Keeping the Peace: Thoughts on Belfast

A mural in a Catholic neighnorhood

Belfast

Northern Ireland, United Kingdom

Disclaimer: If some of this is culturally incorrect or sounds ignorant, it's because it probably is. I have one days knowledge of a complicated history. These are just thoughts and observations. :]

Yesterday some friends and I crossed the border to Northern Ireland to visit Belfast. Now, before coming to Ireland, I not only had no idea Northern Ireland was a different country and part of the United Kingdom, but I also knew nothing of Belfast and its history. Conflict and violence consume the city's history. However, we were assured from many Irish friends that it was completely safe now. With that being said, we just decided to take a day trip. 

Our tour guide for both our bus and taxi drive were both being extremely sarcastic about the violence, to the point where we honestly had absolutely no idea if the city was safe nowadays or not. I think they get a kick out of scaring tourists, but let me tell you... this is what I learned:

The conflict is between the Catholics and the Protestants. It's not a conflict of religion, however, it is a conflict of politics. The Catholics are Irish and believe their city/country is Irish. The Protestants believe it is fully Great Britain and hail to the Queen. 97% of the city is separated like this. 97% of the city does not interact between the two groups. The catholics have their neighborhoods and the protestants have their neighborhoods. The schools are separated. The workplace is separated. They are separated by giant walls they call "Peace Walls." Every night gates close between the neighborhood. Young kids from both sides approach the gates. They hate each other. They don't know each other, but they know they hate each other. 

My friend Libby signing the Peace Wall

Peace through segregation. It's their answer. They live with it. At one point our taxi proudly announced Belfast was the 5th safest city in Europe. 

Peace through segregation.

(picture from The Guardian)

On a happier note, we visited this beaut of a museum in the afternoon. It's only been open for a few months. Built to commemorate the 100th anniversary, this museum is the largest Titanic experience in the world. Belfast (again, I knew nothing of this before coming here) is where the Titanic was built and launched, so much of the museum has to do with the construction of it. But can we just take a moment to admire how phenomenal of an architectural structure this is? Holy moly it's great. It reminds me of some architects I really love, but I looked the guy up. No idea who he is. 

Goodness I still get goosebumps when I read about the Titanic.

Anyway Anyway, 7 more scones until home. :]

The Great Irish Coffee Dilemma

Insomnia. There are more Insomnia cafes in Dublin than there are Starbucks in Chicago. For example, I am sitting in one right now and I can literally see one across the street out the window. Just in case, you know... this street is too treacherous to cross. 

------------------------------------------

“I’ll just have a coffee, please.”

“How would you like your coffee?”

“Excuse me?” I said, still not quite used to the stronger accents.

“How would you like your coffee?”

“Oh, just black, please.”

*le making coffee*

“One black Americano.”

I take the beverage I was just handed, smile, and look down into it. It has a white top.  Sigh, they got my order wrong.

So the next day, I try again.

“Just a coffee, please. Black.”

This time, I watch.

Disclaimer: What happens next is a bit shocking. Not suitable for the faint at heart.

She makes my coffee from a steamer. My coffee is coming out of a steamer. Stop it. Stop that. I said coffee. WHAT’S HAPPENING TO MY BLACK COFFEE.

“One black coffee.” She said as she slides a white topped beverage I just saw birthed from an espresso machine.

THIS IS BLACK COFFEE?!

I took it. I smiled. I think. It was probably the most uncomfortable smile ever.  Coffee comes out of a steamer. They call it an Americano. Sometimes. And it has a white top. My coffee. My beloved black coffee. I had to get to the bottom of this.

The Irish proved no help.  I had to find answers elsewhere.


I calmly asked my friend back home, also a coffee lover and who has family in the UK. And by calmly, I mean I freaked out, of course. He just laughed. He laughed. The nerve. I was appalled. Surely out of all people he would understand. After he got done laughing he simply said, “Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you. They make coffee from a fancier form of a French press.”

-_-

Fine. Whatever, I get it. But it still doesn’t make sense. I order a black coffee and they serve me an Americano. Which, I may add, isn’t an Americano from the states. There has be a way to get coffee coffee. Black coffee coffee.

So, I went to Starbucks. Their coffee is a bit strong black for me, so I usually get a syrup shot in it.

“A tall caramel coffee, please.”

“Frappachino?”

“No, just coffee.”

He looked at me.

I tried again, “Like a shot of caramel in a cup of coffee.”

