John Lennon would have been happy. 

Finding the Dublin we might not know

To know a city, one must walk the city. All too often while traveling, we tend to stick to the main thoroughfares that are frequented by tourists. This is true even while walking.  There are interesting sites, restaurants and pubs out of the way, hidden in neighborhoods and side streets. It is true that there are no magnificent structures in these area; if there were, then people would be flocking there. Nevertheless, if you are interested in how people live, take the unfamiliar street or alley.  

I began to explore the Ringsend section of Dublin; an area I have neglected on previous visits. It has long been an area that was out of fashion. It was a warm Saturday afternoon in June. People were enjoying the weather the weather out of doors. Most people I spoke to expressed it as uncommonly good. There were several people sunbathing in Ringsend Park. As the evening wore on, people began to fill up the outdoor seating areas of pubs and restaurants to dine and drink alfresco. I was well outside the tourist area of Dublin and there was an air of ease that surrounded the chatter and laughter.

Demolition of the Boland Flour Mills

Currently, Ringsend is undergoing a transformation from industrial dockyards to a more gentrified area with waterside apartments and office space. Most of the old Boland Flour Mills factory is being demolished and redeveloped. The front portion of the factory appears to salvaged as part of a new condominium front.

While there is a great deal of revitalization, old row-houses, showing the hallmarks of working class lives, can still be easily found adjacent to Ringsend Park. Despite the ongoing gentrification, it was clear it has not affected many side streets and buildings. There is still an uneasy edge to the Ringsend area. Poverty and jobless people are easy to spot. Despite the numerous “ban the poo” signs that dot the area, the sidewalks are a veritable land mine of dog feces. Some roads, especially away from the new and refurbished buildings, are in need of repair. When two cyclists were making their way around the dock, the male commented to his female companion, “The ramps (speed bumps) are smoother than the road.”

As I was walking along the River Dodder, I watched nine or ten boys playing in a small patch of grass near a housing estate. It was not unlike some of the games in which I participated growing up. One vociferous boy got the others organized. By the time I could see and understand what was going on, it was all too familiar. The boys had placed nerf guns into a pile and formed a circle, at varying paces back, around the toy armaments. The lead boy gave a countdown from ten. When he reached zero, the boys all rushed forward to grab a gun. In the ensuing scrum, there was lighthearted wrestling and each emerged with a weapon and had a minute to secure a defensive position for the impending battle. I did not stay for the outcome, but I feel sure that the lead boy would have fared well.

The Grotto on Margaret Place

At the end of Margaret Place, a small cul-de-sac in near the Aviva Arena, there is a small grotto. I found the message at the base a sweet message of neighborly fealty. The grotto is dedicated to Kathleen Crowe who had tended Mary for many decades until her death in 2009. Someone in neighborhood has been continuing in the care of the Grotto. 

The imbiss at Olivaerplatz

It is a simple snack, or a quick lunch for me while in Berlin: roast bratwurst on a hard roll (Rostbratwurst im brot). It is good, easy and relatively inexpensive. The bratwurst served in Berlin is much longer and not quite as thick as those served in America. Both sides of the sausage hang temptingly out both sides of the fist-sized bun. It is almost if it demands that you eat both ends before you have any of the bread.

Curry uwe

Curry uwe imbiss is an unassuming place at the edge of Olivaerplatz, a square that commemorates the Treaty of Oliva of 1660 ending the Northern War (1655-60). It is small, about the size of a food truck but looks as if it has been there for decades. Eating there means that one must stand at one of the three tables precariously covered by a tent-awning, or in the elements at one of the two small tables in the back. The two tables in back are usually frequented by older people who appear to be regulars. Whoever is working at the imbiss, when not busy, can be found having a smoke and/or chat with those sitting at the table. The conversation is usually convivial.

Plaque commemorating the Peace of Oliva

On days when it is nice I usually take my bratwurst, with a good helping of mustard (senf), further into the square. Olivaerplatz today is a park that has flower gardens and park benches. On a cool afternoon in May I sat at a bench quite some distance from the imbiss and began to eat. Almost immediately a small sparrow appeared at my feet begging for food. I took another bite and was startled when my new acquaintance tried to land on my knee. I wanted to see if the sparrow would land on my knee, but I did not want my entire bratwurst sandwich to become the sparrow’s lunch. I broke off a small piece of bread and threw it to the ground. The sparrow hopped to it right away, struggled with it and then flew off. I was hoping to entice my friend to land on my knee with a second piece of bread, but alas the one piece of bread was enough of a meal.

The Good Dog of Moate

In Moate, I was walking the path that runs alongside the abandoned railway tracks on the north edge of town. It is a great place to relax and see birds up close. A man with an African accent, and his daughter, were walking just a few yards ahead. Meanwhile a woman walking her dog were approaching from the opposite direction. Quite by accident, the five of us (four humans and a dog) converged in the same area simultaneously. The little girl (about five-years old) was singularly focused on the dog, who was older, docile and had a meandering gait. She asked her father worryingly, “Is that dog going to lick me?” The owner, who overheard as she approached, assured the girl that it was a friendly canine and would not pay her any attention. The girl’s father reassured her as well, noting that it was a good dog and would not lick her.

As I approached I offered my hand to the dog to smell as a distraction and a greeting – sure enough, he did not lick. As we all departed our common meeting spot, me walking faster than the father and daughter, the woman and dog walk away, the little girl continued to voice concern, “I did not want that dog to lick me.”

Her father replied

in a reassuring tone, “No. That was a very nice dog…he would not bother you.”

Meeting royalty while waiting for a transfer

While waiting for the X20 bus to Athlone at Dublin Airport, the bus stand was very crowded and I was trapped between other people and a luggage trolley someone had left. These trolleys serve an odd function in Anglo-Irish airports. It seems that they are almost a requirement for air travelers. Even if a person only has one piece of luggage, even with wheels, people seem compelled to use one to move their luggage through the airport. This is a journey from the luggage claim to the next form of transportation. Yet, the luggage trolley stays at the airport. How people manage to maneuver their bags beyond that point remains a mystery.

I had my bag resting against the railing, which prevented pedestrians from wandering into the roadway around the airport, and adjacent to the trolley. My attention was turned to the announcement board, which indicated that the bus was due to arrive, but scanning the road leading to the bus stop there were no sign of the vehicle that was to take me to the heart of Ireland. Out of nowhere, this older woman with an American accent pushed her way through the crowded and addressed me. “My good sir,” with fake seriousness, “please allow me to retrieve my throne.” I was a little embarrassed, both for her and that I as being addressed in this manner, and slightly move my bag without saying a word while she retrieved the luggage trolley. As she moved away she said, “It may not be much of a throne, but it is made in Germany and steers very well.” She maneuvered the trolley between a couple of people and positioned it adjacent to the curb, whereupon she sat with her feet planted precariously close to where bus wheels came and went. Shortly thereafter my bus did arrive – confusion reigned because the sign across the top misidentified the route and destination – and the woman remained seated, in what I would have estimated as in an uncomfortable seat, and did not get on the bus. There was a little voice in my head that said, “good, that’s one less crazy person on the bus.”