pagesofjulia

(Days 1-3 here; day 4 here; days 5-7 here)

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Ahem, continuing day seven: after finishing up at the Giant’s Causeway, it was getting lateish and we headed into Belfast for the evening, centering around the historic Crown Bar (or Crown Liquor Saloon), a CAMRA pub and masterpiece of ornate, garish Victorian decor – it’s almost a bit much, but it’s authentic. They still light the place with gas, even. We got our own little “snug” (like a booth with a door that closes so you can plot against the Brits) after a very good dinner upstairs at their dining room. We closed down the Crown and then the later-closing bar next door and then the latest-closing bar at our hotel, making for a successful evening.

Day eight, is it now? Which makes it a Friday again. We wake in Belfast and begin by chasing the Titanic, whose 100th anniversary calls for a full-on festival in this city that built and launched the doomed ship. Titanic festivities turn out to be expensive and sold out, but we view the area before chasing down one of the “black taxi tours” of the political murals that we’ve been told about. These murals were most prevalent in the 1980’s during the “troubles” (which I still find to be an odd and understated euphemism), and our cabbie John estimates only 20% remain today, but that was still lots of them. Barrett first vetted cabbies until he found one sufficiently middle-aged, native, and informed, and we spent a few hours driving around with him, viewing murals, hearing his (plentiful and fascinating and heartwrenching) stories, and generally interviewing him on the political turmoil of Northern Ireland from the 80’s through the present. Thanks, John, for one of the real treats of our whole week; you really brought Belfast to life. Most visceral, perhaps, was the still-standing wall at the “Peace Line” (or lane, I never was sure) where they used to lock down at night to keep the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods safely segregated.

We had a roadside picnic lunch on our drive down into Dublin.

The next stop was in the town of Drogheda, where Husband’s maternal roots are based – going back a number of generations, yes, but the family name is recognizably… Droghedian? We wanted to get a picture of him at a city limit sign, at least, and ended up enjoying a walk through the main drag of this quaint, historic, larger-than-expected town dominated (it seemed) by shops selling either meats or sweets. Present company approved. 🙂

And Dublin gets its own post. Stay tuned!

Filed under: a walk about town, musings | Tagged: personal, travel |