Orangemen Forever

orangeman in liverpool

I grew up in a one mile square town. There were three Catholic churches, two Catholic grammar schools and my life swirled around organizations like the CYO and the Knights of Columbus. You were either Polish or Irish in my town, and the towns that abutted mine were filled with more Irish, Polish and Italian. All three nationalities are predominately Catholic. We were sequestered and insulated from the rest of the world. All the kids in my neighborhood attended classes and masses together. We moved like cattle through our lives praying and playing by rote. The first time I met someone who was a Protestant I looked at him like he had three heads. I thought the entire world was comprised of Catholics….

The next Protestant I remember meeting had emigrated to our little Catholic community from Northern Ireland. The first thing he asks us is whether we were Catholic or Protestant. The question was chilling. We all knew what was going on in Northern Ireland and the violence of the IRA; it was on the news a lot, but those struggles were far away and unreal, the world was unreal. My little backwater town of Harrison, NJ was safe and sequestered from the world. But, like the layers of an onion are peeled away, as I aged the reality of the world was slowly revealed. And, as the world presented itself as a wonderfully diverse orb, it too revealed the inherent violence of so many people disagreeing with one another.


Liverpool July 12, 2011


While attending Seton Hall University…yes a Catholic institution…some smart alecks painted an Orange line across the parade route for a St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Vailsburg section of Newark with the words ‘Orange Men Forever.’ The parade would not begin until the line and the offending words were painted over. Even with all the news of ‘The Troubles’; the name given to this era of violence in Northern Ireland; this was new to me. I did not realize the depth of emotion such acts could evoke. It was a prank, but this hedged on cataclysm. I mean didn’t we have a good life here in the United States? Weren’t all the Irish bars that lined the Jersey Shore places of hilarity and fun? Weren’t those signs that read ‘give Ireland back to the Irish’, cute? Again, my naivety of history was shocking.

Flash forward thirty something years. Here is Team VFH in Liverpool, England, on July 12 no less. This was the climax of the marching season in Northern Ireland and some parts of England. The season starts with Easter and continues to this date. Protestants, called Orangemen, march through the streets behind bands commemorating battles in which the Catholics were defeated. The first of these battles dates to the 1600’s. Though considered by many today as a good reason to drink and carouse in the streets, the marches once led to riots and violence. I shuddered at the massive police presence on the streets and expected the worst when we ventured out into the Liverpool evening to celebrate Adam’s birthday at an Indian restaurant across town. We cautiously eyed already weaving patrons clad in Orange as we passed them along the way.



Sisters of the Boyne, Liverpool

 At the restaurant, past the Lime Street station, we settled in at a long table with Adam’s parents. Bright sunlight poured into the wall of windows blinding us. We ordered our food and related Team VFH’s antics in Edinburgh and Belgium, not noticing the throngs gathering outside on the street. The parade was starting up and the muffled blare of horns and drumbeats began to invade our conversation. Heads turned. The gathered Americans in our group murmured worriedly, but Adam and his family were unconcerned and joked at our fear. Earlier in the day I had purchased an Everton jersey and wore it under my jacket. July 12 and it’s still chilly in Liverpool. Adam’s father and brother are big fans of the team and my stunt elicited approving applause and then a word of caution. Nodding his head at the throngs outside Adam’s father informed me that Everton was a Catholic team! My naivety dissolved completely and the words ‘I are retard’ went through my feeble brain. Faced with certain death from religious association I put on my jacket and went outside to get a closer look. I had come a long way from my protected little life in Harrison, NJ. I was not going to stop at the door.
 


July 12, 2011

 There certainly was an edgy feel to the event, from the crowds lining the streets to the various bands and marchers. One band weaved side to side in a serpentine motion as they played, as if to knock back the spectators. Men with batons held out like sabers forced people off the parade route, lest they got skewered. Orangemen in dark suits and wide orange sashes across their chests marched solemnly. Other lodges marching behind their elaborate banners that depicted historical figures or unionist symbols wore matching outfits or costumes. Some were colorful, some were humorous. Some danced and twirled as they cavorted along the route. Others marched with precision. Men, women and children were in the parade. A police van with cameras pointed at the crowds rolled slowly along the route documenting the progress. I tried to look particularly non-partisan and as American as I could as a few people eyed me curiously when I first sidled up to the route to ogle the parade and shoot some pictures. This was like experiencing history. Something read about in newspapers was being fleshed out before me. It was exciting and after my initial fear I was grinning along with the crowd at the colorfully dressed marchers. I suppose it might have been more dangerous or at least edgier had we been in Belfast and not Liverpool, for after the bands and marchers passed the crowd quickly dispersed and Liverpool was quiet again. This was certainly not a typical travel adventure and perhaps not for the faint of heart, it was definitely a fitting end to Team VFH’s trip to Europe.

