The story of Belfast

I was going to wait until I recovered from my extreme exhaustion before I started this post, but it's been three days now and I still feel like I've had my energy sucked from my body by some power-hungry sci-fi movie baddie. Therefore I am going to relate the story of my trip to Belfast, fatigue notwithstanding.

I got out of work somewhat early on Friday (boss was away, hurrah!) and met Kath at the bus station. We bought our tickets (€12 return, how good is that?) then searched in vain for the platform. We did find a sign saying "Platform 16" with an arrow, however following it merely led us through a packed waiting room to the front door of the bus station. Asking at information was no help, as the lady behind the plastic grate gestured pointedly at the sign as if to say, "Are you blind, stupid, or both?". Anyway, long story short, we found the bus, already nearly full, and jumped on without further ado (just in time). I had brought "Crime and Punishment" with me to read on the bus, but my plans to finally finish the damn thing and find out what happens in the end were ruined by the Book People. Who are the Book People? They leave samples of a bunch of books at your workplace for a couple weeks, then they come pick them up and you can order whichever ones you want. So the books were lying there on the coffee table, and if you know me at all you know I can't walk past a book, no matter how trashy the cover looks. So on my coffee break I picked up one called "Where Rainbows End" (yes, I know) thinking I could read it for 10 minutes and forget about it. Of course I was hooked by page two, and I stole it to read over the weekend, being careful not to bend the spine, so I don't have to pay for it when the Book People come back (hehe).

We arrived in Belfast two and a half hours later and proceeded to search for our hostel. On the way we passed some men marching up the main street, very English and pompous, but with these silly high-pitched screechy flutes which didn't go with their macho demeanor at all. It's so weird, even though Northern Ireland is in Ireland, it really does feel more like you're in England.

Once we'd found the hostel, and the guy gave us the fright of our lives by not finding our booking for about 3 minutes, we decided it was time for food. It was about 9ish by that stage, so I guess you'll hardly be surprised to hear that our search for an open supermarket was fruitless. In the end we decided to patronise a skanky looking pizza joint we just happened to walk past. It turned out to be a good choice, as two 21 year old Belfastians (Patrick and Johnny) were also dining in that particular establishment, and pretty soon the four of us were gasbagging like old friends. By the way, the Belfast accent is the second coolest in the world, after Liverpudlian. Much better than the Dublin accent (sorry any Dubliners reading this). In typical Irish fashion, it didn't take them long to invite us round to their place for drinks, so off we went. We ended up talking till 5 am, and learnt a lot about living in Northern Ireland in the process, particularly about the Troubles. No matter how much you read about it in books or in the paper, it just doesn't hit home as much as when you talk to people that have lived through it. Patrick told us about how his cousin was shot, for no other reason than being a "Catholic". I put that in inverted commas because despite all the rhetoric, something I've learned this weekend is that the war in Northern Ireland these days has very little to do with religion. The labels "Catholic" and "Protestant" in Northern Ireland have more to do with the family, background and culture you were brought up in, and the geographical place you live in, than who goes to which church. Johnny, for instance, calls himself a Catholic even though he doesn't believe in God and doesn't go to church. But he's on the side of the Republicans, so that makes him a Catholic as far as the Northern Irish are concerned. Anyway, listening to them talk about what it was like to have family members shot in the street, and to grow up in a town where you just had to be bigger and stronger than everyone else as a matter of survival, really moved me.

At 5 am the four of us collapsed into bed, and Kath and I woke at 8 and let ourselves out of the house while the boys were sleeping...well, we wanted to see Belfast! And we left them a note. First up we went to see the Queen's University (bet she's never even been there) and the botanical gardens, then we went to the Ulster museum (shut) and then a walking tour of Historical Belfast, which was interesting, but not fascinating, since Belfast is actually quite a new city. Plus it's quite industrial, and other than the city hall and some old linen warehouses which are quite pretty, most of the architecture is very boring. Funnily enough the tour guide made no mention of the Troubles or anything unsavoury about Belfast's history, which makes sense if you're trying to get tourists to come to Belfast but it all seemed a bit artificial to me - I mean, who are you trying to fool here? The weather that day was bizarre - sunny, rainy, sunny, rainy, sunny, rainy, you get the idea. So we walked home slowly, ducking into shops when it started to rain, and I successfully managed to not buy anything! (Well done me). Clearly by that time we were dead on our feet after three hours sleep, so we curled up in our beds for a short nap, only to have this complete English wanker (no other word for it, sorry) waltz into the room and chat away loudly on his mobile and to his son, for about half an hour, and then afterwards say "Oh, sorry, did I wake you?". F*** you. So the nap thing was ruined, and when we went to make dinner we made friends with this American chick from Philly called Emily. The three of us and another American, Alex, went to a pub for some drinks and chats, and had a jolly old time. Emily knows this guy I know in Dublin too (Eoin), which is really weird, but awesome too of course. I chatted to another guy at the bar (possibly Domenic? or Derek? Can't remember) from Derry, so I've decided that'll be the next place to go on my list. I wanted to go there anyway, but that was like a sign or something. Anyway we had loads of fun, then headed home for the 2am curfew. Mr. English Wanker wasn't in bed yet, so of course he woke us when he came in, then snored loudly all night till 4:30, when he woke us again because he had to walk his son to the bus station and they had to have big long chats in the room (because they couldn't just go downstairs to the common room to talk), then he left with his son, then came back to snore and keep us awake some more, and THEN, at about 8, his alarm went off, he let it ring for AGES, and then proceeded to have a conversation at the top of his lungs with a Scottish guy about how he has a yacht and a house by the beach, and he's going to sail through Greece and blah blah blah. Yeah, he's loaded and spending the night in a six bed dorm for €16 a night. By this point I was ready to rip his skin from his body with my bare hands and teeth, but refrained from all but a loud sigh, got up, and got ready to take a taxi tour of Belfast. I couldn't wait, as we were going to see the murals that are painted all around Belfast (but particularly in the dodgy parts) depicting aspects of the war there. Nothing gets me excited like political history! The murals were amazing (I'll post pics when I get them off the camera) but also very sad. Most of them were memorials for people that died, or pictures of fighters holding guns and looking scary. We saw the big Berlin-wall-esque fence dividing the Catholic part of town from the Protestant part, oddly named the "Peace Wall" (is that Orwellian or what?). That was really sad, particularly for the amount of memorials near it, as that wall basically designated the front line of the war, as it were. Jack, our tour guide, was very informative, and tried very hard to be impartial (he can't help his bias, no-one can). I'm glad he was from the Loyalist side, as that meant I'd had the two perspectives. Anyway, after that wholly depressing visual political history of Belfast, we were at a bit of a loose end, so we just hung out and did a bit more shopping until it was time to get on the bus. Kath slept all the way home, and I finished the book (Guess what? They got together in the end. Yes, I'm surprised too). We got back to Dublin and it was the weirdest feeling - I felt like I was just arriving in Dublin for the first time. I guess because it's the first time I've left Dublin and come back. Anyway I did nothing but loll on the couch till it was time to go to bed, and I don't think I've recovered yet. I think it'll probably be this weekend before I really recover from all the excitement and lack of sleep. But finally I've seen Belfast, I didn't get blown up, and things are good.