Ireland Part III

vSo to continue on my path of recollection….. I will note: I ran out of time. This blog was long too. Please ignore all references to photos as there is no time for uploading. BUT. I will eventually figure out how piccassa works and upload them there.

Hostel. Belfast. We arrived. We got a map.

Right, so with the map and plan ahead we decided that we needed lunch. Well we didn’t actually decide, our blood sugar levels did…you could feel the tension rising....anyway, as there were five of us, I was worried that the typical low blood sugar-large group of people-can’t decide on a restaurant- would happened, and while it was touch and go for about a block, we all settled on an ‘Italian’ pizza joint.

No one had pizza though. I think we were all just hungry and tired and wanted to sit on a patio, and this was one of the only reasonably priced, patio for 5 places on Botantic Street. The menu was the typical Italian/everyday fair, with pizza, salad, burgers, wraps and the likes (with a slight UK twist with flouring like ‘sweet chili’ , and I think I might have saw bangers and mash as well). I was just happy to be able to read a menu. And ask the waiter questions that are more detailed then “what is this” or “is sonka HHHAAMM”. I settled on a chicken Caesar wrap (romaine lettuce isn’t not exactly prevalent in HU), with chips and a salad. The wrap was a wrap and the chicken was chicken the ‘salad’ was the size of my palm and was that leafy tri coloured mixed stuff (ie: not horrible, but nothing to write home about). But the Chips. The Chips. The Chips. were. So. Good. I had forgotten how good Irish chips were. They were thick cut (but not wedge), deep fried to perfection. They had a slightly crispy on the outer shell, but soft, roast potatoes style consistency on the inside, with a faint taste of malt vinegar, but that was more of an after taste…..and of course salt…..probably enough salt to suffice my sodium intake for a few days-at least. And they were served piping HOT, something that is not prevalent in Hungarian restaurants (regardless of what type of food you have ordered it will always arrive ‘Luke warm’)….Even when they went slightly ‘cold’ they refrained from becoming soggy…and retained their crispy outer and soft potato ness….. They were so good. The thought of leaving my plate empty never crossed my mind. They were just too good to leave there.

After lunch we decided to take a Black Cab tour of West Belfast. This tour was really the only thing that I actually wanted to see in the short time we were there, and every one else seemed up for it, so off we went. We went back to the hostel and ordered the tour from the man at the desk. To give you a background on what this tour actually is, well, it’s a tour for between 3 and 7 people. (I don’t actually know if these are the limits, but its 10 pounds a head, 30 pound minimum and the car that picked us up had 7 seat belts). A guy comes and picks you up and drives you around the area of Belfast that the ‘thick’ of the Irish Troubles took place during the 1980s and 1990s. The car is ‘unmarked’ meaning that while it was pretty obvious that we were tourists, and the car had a business card sized sticker in the window, we were not on a open-air bus that said ‘hop on hop off” youknowwhatamean?

So we were 5. The drivers tailor the tour to what you want and how much each person knows or cares to know about the history of West Belfast.

Our group was mixed so we got the best of both worlds in terms of details. The tour guide also was great as he stopped at all the key places (to photos and explanation of course), and also gave lots of details (if we wanted them), and ALSO said he’d stop if we ever wanted to snap another photo…basically it was a personal tour just for us. The first thing we drove by was a heap of rubbish. When the tour guide began to explain what the rubbish was, saying the word ‘bon fire’ my mind instantly connected the rubbish to ‘marching season’. Sure enough, the pile of garbage was slowly being compiled to create a very good fire, in anticipation for the July Twelve parade commemorating the Battle of the Boyne, where William of Orange (the Protestant) beat King James (the Catholic) in a battle, which ultimately allowed for the prevalence of Protestantism in Ireland. In Northern Ireland, however, the division of Protestant to Catholic is very close, which is not the case in the rest of Ireland (so the tour guide indicated) (I am such a student….I am referencing where I got my information from…… If I could figure out how to foot note, I would, really. That’s just the way I am.)