Finally! I’ve caught up with our travels in Europe that ended in mid-July. Hope it was worth the wait for you all. I know, I know, there were no entries for the rest of the summer. Oops….
Love
Greg

kookookachu.... i am the walrus

There was a time when air travel for me was a weekly occurrence. I was always on a plane to somewhere else. As most of the travel was work related there was little time for touristy things, except when we settled into a place for a longer stretch of a few days or a week. But, no matter how fleeting my visit to some foreign city, I still managed to see many sights and revel in the great fortune of getting paid to be elsewhere.

Sometimes my visits were very brief. My only recollection of Des Moines, Iowa is of a quick jaunt on a blustery morning through a snow storm. Memories of an overnight visit to Munich are similar; a quick run through a park, but then a dinner in some restaurant where I drank the best Weisse beer I ever had. I remember a snow storm in Helsinki where I basically never left the venue… or was that Vienna?

Okay, these may not be the greatest of travels, but I was there and each of these memories are precious, although I am certain that I would never have traveled to the alluring city of Des Moines on my own. No matter the destination, if someone is paying your way, it’s a great place to visit. As I look upon those heady days of work related travel I now realize here was the genesis of Team VFH. Getting someone else to pay for travel, albeit with the caveat of having to work, is following the VFH credo in its purest form.

Sometimes lengthy stays were required for my job. I effectively would move away from home when working an event like the Olympics or the U.S. Open or settle in for a week’s run in places like Las Vegas or Reno. Of course this placed a burden on the family, especially if they did not travel with me, but during these stretches I was able to explore the environs. I took advantage of the free ride and always planned time to get away either before or after my shift while on the road. Days off were crammed with activity. I never just laid about the hotel. There was too much of the world to see. Consequently I have fond memories and favorite bars all over the world. Honolulu, Sarajevo and Sitges are as familiar to me as my neck of the woods. I’ve gone on long walks through Palermo and Dublin. I survived a sleazy bar tour in Melbourne and I can’t even remember the one in Madrid. I absolutely love to run along the lake in Chicago, the Truckee River in Reno, through the dry heat of Las Vegas and Phoenix and past the myriad of odd characters lining the beach in Venice, California.

There were long car trips on days off too. I circumnavigated Oahu the first time I was there. I drove in my rented Jeep nearly 500 miles through the Texas countryside from Houston, the length of Galveston Island and beyond just because I had nothing to do that day. I spent a full 12 hours in Arches National Park, leaving in the middle of the night of a day off while working in Salt Lake City, to cavort over the rock formations of this beautiful place. And, then there was a glorious trip through Bosnia in a van filled with new friends and lovers just to gaze upon the Adriatic for the first time.

Yes, I had the great fortune to travel through a lot of this world. I have photographed vistas and buildings and people from some far flung locales. I have also personally collected sand from all over this vast planet. A little bit of Japan, California and Italy among many others reside in specially labeled jars in a little kiosk in my office. This is a VFH worthy memento of traveling; apart from the little jars, these samples of the world did not cost me anything.

But despite all these fond memories those heady times of traveling for work are finished. My travel now mainly consists of commuting into the city. Instead of having to negotiate customs I have to weave around pedestrians on the sidewalk. I even have an EZ Pass. I miss the road. Perhaps someday if fate shines on me and I either get another job that travels me so well or I win a substantial amount in that Nigerian lottery I keep getting emails about, I will be able to see more of this world than the Lincoln Tunnel.

Well, right about now fair reader I suspect you're wondering why you are reading this pathetic drivel. I bet you're finding this boring, or maybe questioning why I stopped regaling you with tales from Team VFH's recent trip to Europe. After all, it's November and we've been back since Mid-July and there’s a whole leg of the trip I have so far failed to relate in this blog. My only defense is that I have been feeling nostalgic for the road, for the incessant traveling, and that now that we are back to the daily grind where for me the thrill of the day is finding a favorable parking spot, there has been an ache for what had been an exceptional travel season for Team VFH. That ain’t happening again anytime soon I fear.

Although Vacations From Home is all about traveling locally and cheap thrills, as it were, the vast world that’s out there awaits us all. See as much of the world as you can. Though we strive to show you what is in your immediate surroundings, our suggestion to you my faithful readers is never be satisfied with just that corner gin mill, although that bar in Gotenberg or Rotterdam or Hilo or Liverpool isn’t all that different than one in Chestnut Hill or Harrison, NJ…. Well, maybe the beers are better?

