Northern Ireland, July '06

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Northern Ireland…

Dear, Dirty Derry:

I know that is supposed to refer to Dublin, but up to this point in the trip, Derry was by far the pick of the bunch. In a way, it’s funny, because I hadn’t really expected to like Northern Ireland as much as the Republic, just because of the history and political nonsense. But Derry surprised me. It was dirty, littered and a bit smelly around downtown, but somehow it has the most amazing atmosphere. Apparently it’s on a druidic power base, so perhaps that’s why it’s retained such a good vibe throughout all the bloody history with the English Protestants.

Derry is a small city surrounded by a wall. It’s one of the best preserved walled cities left in Europe. You can walk right around the city without leaving the walls and you have views out to the surrounding countryside and newer parts of the city right the way around. Also dotted around the perimeter of the city were slightly more sinister sights. There are several operational surveillance towers maintained by the British government. These towers are equipped with video cameras that record 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. They are positioned so the take in all the public areas of Derry and all problem spots. It made me realize that even though the ‘troubles’ are officially over, they aren’t past them completely. I was in Derry shortly before the 17th of July celebrations, where Protestants march through the city beating their drums and waving their union jacks and generally giving a big provocative finger to the Catholic contingent. This is in a city of approximately 5000 Catholics to 200 Protestants. In fact, Protestants come in from all the surrounding countryside to participate in the marches, thus swelling the ranks and making for a more even stand-off. By the time I left town, 5 people had been hospitalized during the build-up to the parades. During the parades themselves the city gates of Derry are closed, the only time during the year for that to happen, so as to contain the possible trouble caused by the parades. No, the troubles hadn’t entirely passed Derry by.

Part of the appeal of Derry has to be credited to the people I met while I was there. Most notably; Mirjam (from the Netherlands) who took me out for dinner within minutes of my arriving at the hostel. One of the friendliest people I’ve ever met, I hope we’ll keep in touch for a long, long time. Doris (from Austria) who accompanied me to a jazz night at a pub in downtown Derry called Sandino’s, dedicated to the world’s revolutionaries. Doris was lovely and funny and was a big part of making my stay as good as it was. The owners of the hostel (Derry City Independent Hostel), Kylie and Steve, were from NZ and Scotland, respectively, and made the hostel feel more like a home stay than anything else. There was a boy from America, whose name I forget, who was on his second stay that trip and planning a third after going to Belfast for the July 17th celebrations. He just kept on coming back. Apparently this is such a common occurrence that it has earned its own name; The Derry Vortex. This vortex is notorious for reeling in travelers, letting them move on for a day or a week, then reeling them back to Derry. I can understand that. (Right near the end of my Irish visit, in Dublin, I very nearly headed back to Derry rather than onward to Kilkenny. It was a close thing.)

I spent a few days in Derry, walking along the narrow old streets past some really lovely old buildings. I spent a day down at the Bogside admiring the political murals. They were extremely well executed. The artists are famous far and wide for their amazing murals and their studios, Bogside Artist’s Studios, are open to visits from travelers. Unfortunately they were closed while I was there, perhaps due to the celebrations approaching. One day I took a short trip, unfortunately complicated by bad weather, west into Donegal to briefly set foot in that county and wander the waterfront before moving further east. I had intended to visit Emain Macha, a significant Iron Age fort, but was discouraged by people telling me it was impossible without private transport.


The North Antrim Coast:

From Derry I moved onward to the Causeway coast, so called because of the Giants Causeway, a natural phenomenon that deserves its fame. It’s a piece of geological curiosity stretching north-east from the northern tip of Ireland all the way under the sea to Scotland. The rock is formed into geometric pillars with 6, 8 and even 10 sides. They’re remarkably even and very definitely unnatural looking. It’s no wonder the ancient Irish thought they were built as a bridge by the Fianna, a race of giants.