Then we drove into the catholic neighborhoods, and the famous building murals. I have studied the ‘Irish Troubles’ countless times and it was just so cool to finally be able to see what I’d read and learned about. In terms of peace agreements, the Good Friday accord is one that is studied and used as a comparative model (at least in the liberalism sense). Right, so, the tour also brought us to the wall of murals that are painted by local artists. Some, like the one of Che, Fredrick Douglass, Palestine, etc were easy to recognize, and the others that related directly to the Irish Troubles were explained by the tour guide (points for taking the tour!). He also showed us the newest addition to the blocks of murals. One done my Banksy, an unknown graffiti artist from Bristol England (Max you seem to pop up everywhere!). Banksy has doodled all over Bristol actually (I’ve seen it, so it’s true, for anyone in Bristol or heading there if I am correct there is one just up the hill that is across from the huge church/cathedral in the city centre), but what makes him unique is that he does his art after dark- and well, no one actually Knows who Banksy is. Apparently the painting of the little boy just showed up two weeks ago on the wall. This means that Banksy (or a very good mimic) was in Belfast (or so the tour guide speculated). After touring the Catholic Neighbourhood, and the first blocks of murals, to get there we had to drive through the road block barricades (some of which are closed at night, and other that are only opened during rush hour), and then past the large four story peace wall it was well sort of overwhelming. There, before me were the physical remnants what a ‘peace agreement’ actually manifests itself as- physically, perhaps not mentally, but physically.

The wall was huge (that is the photo up top, I managed to get one in!). There were two guys (who had just turned onto the wall where the street was from the ‘Protestant Side’, the driver immediately commented that, as it was nearing dusk, it wasn’t such a great idea for two twenty-something’s to be walking ‘in these parts’. He assured us that they wouldn’t be killed (which, well I didn’t really know how to respond to that), but didn’t stop himself from saying that there was a chance that they could be ‘ruffed up’. Right then and there I never felt so sheltered and Canadian in my life.

Really, after meeting and speaking to so many people while here, and en route to there, or speaking with locals, or travelers or exchange students, I really have come to realize just how secure Canada really is. By secure I don’t just mean war, tanks, bunkers and ammunition, I also mean the security of everyday life, the security of knowing that I if I get a job, I can save my money and it will be there when I want to buy a house or a car (or pay for my licence for that matter), or know that I can make a decent wage and plan knowing that for the most part our public and social system won’t collapse you know? I’ve never experienced the actual effects of hyper inflation, of government bankruptcy, cronyism, of ‘buying off officials’, of severe inequality, of poverty, of eminent fear of kidnapping, of bombings, or guns, or checkpoints…..it’s a lot to process….Anyway….Like I said the wall was really long, and actually, tall as well. (photo: what?!) After driving about ¾ of the way, the driver stopped the car, and handed us all a black sharpie (he was well prepared!), and then told us that we could go sign the wall if we wanted. We wanted. So we did. I of course could not think of anything to write other than ‘peace’ so that is what I wrote.

While I was writing my name it reminded me of all the places I’ve signed my name, including the Lennon Wall in Prague. Which is a wall in the old part of the city where, during the soviet era, people would go and write the lyrics of Lennon songs on the wall at night. It was also (to my knowledge) one of the only walls that the police did not paint over…. Now for anyone headed in that direction, it that peace wall/elegy to Lennon (the Beatle), is definitely worth while…..

Then we drove over to the head quarters of Sinn Fein, the political wing of the Provisional IRA, and stopped at more murals related commemorating, or in fact glorifying, certain aspects of the Troubles. I believe this is where we became super tourists….because several tours collided on that spot at the same time….and we were armed with cameras. The other group of 8 or so were Irish, so the fact that they were posing meant that I, the Canadian, could too. Then we went past the gates of the peace divider and headed to main protestant area of the city. You would not believe the 180 that you feel when you enter that area. Really it was remarkable how the targets changed, how the different the focus of events were, and of course the differences in the ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ of Ulster….it really puts deep seated conflict into perspective (I’m not supporting war here, I’m just highlighting the complicated nature of it war or at least the protracted kind). It was especially poignant when we drove by a memorial to IRA bombing victims….when just a few minutes before the tour guide was explaining the tit or tat style of fighting between the IRA and the British Army… It was nice to have taken the tour because, to be honest, all the murals, memorials and well history of the place are really in residential areas. Plus, there is quite a large geographical distance between everything, and it’s not the sort of place you’d want to be walking around with a tourist map and camera strapped around our neck….

