Days 5-7: Our first bus experience, and “Wow, you’re staying in a really dodgy part of Belfast”

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Our time in Dublin was over, and since we didn’t want to drag our bags on public transportation, we again opted for a taxi to take us to the bus station. I had read some horror stories about long distance buses, but was pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to figure everything out. Another example of when my anal retentiveness saves the day: I had done my research and knew exactly what bus to catch and when to catch it for each leg of the trip. This saved us a bunch of time, cause we timed our arrivals at the bus stations perfectly. After stowing our luggage beneath the bus, we boarded our bus to Belfast, which got really crowded at the Dublin Airport stop. The ride was supposed to take 2.5 hours, but ended up closer to 3.5 due to traffic. We contented ourselves by getting excited about sheep: looking for black ones, babies, cute ones, etc. I’m sure this marked us as first-time, nay, first-week visitors to Ireland, because into our second week, our reaction to sheep was “Meh, sheep.” We were, however, sheep freaks at this point in the trip.

I hadn’t expected Belfast to be surrounded by hills and/or mountains, so was pleasantly surprised by how scenic it looked. My romantic ideal was smashed, however, as I dragged my big honkin’ bags down Great Victoria Street, en route to the Belfast International Youth Hostel on Donegall Road. Jenn and I were consumed by fits of laughter, as my paper ‘souvenir’ bag from the Guinness Storehouse broke halfway and I had to carry it under one arm, while trying to keep my rolling duffle upright as it went over curbs AND while trying to look the right way before stepping off those curbs. We finally made it, and I could have kissed the guy at the desk when he told us the hostel had an elevator. I didn’t though, cause he was a lot older than I am. Seeing how nice and modern the Belfast hostel was made us realize how sketchy our hostel in Dublin was. We both really liked our room in Belfast and the electronic keycards that came with it. I kind of missed the Jesus statue from Dublin though. And I got a bed on the ground! Doesn’t take too much to make me happy.

We dumped our bags, then headed out to find some nourishment. We both wanted to sit down somewhere, as opposed to just grabbing a (ho hum) sandwich, so we happened upon Wetherspoons, which I understand is a chain pub in the U.K. The bartender asked where we were from, and then asked if we had any Irish relations. When we said no, he wouldn’t listen, saying “Ah, come on, with red hair and freckles like that, your great great grandmother MUST have bumped into an Irishman somewhere along the line.” I’d hear the same thing a few times throughout the trip and always got a kick out of it, as I’m sure tourists are wont to do. He was also very disappointed to learn that we wouldn’t be visiting County Donegal on this trip. I assured him it would be on my list for next time. Jenn and I both enjoyed our meals at Wetherspoons (I had some yummy alfredo and she had a cheese and spinach tart), and took note of the drink specials they had on for the next night, because, as you may have noticed, we enjoy a good drink once in a while.

We walked back to our hostel and enjoyed the view out our window, which was of an Incredible Hulk doll tied to the top of a lamppost. We pondered the unanswerable question of how he got up there, and were then treated to a show on the sidewalk. Some people were drinking right outside, when one started throwing food at the others, mooned them, and just walked away. Welcome to Belfast! Nah, we’d already decided we were liking Belfast - it reminded us a little of home with much wider sidewalks than Dublin. After the food fight outside settled down, Jenn and I went downstairs to book our Mini Coach tour to the Giant’s Causeway for the next day (very convenient, their office is right inside the hostel) and then settled down for the night.

We’d been told the hostel had its own café that was open in the morning for breakfast, so we headed down there. Wow! They have pretty much everything you could want for breakfast - I opted for my first full Irish breakfast of the trip. Actually, it was an Ulster Fry, since we were up north. Bacon, beans, potato bread, soda bread and sausages. Yum yum. The cashier told us to “take a wee seat” and wait for our breakfast. We fell in love with the use of “wee” up North and started to use it ourselves, as in “I have to take a wee pee” etc. etc. Breakfast was delicious and fuelled us up for our Causeway trip.

We boarded the bus with our guide, Michael, and were on our way, driving along the coast, through some of the spectacular Glens of Antrim. Michael didn’t talk too much, but chimed in with nuggets of information here and there. We were loving the green hills and valleys on one side and the ocean on the other. This was the first time I got hit with the necessary “Wow, it really IS as green as everyone says” moment. Already, we felt the tour was worth it. The bus stopped in a pretty little port town called Carnlough for a washroom and picture break. It actually reminded me of Newfoundland. Okay, so I’ve never been to Newfoundland, but I think it’d look like Carnlough.

