I took a bus to Derry (aka -- Londonderry) and it was overwhelming. I stayed two blocks from the Derry walls went to wander around them soon as I checked into my B&B.
Near the gun turrets overlooking this part of the city (called The Bog), I was approached by a paratrooper to ask why I was taking so many photographs. Soon as he heard me speak, he said, "Oh, a Yank. S'all right, then." And he left. And that's when the whole feeling of the place and its horrible history of death and hate crashed in on me...and I went and got drunk, and spent the next day six miles north -- in the Republic of Ireland.
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