The last real stop on the tour was an area where there are a series of mural painted on normal houses that ‘commemorate’ or actually, I think ‘glorify’ is a better word, well, they glorify Unionist heroes. (I really hope that I have all the details strait…). Anyway, the murals sort of make a circle/square/rectangular/octagon/amoeba shape if one were to draw them on a paper. Really I guess I should say, they are located in a residential neighbourhood, with several streets that all lead to a park-ette open field. If you are standing in the park-ette and slowly turn around in one spot you can have a good glimpse of all of them. When we got out of the car, the tour guide drew our attention to, well, probably the most ‘recognisable’ mural in the area. (see the photo?). (and me?). (it was huge, eh?). When we got out he asked the crowd (the 5 of us), if we knew what was no neat about the painting……I was too distracted by the vividness of the painting (and the details for that matter), as well as the stark contrast between the blue and the objects, that really I hadn’t a clue what was not neat about it.

Then vero said, “it’s the mona lisa”.

I was confused.

How does a eye-brow-less, brown tinted, smaller than you actually think it is, covered in glass, not even if every one else did, you should not ignore the ‘no photographs’ sign at the Louvre, painting, have anything to do with a painting of a paramilitary pointing a shot gun at the me?

Well, there is one connection. The painting follows you. Well the barrel of the shot gun does. (as do the eyes of the monolisa or la jaconde to refer to it in the cultural haute European way) (see for example, these two pictures). I took them from two different angles, and at both angles the keys and barrel of the shot gun followed…..creepy ….for those interested in seeing a painting such as this in the Ottawa area….got the Laurier House (on Laurier Street and Chapel). I don’t know why I remember this from my grade 6 trip, but I do believe that there is a painting of Lester B. Pearson there, where his eyes are alive, and follow you. (I don’t know why I said Pearson, it actually makes more sense to have said Laurier, but I think that it was actually Laurier … but I don’t think it was Pearson…..that makes NO sense…now that I have thought out loud, I do believe in was Mackenzie King….really, I think it was Mackenzie King….., if someone checks this out, please report back J).

Okay, so after the tour ended the guide asked us what our plan was. We told me we were headed to Bangor, but we had about an hour or so before we wanted to go. Like the hostel concierge had done a several hours before, the driver pondered for about a milla-second before settling on a drop off spot were we could see parts of the city en route to the train station (I really do love the Belfast-e-lites, Belfast-tions? Belfasters? Belfast-e-gins?). Anyway, he dropped at what was essentially the ‘top of the city centre’ and we then walked to the ‘bottom of the city centre’ where the train was. We started at the University of Ulster, walked by St. Anne’s church (it was closed, or else I would have snuck a peak), then we walked around and about, saw the Royal Albert Clock (one of the girls said that perhaps Albert got the clock because he felt left out as everything else that is pretty here is named after Victoria. I tend to agree. ) Anyway, we then stopped at a mall. Why a mall you say? Well because the top level of the mall is a huge open sky light with a panoramic view of the whole city! It was really neat (and free), and why I love to stay at hostels (because this is where they tell you to go).

Then we made our way to the train station, Ms. Google maps got us there with enough time to grab a latte (which tasted very good), and a snack for the concert. At that point it was around 6 and while we had just eaten lunch and well I had eaten a million bazillion of the best fries of my life, I was planning ahead. Really, the concert wasn’t slotted to be over by 11….and well….I didn’t think my blood sugar could last that long with out a little reinforcement…… Then we got to the train station, hoped on a train, rode two stops, got off, and hoped on another train, and then we arrived. In bangor. A small town, partially ready for the 40 000 people that were to ascend into the town by 8. Like any good, mass exodus from a rail station, I find the best approach to finding your way is to follow the crowd. Now, I was always taught to not be a follower, and well sometimes if everyone follows then there is no leader, which is slightly problematic, but there is a time and place for everything and this was a time for a followin’. Or at least I thought it was.

