It's all good.

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Geo: 53.3441, -6.26749

We drove out of Portrush at 8:30, and it occurred to me that I've seen very few cats on the tour, and none that I could take a photo of. Have seen lots of dogs, however (including two corgis), and enough cows and sheep to last me the rest of my life. In fact, most of my photos will be labeled “sheep,” “cow,” “another cow,” “sheep,” “sheep and cows,” “green field,” “sheep” ....

We saw north Belfast from the motorway. It's still sectarian and, in fact, goes virtually street-by-street Protestant, Catholic, Protestant, Catholic. The British government still has to build peace lines (or peace walls) between certain streets to keep the peace. West Belfast is mainly Catholic, east Belfast is mainly Protestant, and south Belfast apparently prefers to stay out of it altogether. The city center, even at the height of the Troubles, was usually fairly safe because it was cordoned off, people were checked as they came and went, and very few vehicles were allowed. It's not like that now, though some bars in the center will not allow people to wear their football team's shirt inside as it can cause problems. (Catholics tend to support Glasgow Celtic, while Protestants tend to support Glasgow Rangers. Yes, Scottish football teams. To help foster community togetherness, 90 million pounds was spent to build an ice hockey arena, and players were brought from around the world to play for the Belfast Giants. Since the team has no real history and, therefore, no political affiliations, both religions can come together to root for the Giants.)

Declan stressed again that probably 95% of the population of Belfast (which with its suburbs comes to about half a million people) get along just fine and likely wish the peace lines could come down. It's the other 5% that wreck things for everyone. For the most part now, the gates along the peace lines are open, but they used to be more like checkpoints and were closed nearly all the time.

As we drove by the central courthouse, Declan pointed out the blast wall that separates the street from the courthouse grounds. When, for example, a member of the IRA was on trial, his mates would drive right up to the side of the courthouse and set off a bomb to blast a hole in the side of the building and to create chaos and get the guy out.

Belfast has a proud shipbuilding tradition: the Titanic was built in Belfast. What were once the
biggest cranes in the world for shipbuilding are in Belfast, and they are called Samson and Goliath. Back in the day, the shipyards employed 30,000 men, all of them Protestant. Declan knows a woman whose grandfather, a Catholic, lied about his religion in order to get hired on at the shipyard. Everything was fine for two or three years until one of his workmates saw him coming out of Mass on a Sunday morning. On Monday morning, he was fired.

We drove by the Europa Hotel, which has the dubious distinction of being the most bombed hotel in the world. Across the street from it is the Crown Liquor Saloon. A Catholic man and his Protestant wife opened it, and he decided to let her name it. Being a Protestant, she decided to name it the Crown. What could the man do but obey his wife? To get his own back, he had a mosaic of a crown as well as the name of the bar laid right in front of the door so that you can't help but tread on the crown.

We stopped at Queen's University, the cornerstone for which was laid by Queen Victoria in 1845. It's a nice red brick campus, and Katherine noticed a poster advertising the Freshers' Ball, featuring David Hasselhoff! Declan particularly wanted us to see a bronze sculpture of a giant head that looks like it's coming up out of the water. It's called Eco. Then we walked next door to the botanic gardens and wandered through the Palm House (some very vivid flowers in there) and the Victorian Ravine, which featured banana trees and koi. Declan was also very pleased to point out a sculpture by Alexander Calder. (There is something known as the “1%!R(MISSING)ule,” which says that all new public buildings must put aside 1%!o(MISSING)f the budget for public art.)

We got back on the bus and John drove us to the Falls Road. During the Troubles, it was a hotbed for Nationalist (Catholic) activities. There are murals like in Derry, and they change every so often. One that doesn't change is of Bobby Sands, the first of the hunger strikers to die back in the early 70s. It's on the alley end of Sinn Fein headquarters. It was strange to see the Sinn Fein sign above the entrance, as it's always seemed like a covert organization that wouldn't necessarily want to advertise its location. But since the IRA has been officially disbanded, Sinn Fein is now a bona fide political action group. It didn't look like a scary road. The houses are mostly neatly kept, but there weren't very many people out and about.

The Falls Road area is the only Gaeltacht region in the United Kingdom, so you see street signs in two languages like you would in the Republic. The Royal Hospital in the area is a world leader in reconstructive plastic surgery. With bombs blowing out plate glass windows and disfiguring people, the hospital's plastic surgery wing was once kept pretty busy.

The city cemetery has both Protestants and Catholics buried in it, but they are divided by a wall three meters high. The wall even extends far underground to divide the Protestant worms from the Catholic worms! The cemetery also has a small section reserved for IRA members who were killed on active duty.

We drove to a Loyalist (Protestant) area, going through a gate in one of the peace lines. The wall is 25 feet high and covered with artistic graffiti. People have written messages of hope all over the graffitied wall. Declan had some markers, so we got out and wrote on the wall ourselves. On the other side of the street was a corrugated metal hoarding on which someone had painted in very large red letters, “IT'S ALL GOOD.” We also drove down the Shankill Road. There was Union Jack bunting strung across the road and it looked a lot busier than the Falls Road, though poorer.

John dropped us off at City Hall (a lovely big Victorian building with a dome), and Declan pointed us in various directions for lunch. But it was pouring, and the nearest lunch spot was in City Hall, so a bunch of us went in there. I think most of us are winding down now and if given the choice to walk a block to see something fantastic or to sit in a small cafe inside an office building, we would pick the sit-down option. The news was about the UBS trader who lost something like a billion pounds, and the trapped miners in Wales. Also, there may be another hurricane heading toward Ireland's south coast. Hope it doesn't interfere with flights to England tomorrow!

We got back to the Harding Hotel (spider hostel) in Dublin around 3:45. Katherine and I went to a pharmacy to find her a bandage, and we made a precision strike on a souvenir shop too. Am just realizing that I forgot to buy a calendar, which is what I usually do on my travels. Maybe at the airport tomorrow.

Our last supper was at Eden in Temple Bar. I had soup, a parmesan-dijon chicken, and white chocolate panna cotta. Declan bought us all a glass of wine. Paul Staley made a presentation to Declan of a card that we had all signed, plus a bottle of wine and a box of See's chocolates. I guess it'll give Declan something to do till his next tour starts on Sunday. After dinner, Katherine took a photo of me and Declan in a pose from the “My Lovely Horse” obligatory video (probably only John got that).

When we got back to the hotel, Katherine treated Michelle and me to a Baileys at the bar in the hotel. Yum. A lovely way to end the day. Except that it's not the end: I have to figure out how to re-pack my suitcase!

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