Continuing on, we arrived at the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. This bridge spans a chasm that’s 30 metres deep and 20 metres wide, and connects the mainland with tiny Carrick Island, which was traditionally used as a salmon fishery. Jenn and I knew we wanted to do this, so we paid our 1 pound entrance fee and began the 15-20 minute trek to the bridge from the parking lot. After hearing Michael’s stories about how people have had to be airlifted off Carrick Island because they’re too terrified to cross the bridge again, I was expecting the worst, but it really wasn’t that bad. Except for the people bouncing up and down on the bridge while I was on it. Jerks. Aww, kidding, they were just having fun. It IS a little scary with the waves crashing below you, but once you’re across, you’re rewarded with some great views. The water around the area was a beautiful turquoise - except for the biting wind, I could have been in the Caribbean. The trek back to the bus was brutal, and even us young pups had to stop for a rest. We picked up our “I crossed the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge” certificates (which I think should read “I made the really hard and hilly walk to and from the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge” since that’s more of an accomplishment) and reboarded the bus.

Onto Bushmills, where we stopped for some soup and sandwiches at a local restaurant (and had fun listening to the restaurant staff call out order numbers in their fabulous accents - “Ny-un, ny-un, ee-it, ee-it!”) and dropped off the people on the tour who were doing the Bushmills distillery tour. Jenn and I opted not to do the distillery tour because, as previously mentioned, us + whiskey = bad news. It had started to rain at this point, but we told ourselves that it would make our visit to the Giant’s Causeway more dramatic. Hey, we’re optimists. A little background on the Causeway, in case you’re not familiar with it - it’s an area of 40,000 interlocking, mostly hexagonal basalt columns, resulting from a volcanic eruption. It’s a World Heritage Site, and the columns form stepping stones, which you can explore. Legend goes, however, that the Causeway was formed when the Irish giant, Finn McCool, built it to walk across to Scotland in order to fight a huge Scottish giant. Finn either fell asleep or fled in fear at the sight of the Scottish giant, and returned to Northern Ireland, where his wife dressed him as baby to disguise him. When the Scottish giant arrived and saw the size of Finn’s ‘baby’, he fled back to Scotland in fear of the thought that if the baby was that big, the father must be gigantic, ripping up the Causeway along the way.

Once there, we opted for the Causeway Coaster bus to take us down the hill to the Causeway. I’d been using the word ‘Wow’ on this trip a lot, and this was no exception. Really, really cool. The rocks were quite slippery because the rain was coming down pretty hard, but we got on ‘em and started climbing anyway. Jenn was particularly frightened and I could hear her whimpering at one point, but she was a trooper and we climbed to one of the higher bits to take the obligatory “I’m the king of the world” pictures. Originally, I had had visions of finding all the neat features, like the organ and the boot, but it was quite cold and rainy, and as you know, I’m a wimp, so we decided to head back after about 45 minutes. For some unknown reason, we decided to WALK back to the gift shop at the top of the hill instead of taking the Coaster bus, despite having purchased return tickets on the way down. For the love of all that is holy, don’t walk up that hill if you’ve already done the rope bridge and if it’s cold and rainy. I blame it all on Jenn. Tea in the little cafeteria warmed us up nicely though, and we browsed through some funny books in the gift shop til it was time to board our bus back to Belfast.

With a short stop for photos at the ruins of Dunluce Castle - the ancestral home of the MacDonells, the castle was deserted after part of the kitchen crumbled off the cliff and into the sea - we headed back to Belfast and into our beds for a wee nap. We enjoyed some tunes on the iPod with speakers, got ready and headed out around 9:30, on a mission to find Wetherspoons and its drink specials. Both of us have absolutely terrible senses of directions, so we shouldn’t have been surprised when, after wandering around for half an hour, we hadn’t yet found it. We asked a drunk guy if he knew where it was, and he either said “Aye” or “Why?” not sure which, and then pointed down a street. We decided not to believe him, but found out later he was right. Ah well. We went into the first place we saw with people in it, which was called The Globe. After settling in for a few drinks, a group of very young looking guys came in and ordered…wait for it…a pitcher of Sex on the Beach! Culture shock time…Canadian guys would never order Sex on the Beach. Ever. Throughout the rest of the trip, we’d ask people if it was normal for guys to order girly drinks like that in Ireland and got answers ranging from “No way” to “As long as they’re drinking other things too” to “Hell yeah”. So who knows. Anyway, turns out The Globe has karaoke on that night of the week - encouraged by the DJ, who said, “Oh come on, everyone’s crap,” J and I put our names in, cause we’re never going to see these people again. We rocked “Bad Moon Rising” (okay, maybe not ‘rocked’ but people WERE enjoying themselves, clapping and singing along. No one had their hands over their ears) and then headed out in the direction of the Botanic Inn on the recommendation of the barstaff at The Globe, since it would likely be much more lively.