He looked at me.

The barista at the register saw that I was having troubles and said, “Caramel just in a cup of filter coffee, you’re saying?”

A lightbulb went on in my head. “Yes!!”

Filter coffee. FILTER COFFEE.

I got to the register, then, and the helpful barista (notably picking up on my accent and flustered state) said, “Sorry, I don’t speak English.” I told him to shut up. We’re friends now.  (He asked me if I was around a certain area in citycenter the night before. A bit caught off guard I replied, “Well, yeah, actually… I was.” He said, "I thought that face looked familiar.” Creepy or adorable? You decide.)

So, there I was enjoying my first real cup of coffee. Filter coffee. Not all cafes have it, and certainly not on the menu, and it’s hardly ever freshly brewed, so I usually just order “an Americano” now. I am much more okay with it now that I know what it is.

In conclusion, filter coffee is coffee coffee. An Americano is what they call coffee and it's espresso beans, and Irish Coffee is something entirely different with whiskey.

But Ireland, your coffee. Comes out of. A steamer. 

Glendalough, Kilkenny, Galway

Galway

I've already been able to do quite a bit of traveling within Ireland, since many of us are kind of over Dublin. This sounds silly, but... it just doesn't compare to the countryside/smaller towns.

The first Saturday we took a day trip to Glendalough and Kilkenny.

Glendalough proved to be a pretty little secret (and by secret, I mean one of the most popular attractions in ireland... but shush) in the countryside. It was a nice stop to take pictures, pretty when the sun came out, and stayed dry for at least a few minutes. There's legit history and such, but let's be honest. It was pretty. However, our nice walk back from the lake to the bus was pouring and flooded. Never put your money on a sunny day, folks. 

However, upon arriving to the bus after the damp walk we were greeted with some freshly baked scones. Enough to make the dampest of dames a happy camper.

Kilkenny was freezing cold and raining. We only had about 3 hours there, so really we just looked at the pretty castle and then went into town to eat. Also, complain. HOWEVER, we are past that part, remember? This was the first weekend and a hard day. 

I think we've asked ourselves a million times how the Irish remain the friendliest of beings when their weather is enough to make any human unpleasant feeling to the bone.

Now we fast forward two weekends to GALWAY, by far my favorite destination thus far. Galway is on the opposite side of the country as Dublin, on the Atlantic coast. A two hour and 15 minute bus ride away. You make know it by that song. You know. This one. 

Anyway, we were told all the hotels/hostels were booked because it was the first weekend of this big boat race/festival. We were like, meh.. okay. Turns out it was a BIG DEAL and we got a room on a fluke right smack dab on the harbour where the festival was taking place. 

I kept on thinking the was the first day or something and involved little sailboats or something. Then I noticed it said, 2011-2012. This confused me. 2011 was so 7 months ago. 

Guys, this is a 9 MONTH RACE around the WORLD and it ends this week. Several countries have teams. It's called the VOLVO OCEAN RACE and we felt like the most ignorant human beings not knowing this was a thing that existed. 

Anyway, so walking around the festival and stuffing our faces between downpours was fun. Then we ventured into the actual town and fell in love. It's adorable and quaint and so lovely. 

I finally gave in and bought a giant Irish woolen sweater because my lips were 50 shades of blue and I was freezing my knockers off. Guys, it literally smells like a farm. I'm pretty sure the sheep is still alive in my sweater. It is unbearable. I already frighten boys off. I don't need a farm to help. This is my current life predicament.

Anyway, that night I had the best fish and chips of my life. So there's more calories I consumed.

The next morning I woke up and went down to grab some breakfast in what is usually a slightly offputting but generally acceptable state to grab a continental breakfast. We took one step into the breakfast room and went straight upstairs to change. For lands sake, Ireland. Cool your class. 

This was the first time I've actually had a traditional Irish breakfast offered to me, so I took full advantage of the giant chunks of Brie cheese and tried the "pudding" with an open mind. 

This day was supposed to be better weather, but to no one's surprise, it poured all day. We explored a little more, I had the best tea I've had all trip, (a London Fog... Earl Grey, Steamed milk, and a shot of vanilla) and a big ol' garlic and herb brat (more calories?!) and headed home. 

Alas, I did lose my lens cap. This is something I managed to do.

The Unsuccessful Search

Anyway, Galway, we're coming back.

Harbour

Ps. I hear it's consistently unbearably hot in the States right now. Lololol funny joke.