Missing Ireland via Sweden and Barcelona
In summer of 1992, shortly after emaciated men appeared behind wires, I cycled into a Serbia under international embargo. Western Romania had proved difficult alone and I wanted to feel safe again.
Things like replacing a tyre in Hungary, and just finding food in Arad and Timisoara, were not the easiest of tasks, and I’d had several attempts at robbing me, so cycling back into the imploding former Yugoslavia was an easy decision.
The Serbs knew the world didn’t like them, as their soldiers ran all over the countryside, and so they were very suspicious of any outsiders. The embargo meant the trappings of tourism were non-existent, and I was hoping I could cycle across the only bridge over the Danube east of Belgrade before David Owen persuaded Nato to bomb it.
Only in the south of the country, mostly among the Albanians of Kosovo were you warmly greeted - and by a people expecting their turn for war to be next. And they were right.
The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia was by contrast much happier and much poorer. A thirty mile climb up a cobblestone road that then disappeared, left me on top of a mountain for a night to wonder where I was. The next day I opted for quite a few beers for lunch instead of food, because, well, you need energy for cycling.
And so, rather drunk, I crossed into Greece, my first country in the European Union since Italy, at a major, but due to the war, mostly deserted, border crossing. And the strangest thing for me was that as I entered a country I’d never been to before, about three thousand miles after leaving my home in Ireland, when I looked at the blue and yellow flag of the EU, it felt like I was returning home.
Maybe Americans who have never been to Texas miss it when they go to Malaysia.
Last night, Dublin. Tonight, the Róisín Dubh in Galway. I’ve been talking to friends in both cities about them. From Sweden, but named after a catchphrase from a British comedy by man acting as a Spaniard. Or a Catalonian.
Being from Ireland, living in America, means you miss other EU countries. Their album was planned for American release on March 20th - what you may know as Hoffenpurpenburger Day - but it’s actually now coming out this Tuesday, March 6, 2007.
And missing my EU home is a good enough excuse for me to join the rest of the world and give you I’m From Barcelona performing We’re From Barcelona:
See Also:
• You Travel By Train In Ireland, Don’t You?
• Lying Low in the Fields of Athenry
• Flying to Ireland from Kansas City
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