Trying to find normal in Belfast = Difficult

My first night in Belfast was hardly a day in Belfast. I arrived in the city just after dark, incredibly worn out after an incredibly long drive from Donnegal (including stops at the cliffs at Slieve League and a minor detour in Coleraine). I had to do some wandering after I found the hostel to find an ATM so I could pay them in pounds (of which I only had £10 left over from London/Luton). I found out quickly that the neighborhood I was in was a really cool one. I was right in the middle of the Queens University of Belfast so there were lots of little pubs, student centers, bars and large important looking collegiate buildings that were lit beautifully in the dark. I stopped briefly at a bar called the Globe for some dinner and then headed back to my hostel to write and go to bed early.

My second night in Belfast was after going to Scotland and picking up Brian and promised to be more exciting. Only. It wasn’t. Brian and I got to Ireland at about 1:30 PM. Naturally, his first priority was to have a Guinness (his first in Ireland). We walked around for about 2 hours before we ended up just coming back to the Globe to grab a snack (not really finding anything else that looked inviting or that offered snacky bar food). After this, we went back to the hostel, showered and changed and then plotted our big night out on the town. We left again, this time looking for a pre-dinner drink which we grabbed at a nice pub down the street called Auntie Annie’s that appeared to be having a rather large birthday party. They also boasted to have a full menu, but weren’t serving for whatever reason (it was only 9 PM). So we walked. And walked. We walked all the way downtown and back, twice. Literally. We couldn’t find a damn pub that just served quick food. By about 11:30, we were STARVING, thirsty and sick and tired of walking past closed restaurants, bars with no food and cocaine boasting night club after night club.

At this point, I’m getting REALLY cranky and I’m thinking Brian is rethinking coming on this trip with me. Finally, we found a fast food baked potato shop and walked in to order some baked potatoes which actually turned out to be some of the best hunger curing food ever. I got a giant spud with cheese and bacon (bacon cures all grumpiness). After this we headed back to Auntie Annie’s since that seemed to be a normal place and it was hopping. After closing time tho, at about 2:30, we headed back home and not out to the 4 or 5 “unce-unce” clubs we passed on the way home.

So by night #3 in Belfast, we were determined to find something more like what we wanted – a more traditional pub, more like what I was used to in Galway. A place where we could sit down at the bar or in a snug and have a Guinness with other normal people. At the suggestion of our wonderful Paddywagon tour guide, we headed to the Crown Liquor Saloon which is this REALLY amazing old bar closer to downtown with incredible architecture and the look and feel of an old saloon or soda pop shop. Very cool. Next door was Robinson’s which was a really cool pub with a great crowd, live music and a beautiful little courtyard outside. Finally. Brian and I finally felt at home and we instantly made friends with some Aussie kids at the bar (If there are Aussies in a bar, I will find you, and we will be friends – it’s just how life works). Belfast passes my Ireland test, though barely, and we catch a cab home late night and rest up for our early drive to Dublin in the morning.

Northern Ireland in a Day - Paddywagon Style

As a part of staying at Paddy’s Palace Hostel in Belfast, if you stay for two nights you get the option of going on a free Paddywagon tour up to the Giant’s Causeway, the Carrick Rope Bridge and Derry. Naturally, as a lover of free things, I was on board.

In addition to a day being driven around, I was really looking forward to a history lesson. When I first mentioned going to Northern Ireland to the boys back at the house, Mr. G shivered a bit and said something to the extent of “oh, well I’m not coming with you anymore then.” Turns out there is still quite a bit of animosity between the North and the South and him stepping out into Belfast with his thick Galway accent might cause trouble. I was instantly intrigued, as I love drama, and wanted to know everything I could about why everyone is fighting (and naturally, the Libra in me, try and fix it myself).

Our first trip was to Carrick A Rede, a supposedly “scary” rope bridge that links the mainland with a small tidal island used for fishing. I had heard from 3 different people that it was a must see stop and not for those with a fear of heights. I’m not sure what kind of drugs those three people were on, but this bridge was completely retarded. It’s not high off the ground, it’s not even really a rope bridge, it’s not the original, there is no pool of sharks with laser beams waiting to chomp your left foot off if you fall off the bridge and the island is about the size of a basketball court. Seriously? Seriously. B Lee and I were not impressed in the slightest and we cringed when we arrived at the bridge knowing that we had just paid €8 to hike 10 minutes uphill. The only thing of value that came of the side trip was an INCREDIBLY embarrassing picture of me jumping on the bridge resembling one of those troll dolls with bright pink hair we used to collect when we were teenagers. Hopefully Brian deleted it off his camera before Emily had a chance to take it and e-mail it to all of my potential future boyfriends.

Anyway. After the bridge we drove for another 20 or so minutes to the Giant’s Causeway which is a sort of geological wonder of the world where these large black stones formed in perfect pentagons. B Lee was hell bent on getting his picture taken in the exact place where Led Zeppelin took their album cover picture. Brian wanted to ask nearby women and children to take off their clothes so we could replicate it exactly, but I told him that I’m not friends with pedophiles and since he values my friendship so much (and my ability to drive him to Dublin) he didn’t. It was pretty windy and the causeway was one of those things that is only cool for about 20 minutes – especially since I left my camera in Scotland (good move, Hesser) – so we went in the little touristy restaurant and got a bowl of stew and a beer.

