Northern Ireland

I will be the first to admit that I only know the general basics of the relationship between Ireland and Northern Ireland. I’m in the midst of trying to find a non-boring book that covers the history (most look like incredibly dry textbooks), but I do understand enough to know that being able to safely travel to Belfast is a somewhat new phenomenon. And not just technically “within my lifetime” new, because it was only in 2005, when I was in high school (which, although it seems like ancient history, was not that long ago) that the Provisional IRA formally ended its campaign and decommissioned its arsenal.

The violence in Belfast is still engrained and recent enough that, after I booked my trip, I had a moment of apprehension and did some research about the current safety level in in the city. Most articles that I read said it’s mostly safe, but be careful about what you say, what areas of the city you visit, and what you wear in certain neighborhoods (i.e. don’t sport any Union Jacks or the Irish tricolor). Also, be careful on July 12th, when The Twelfth, a highly unionist celebration, occurs. Oh, and don’t bring up The Troubles.

However, expats living in Belfast were quick to jump on those articles and proclaim Belfast just as safe or safer than many other international cities, even during the unionist parades and celebrations, and its citizens more than willing to discuss The Troubles, if you’re so inclined.

I was reassured.

Still, with all of this in my head, it was with great interest and just a little apprehension that I disembarked from the train.

For my first afternoon, I decided to visit Titanic Belfast, which was the one thing I’d been told I must do while in the city. It’s very pricy, at £17 (about $25), but the student entry is a slightly more reasonable £12.50. But, once you enter, you can see that there’s a reason for the price. It’s incredibly extensive, with exhibits, movies, and even a ride. The ticket also includes entry onboard the SS Nomadic, the only remaining White Star Line ship in the world, originally a tender for the Titanic.

My two guesses for the design of the building are multi-prow ship or iceberg, which would seem incredibly insensitive. The yellow crane on the right is either Samson or Goliath, one of the two shipbuilding cranes that dominate the Belfast skyline and are considered symbols of the city.

The exhibit takes you through the history of Belfast (it was originally a linen hub and not ideally suited as a shipbuilding city because the harbor was too shallow. Needless to say, they fixed that), the design and planning of the Titanic, the building (this is where the ride comes in: you sit in little cars that take you up and around an area designed to look and feel like the construction yard where Titanic was built), the launch, the interior decorating, the voyage, the sinking, and finally the rediscovery, as well as a final section on deep-sea salvage in general. Although exhausting, the whole thing is very informative and pretty moving.

Vintage posters

Tragedy + Blockbuster = $

Titanic Belfast from the deck of the SS Nomadic

I really wanted to start the next day with a walking tour, which is always a great way to learn more about a new city, but Belfast only offers them on the weekends (even though cities like Reykjavik, yes, in ICELAND offer them every day. No pressure, Belfast). So, no walking tour for me. Instead I toured City Hall.

 

It was a free tour and included a lot of information, both historical and political, and we got to sit in the real seats in the council chamber, as well as have the opportunity to sit in the Lord Mayor’s chair.

I’d heard a lot about Belfast’s murals and specifically about a few C.S. Lewis-themed ones that I wanted to see. There is also a cafe in the same area as the murals called The Lamp Post (if you don’t get it, stop reading this and pick up a copy of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, stat).

The walk to get to the cafe and the murals was outside central Belfast, and I could definitely tell the difference. While it was broad daylight and it never felt unsafe, it was definitely a slightly seedier experience than the tourist areas I’d been sticking to before. Murals were everywhere, and while some of them were historical or uplifting in nature, most of them were heavily militant, many featuring masked men with automatic weapons. There were also lots of flags and memorials for the UVF. While not in any way actively dangerous, the whole atmosphere was a little unsettling.

Here is just a sampling of the murals I encountered on my search for the cafe.

And to cleanse the palate a little bit, here are the wonderful Narnia murals and The Lamp Post.

The cafe was thoroughly charming, and I had an Ulster Fry, which is the Northern Ireland version of the English/Irish breakfast.

Now, I’ve done quite a bit of research to try to figure out what exactly constitutes an Irish breakfast versus an English breakfast, and I’m here to tell you that there’s no difference. People dedicated to breakfasts have devoted entire forums to passionately defend their version and precisely what each version contains, but what they include really depends on where you’re eating.

You’ll always get eggs, bacon, and sausage, and some combination of baked beans and fried tomatoes, onions, or mushrooms. Supposedly the Irish breakfast includes black and/or white pudding, but I’ve had many that don’t. More modern versions might also offer home fries, and almost all come with toast and tea or coffee. The Ulster Fry varies from the two, however, in that it includes a lot of bread: fried soda bread and fried potato bread, often in addition to toast. So, it’s good.