The follow the pack strategy worked until we hit the side walk. Then. The crowd split into two directions. Literally one went left then strait, the other group when right and up a hill. Avoiding the hill (this was actually an unconscious decision, really), we went left. Our decision took us on a slight detour from Ward Park, but did allow us to walk through the town. There were so many people walking towards Ward Park, and the same amount of people picnicking on the side walk or in the parks (watching us, the walkers), I felt like I was in a parade, and that I should be waving. I didn’t wave. I am not that silly. The concert was amazing. That is all I will say. It was amazing and fun and great and well amazing.

It was also cool that Guinness was the sponsor. Only because O am Canadian and normally at concerts its Molson. I relish the novelty of it all.

After the concert we began the great odyssey to my bed…requiring that I wade through 40 000 Irish, in various stages of intoxication, sadly, some had already reached the ‘hang over stage’ and were looking a little worse for wear. Anyway, we got to the train station, and had to wait about 40 minutes for the train to come. There was a very long line, and well, the first one was too full (in fact there was probably about 200 people a head of us).

SO there we waited, for 40 minutes. I was tired of standing. After all, we’d be doing that since 4pm and it was now 12. then I remembered my BUN. Yes. I love when for sight pays on in the hind (sight). So I opened the package and started to eat the plain bun (I didn’t buy a sandwich because sandwiches that are not Pb and J can become disastrous if they fall to the bottom of one’s bag…..anyway, as was munching away at my cracked wheat bun a young lad turned around and said:

‘is thawt just a plain ole’ bap uure eeetine ’?

I looked at him.

And said nothing.

Then said (to myself). “what is a bap”.

Then my brain went into serious thinking mode.

I remember reading the word bap somewhere, but where? (hence the thinking mode). Then I remembered reading the Ryan Air menu and reading something that said ‘breakfest bap’ and it actually being and egg micmuffin, then I thought, I am holding a bun and an egg mcmuffin is essentially breakfast on a bun.

Eureka!

A bap is a bun.

Problem solved.

My response to the Irish lad (who was with a friend by the way).

Yes, it is just plain.

Silence.

Then it was really weird, so I did what any polite Canadian would do. I asked if he wanted some. He laughed and said ‘na’.

Then we (me, vero, him and his best mate), chatted. Well he chatted. To us. In five minutes I knew were he lived, where he worked, that his mother was no longer with us, that he was IN LOVE with Pink, that he’d never been to Canada, that his other friend was waiting for him at another stop, that he really wanted to go to Las Vegas, that he didn’t really know where (or what) central America was, that he had painful veins in his legs, that they were going to be fixed via an operation this week AND that he worked for an oil company in Belfast. He also gave me his business card. It was information overload.

gah. I am running out of time.

so, in one sentence. We got home, talked, went to bed, got up, ate hostel breakfast (home made Irish (real) Irish breakfast complete with beans and tomaaato), walked around Queen's university, then the city centre (again), then i got a Tim Hortons (first one! and while did have a faint taste of Tim Hortons, the was a button involved in acquiring the coffee (like the french vanilla button), and when there is a button involved, well, then one knows it won't actually be real timmy's, but I guess this may be just a 'miss' cup (you know how sometimes Tim Hortons is really good with coffee and other times...not so good). (that was a long sentence).

So right, got Tim Hortons, got on the bus, drove to airport.

Got there way to early. Didn't mind as there was a Boots and a bookstore and well, basically a whole shopping mall (and I could read the signs, prices, discounts). I bought stuff at boots (because I knew what I was buying), bought some Tatyo Cheese and Onion crips (which are rationed), and an Irish Taddler and off I went.

Landed in Bpest. actually found a place open to buy a new bus pass (I was surprised as it was after 9 pm on a Sunday and something actually was open).

Came home.

DONE.

DONE.

I applaud everyone who has gotten this far. You are missed dearly and loved dearly.