Other points of interest along this stretch of coast are the Bushmills distillery and the famous Carrick-a-rede rope bridge. At the distillery I took a tour to see how famous Irish whiskey is made and volunteered to be a whiskey taster (yuk!). I have the certificate to prove it. We tasted three different grades of Irish whiskey, a Scottish one and the infamous Jim Beam which was by far the most disgusting. Actually, the 10 year old Irish whiskey was almost palatable. But I think I’m really not a whiskey person. The rope bridge was a little disappointing. I’d expected something thrilling and scary and certainly high. After all, they tell you that lots of tourists who walk across it have to be ferried back by boat because they can’t bring themselves to cross back again. Well. It wasn’t very high (you wouldn’t die if you fell off), it wasn’t very wobbly - actually it was quite stable, it wasn’t very scary at all. I had to resist the urge to jump up and down on it to make it more fun. I think I’d have been unpopular with the other people on the bridge if I had! But it did give very good views of the coast and all the sea birds that nest on the little island. I imagine it would have been scarier back in the days of the fishermen. That is, before it was reinforced with steel cables and treated wood planks!

I stayed in Ballycastle for most of my North Antrim time. I was there for the 17th of July and by pure chance it was the year for Ballycastle to host the parades. Because of the sparse populations in the surrounding towns and Ballycastle itself they all band together (the Protestants, that is) and do parades in one town each year. I didn’t particularly want to go to the parade so I went to play pool with Catriona, a kiwi girl staying at the same hostel, and a young Belfast guy who holidays every summer in Ballycastle and who definitely fancied Catriona. After the parades we emerged from the pub and made our way back to the hostel. There weren’t any serious problems in town due to the celebrations but there were bands of young protestant guys in their uniforms cruising the streets, just aching for a fight. They got a couple too. We saw a couple of arrests for brawling, but nothing very serious.


Belfast:

From Ballycastle I headed south to Belfast. Surprisingly, my first impressions of the city were of attractive buildings, nice gardens and tidy streets. Not exactly the battle ground I’d been expecting. But, on further exploration of the city I definitely saw plenty of evidence of the troubles. There were lovely old buildings that were completely gutted by bombings. There were churches whose bricks were roughened and blurred by repeatedly being strafed by shrapnel from bombs in nearby buildings. The old court house is still surrounded by a high bomb proof concrete wall and the gatehouse has iron grating over all the windows, put there to stop rocket launched grenades getting in when launched from the surrounding buildings. There was the ‘peace wall’, the 20 foot high corrugated iron and barbed wire fence that runs the entire length of two suburbs, separating the Shankill road area (Protestant) and the Falls road area (Catholic). The wall is locked at its gates every week night from 7pm to 7am and all weekend. It’s only in the last 5 years that people can walk from Shankill to Falls road without being murdered in the streets. These were the sites of the famous Belfast murals. Personally, I found them far less attractive than the Derry Bogside murals. They weren’t as skillfully painted and were far more militant and violent, especially the Protestant ones. I did walk the gauntlet from Shankill road to Falls Road, just for posterity. I didn’t get murdered. Or even heckled. So I think things are on the up in Belfast.

The Belfast university was gorgeous, and right next door were some lovely botanical gardens where I rested my feet after walking from one side of the city to the other. The city centre was nice too, quite like London on a smaller scale. Obviously this is where they’d been starting to restore everything. The further from the town hall you got, the more semi-restored buildings and demo sites you came across. There’s still a long way to go to fully restore the city but the atmosphere seems hopeful rather than oppressive.

From Belfast I did a couple of day trips to the coast. I took the train on both occasions after swearing off buses for the rest of my trip. The bus from Ballycastle had been utterly revolting. It’s unfortunate I get so carsick because the route it took was along some very lovely coastline. I really couldn’t appreciate it though; they have no decent anti-nausea medication in Ireland. One trip was to Bangor, a pleasant little seaside town with marina and coastal walkway, and one to Carrickfergus, which had a little more character to it, not to mention a great big castle. Carrickfergus was a funny mixture of a place. From the train station you entered town through the medieval town gates and walked down a steep cobbled street to the waterfront which, apart from the old fortress, was thoroughly modern with a wide road and landscaped pockets of garden complete with park benches. It was a pretty town, but being on the east coast, the water wasn’t exactly sparkling. From up on the castle wall I looked down at the beach and saw some children playing in the water amidst a rather revolting looking mixture of plastic bags, litter and murk. Blech. I was very spoiled growing up in the Bay of Islands.

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Photos

The Protestant Quarter
The Protestant Quarter in Derry. Note the union jack coloured curb stones. They are like markers to let you know when you step foot inside Protestant territory.