Well, the final destination of our trip this past summer was Liverpool. We flew from Brussels, getting to the airport far too early; we were worried about customs; and arrived back in England late in the afternoon and took a bus into the center of town where we were met by Adam and Lauren. They had moved into a one bedroom loft in Liverpool and had asked us to stay with them a few days before returning to the United States. It was a perfect reason to visit this city and become honorary Liverpudlians for a few days. I would have rated Liverpool higher than Des Moines on a list of places to visit, but would never have considered it but for this invitation.

Renowned as the birthplace of the Beatles and the port of departure for the ill-fated Titanic, Liverpool proved to be worth the visit. Gritty in places, with some of the local Scousers speaking in an accent so thick we winced through every sentence, Liverpool was never charming, but I was glad we saw it.

The kid’s apartment was small, but a wall of windows allowed glorious light to spill in and giving the place an airy feel. Most notably they are just a five minute walk from the legendary Cavern Club on Matthew Street where the Beatles first played. The next day, Adam had to work, but we walked through the town, visited the replica of the Cavern; the original was torn down; saw a renovated area of Liverpool that was essentially a huge shopping mall, shuffled through another pedestrian walking area that was similarly lined with low end shops and bookstores, and had a well-priced lunch in a cavernous tavern. Leave it to young kids low on funds to find the best deals. We bought wine and coffee in a supermarket before returning to the loft apartment for a meal prepared by Adam.

Liverpool Cathedral

Lording over the town is the Liverpool Anglican Cathedral, rising above the grit of this working class town like an ancient preternatural monolith. Considered by some as one of the greatest architectural achievements of the 20th Century, it is also one of the largest in the world. Set on St. James Mount this glorious edifice commands the skyline. We did not visit it.

Though several areas of the city were granted World Heritage Site status by UNESCO in 2004, much of the city has a worn, sagging feel to it. Even the well-scrubbed Albert Dock area; a major tourist destination in Liverpool; had a charmless quality. No offense to Adam and Lauren, Liverpool was a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Still, the rougher ways of Liverpool seem to be behind it and with gentrification in full swing, perhaps I will come away with a greater appreciation if and when we visit again.

One day we walked through the Albert Dock area and even took a “Duck Boat” ride, one of those amphibious relics from World War II. As we tooled around the city, trying to decipher the commentary of the wildly animated crew, we saw much of the city, including a drive by of the Cathedral. Returning to the waters of Albert dock the boat/car navigated this historic area slowly. The Albert Dock features the first non-combustible warehouse area of the world. Fabricated wholly from stone, brick and cast-iron, vast amounts of goods were once loaded directly on to the ships at port here. Now the area is redeveloped with bars, restaurants, hotels and museums.

Another UNESCO World Heritage Site is Pier Head, which features the Three Graces. These three majestic buildings, the Royal Liver Building, the Cunard Building and the Port of Liverpool Building, remain a testament to the wealth that Liverpool once enjoyed. We strolled in awe past this trio of beautiful edifices of commerce and then had a high-priced tea at the West Tower, the tallest building in Liverpool. It was worth the cost for the glass tower afforded us a view of the entire city, the Mersey River and beyond, a glimpse of the Irish Sea.

Later that evening we went on another sleazy bar tour of Liverpool to celebrate Adam’s birthday. The first was a pub that featured a variety of beers not only from England, but from around the world, which was an anomaly for us. They also served cheeseburgers which we voraciously ate. We then scampered about the dark lonely streets of Liverpool settling in one bar after another. One place we alighted on had us again vainly attempting to decipher a local Scouser who steadfastly tried to engage us in conversation. We politely nodded our collective heads, periodically looking at the stuffed wolverine that ogled us from atop the bar, and smiled warmly, but not understanding him. Thankfully he bought us a round. The bartender was engaging enough. He played old Cat Stevens music from his Ipod and eventually showed us the tattooed stars that coursed his one forearm. There were five all either colored red or blue, red for Liverpool and blue for Everton, the two English Premier Football clubs that called this city home. The tattoos represented his children and their individual devotion to either team. There was another smaller star that was not colored in as yet. It was for his grandchild and when this much loved child declared their team he would then have it inked appropriately.

Janet had been to Liverpool once before with her girls and back then did all things Beatles. They went on a “Magical Mystery Tour,” but not this time. The allure of seeing Penny Lane was not that strong for me, though I am a fan of the band’s music. Perhaps the next time we visit the kids we will go? It’s rare that I should like to return to a place; the world is vast after all; but I think Team VFH has Liverpool in their sights. If anything it will be a great jumping off point for other places throughout Europe.