We found it (miraculously) without too many problems, and heard the doormen tell a group of guys that it was full and that they wouldn’t be letting any more people in that night. We were about to turn away, but the doormen waved us in. God, it’s nice being a female sometimes. It was definitely lively, and we enjoyed ourselves talking to some locals. The “Can I ask you one question?” question of the night was, “How do you say about?” Upon hearing that we do in fact pronounce ‘about’ as ‘about’ and not as ‘aboot’, people couldn’t hide their disappointment. It was a fun night all around - on my way to the bathroom, I got swept into numerous dancing groups - people in lines, people in circles - all dancing to the Pogues song ‘Sally MacLennane’, which is one of my favourites. We took a black taxi back to the hostel - felt very safe the whole time.

We took it easy the next morning and into the early afternoon - I had some French toast at the café in the hostel and then did some laundry (another reason why I loved this hostel - washing machines and dryers!). In the early afternoon, we stopped in at a restaurant called Gingerroot on Great Victoria Street for some yummy Indian food. The lunch specials were quite affordable, the Naan bread was heavenly, and they were happy to give us extra peppers in our already spicy dishes. We had booked a Black Taxi Tour for the afternoon at the booking office in the hostel, and met our guide Norman at 3:00 pm. He asked us if we wanted to take the regular city tour, or the political tour and we went for the latter without hesitation. He did take us around the city a little beforehand and showed us City Hall, the Odyssey Pavilion and other touristy things before entering the Shankill Road area to show us the Protestant murals. It was quite interesting, and I was listening to Norman’s choice of words to see if I could detect any bias one way or the other, but didn’t at all, at any point. We got out to take some pictures and Norman then took us over to the ‘Peace Wall’, which separates Catholic and Protestant neighbourhoods in West Belfast, and gave us a marker so we could add our names. It was then off to the Falls Road area to view the Catholic murals and some memorial gardens before heading back. I highly recommend this tour to anyone visiting Belfast - it was quite enlightening.

After pointing out some contestants who were milling around and waiting for a strongest man competition to get underway and calling them ‘fatties’, Norman asked us where we’d like to be dropped off. We opted for Great Victoria Street once again, where we stopped in at a large bar/restaurant called Robinsons. The seats were like plush, velvety sofas - I could have stayed there all day. I had a tasty stir fry, and Jenn and I enjoyed watching the hustle and bustle of a weekday afternoon in Belfast out the big picture window. After that, we made the short walk over to the city centre and just walked around, went into a Church that had been converted into a sort of mall, as well as some other shops, but didn’t buy anything. That night, it was off to the Botanic Inn (or The Bot, as it’s affectionately known) for some more craic. We played a video trivia game with some locals, one of whom had been to Canada earlier in the year and who pleasantly talked our ears off about his experience. During my stay in Belfast, I found that people (at least those under the influence of alcohol) were eager to share their religious denomination and political views with me, but didn’t pry or push me to share my views with them. Statements such as “My last name’s Higgins, but I’m Catholic!” were common, which I found interesting.

The highlight of our night, though, was meeting Stuart, who ended up walking us home and telling us about what it was like to grow up in Belfast during the Troubles. We were glad to get some local perspective and enjoyed Stuart’s stories. When we got to the road our hostel was on, Stuart said, “You’re not going down THERE are you? That’s one of the dodgiest parts of Belfast.” Our hostel was situated right on the corner of Sandy Row, a working class Protestant area. In fact, the curbs and lampposts in front of our room were painted red, white and blue, and I could see a mural from the window. Stuart then informed us that he was Protestant and so COULD go down there with us - in fact, he said he had ‘lost his friends’ and ‘could he stay in our room with us?’ Haha. We patted him on the shoulder, told him nice try, and headed in for the night, just the two of us.

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