Now is where my interest peaked. The drive from Giant’s Causeway to Derry/Londonderry was about an hour and we got a thorough history lesson from our tour guide who had a really dry sense of humor that no one else on the bus seemed to get aside from Brian and myself. We heard about how recently the last bombing was in Belfast (2002) and the significance of the paintings on the sidewalks (if the town you’re driving through has it’s sidewalks painted red and blue, it means they are supporters of being a part of the UK and not the Republic of Ireland and if the sidewalks are painted Orange and Green it means the town supports the Republic). We heard all about Bloody Sunday which I will not recount because you are perfectly capable of clicking the link and reading the Wikipedia article yourself.

Originally, the town we were in was called Derry, but when England took control, they renamed it Londonderry. All over Derry, you see signs that say Londonderry and the “London” has either been painted over, scratched off or vandalized in some other way. There are remnants everywhere of conflict. There are some old derelict buildings, but mostly it’s graffiti. Graffiti everywhere supporting either side of the cause. We came to an area known as Bogside which is where a bunch of artists painted murals on walls of some of the horrific scenes of Bloody Sunday and just the conflict in general – including the sign that says “Now Entering Free Derry.”

Rather than go shopping or go to a museum (the two suggestions of our tour guide while we were in Derry after our little history lesson walking tour) we decided that our time was better spend in a pub watching the Ireland v. Wales 6 Nations Rugby match and drinking a pint. So that’s exactly what we did. Brian had his traditional Guinness and Jameson shot (I told him he doesn’t have to do a shot EVERY time he orders a beer, but it’s B Lee and he insisted that it’s necessary) and I had a cider. I felt bad for a small moment that we weren’t doing something more traditionally touristy, but then I quickly reminded myself that the reason I came to Ireland in the first place was to soak up the culture, this part of the culture, not to spend day after day in museum or on cheesy (I mean, incredibly entertaining and informative) bus tours.

So I finished my cider, and ordered another.

Scotland. Or Anywhere. It doesn't really matter.

Almost a year ago exactly, I was standing in a pub in Wrigleyville, Chicago spending the week of St. Paddy’s Day with Brian, Tom, Dave and Greg. Naturally, as happens when you are traveling, we began discussing our next trip. That conversation morphed into a discussion about where we would spend St. Paddy’s Day next year. Naturally, the idea of spending the day in Ireland was thrown out and with raised eyebrows we discussed how possible that actually was.

“We’re doing it. That’s it. No matter what, we’re going to Ireland next year,” Brian says, suddenly. And I agree. Who knew it would actually happen.

After I decided to retire at the end of 2009, it was pretty easy to decide where I would call home first. Ireland was an easy choice. The visa requirements for Ireland are much easier than for other countries in Europe. I had been to the island before, knew I loved it and knew I needed to live there for a bit to see if it was just a dream I’ve built up over the past couple of years, or whether this really was a place I could call forever home.

Though three of the five ditched (thanks guys), Brian came through (surprise, surprise) and I was also able to convince one of my besties from college, Emily, to come along as well as Diana of www.dtravelsround.com. Emily and Diana were meeting us in Dublin a couple of days later, but Brian decided to fly in a bit early into Glasgow, Scotland so we could visit our beloved roadtrip friend, Mark, who lives in Glasgow and who you might remember from the epic journey Brian, Dan, Mark and I took from LA to Canada in a weekend.

I flew from Belfast to Prestwick and took the train up to Glasgow to meet with Brian, who was flying in from Los Angeles, and whom I hadn’t seen in almost 6 months – which in my books is a hell of a long time for one of your best friends. The poor kid was quite a wreck when I met him. He hadn’t slept at all on the flight over and looked like he might die. We grabbed some beers and grub at a restaurant downtown while we waited for Mark to get off work.

The rest of our trip was pretty much amazing. We saw a little of Glasgow on the day of our arrival and then Mark drove us to Edinburgh the following day. We spent the whole afternoon talking, walking and taking in the beautiful city.

We had an absolutely incredible dinner at one of Mark’s friend’s restaurants in Glasgow with Mark and his girlfriend Nicola (who is absolutely amazing). Mark’s friend and his dad (who is an Italian immigrant) have an amazing Italian restaurant in Glasgow and they gave us the royal treatment. We had so much food, we were bursting and the conversation was so entertaining as we heard stories of Mark when he was growing up and got loads of stories about living in Italy.

This trip was less about seeing Scotland as it was about being with friends and it was a perfect change of scenery for me as I haven’t seen a familiar face in a long time. Though this trip could have taken place anywhere in the world and it wouldn’t have changed much, spending time with these cool cats was something I was really looking forward to. I still think back to the time when I met Dan and Mark, at a bar in Santa Monica via Couchsurfing and how, even though I’ve only spent two short weekends with Mark in my whole life, I still feel like he is a really close friend. It’s crazy how this twisted little world works. But I love it.

Thanks for an amazing time, Mark. Love you to bits.