 

The next day I took a train and a bus to Ballintoy, a small town on the northernmost coast of Northern Ireland. Bus 172 runs regularly along the coast and its stop in Ballintoy is at the one hostel in the town. I hopped on board right before the bus left the train station in Coleraine and paid the fare for Ballintoy.

“The hostel there?” asked the driver.

“Yes,” I answered.

“No bother, I’ll gi’ ye a shout when we’re there.”

A tour guide once remarked that Hollywood has painted Ireland as green and gray, forgetting that many of the gray stone buildings and monuments were once brightly painted, but I think they have a point; what with the ever-green grass and the often-cloudy days, those are the two most prominent colors here. But the coast of Northern Ireland on that bus ride looked almost tropical. We were having a rare sunny day and the green fields dotted with sheep (who themselves were dotted with colorful spray paint) dropped off craggy cliffs to surprisingly white beaches below.

As promised, the bus driver gave me a shout when we reached Ballintoy, and I disembarked. There was a sign for the hostel, pointing up a drive to a cluster of buildings. I began to trudge up the hill, only to be greeted by another friendly, older Irishman.

“Are ye headed to the hostel?”

“Yes,” I answered (again).

“You know where it is?”

“No, but I’m going that way,” I said, as I nodded up the hill.

“Well, ye’r headed in the right direction! I’m Seamus, my daughter should be up there now.”

I did indeed find Seamus’s daughter at the hostel, and she assigned me to a room with one other occupant and suggested I walk along the Coastal Route to get to Giant’s Causeway, instead of taking the bus.

I’m currently working on an article detailing this particular adventure, but suffice it to say now that my new roommate and I attempted this hike, only to get rained out 3 hours later and half-way there. However, if you’re ever in the area, I do highly recommend it as it winds around the stunning coast and smelly sheep fields and is a much more interesting way to get to Giant’s Causeway than by the bus. The entire route runs the whole length of the northern coast and takes a couple of days to complete. The section between Ballintoy and the Causeway *should* take 3-4 hours.

After trudging through the rain for a while, we decided to take advantage of the fact that the trail and the road intersected at that point (usually the trail is nowhere near the road) and check the bus schedule. While trying to decipher the numbers and routes in a small parking lot, a jogger came up and asked us if we wanted a lift (although, in his accent, I kept thinking he was asking if we were going left, and I was pretty confused, as Giant’s Causeway was decidedly to the right).

“Next time just stick out yer thumb,” he informed us. “Everyone’s drivin’ this way, they’ll pick ye up.”

Rain and sheep at the ruins of Dunseverick Castle

The sheep were smarter than we were

Luckily, the sun came back out when we were at Giant’s Causeway.

 

Also within walking distance of Ballintoy (and considerably closer than Giant’s Causeway) is Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge. That’s where I set off to, in the rain, on my last day in Northern Ireland.

Just a heads up, crossing the bridge will set you back almost £6.

For lunch, I went to the Red Door Tea Room, one of the few restaurants in Ballintoy, and one that has played host to some of the cast of Game of Thrones, if the pictures on their Facebook page are any indication (a lot, if not most, of Game of Thrones is filmed in Northern Ireland, including Ballintoy Harbor).

Perhaps familiar to Game of Thrones fans as Pyke Harbor

After finishing lunch, I stayed at my table for a while, reading and drying out from the rain that began to pour after I crossed Carrick-a-rede. After a German family left, I was the only patron left in the dining room. The young waiter began to clear the table and said, in an attempted undertone, but speaking across the room to the older manager, “The Germans are coming!”

The manager responded by running his finger across his throat and jerking his head meaningfully in my direction. “Hush ye’rself, the lass is still over there! How’re ye to know she’s not German?” As he spoke, his eyes darted in my direction, and I grinned, to show that I’d taken no offense at the young man’s words and was in fact amused by the whole thing.

The young waiter responded pragmatically, “Because I talked to her.” He had, indeed, stopped by my table numerous times, to check on my meal, tell me that he could bring more hot water if my Irish coffee got cold, and then to offer complimentary after-lunch coffee.

At almost the same time, having followed the exchange with eyes flitting back and forth, I chimed in. “I’m pretty sure you can tell I’m American” (my accent, although fairly nondescript in terms of American regionalism, is a dead giveaway abroad).

The manager, still trying to chastise his young employee, replied, “But for all ye know her parents could be German.”

At this point I laughed (deciding not to mention my last name and its thoroughly Germanic origins) and went back to my book, and the waiter escaped to the kitchen, still trying to defend himself to the manager. While some might label the young man’s comment as “not politically correct,” it was harmless and the whole thing was one of my favorite exchanges of my trip. As I paid my bill, both gentlemen inquired after my travel plans and lamented the weather forecast.

The view from Sheep Island View Hostel in Ballintoy