Day 22
9:20 am
Well, here I am in Belfast. It doesn’t seem to be the kind of city built for tourists. It is primarily and originally an industrial town; shipbuilding and linen workhouses filled the place throughout the last century.
I got up at 6:20 and stumbled into my jeans, through breakfast and out the door by seven. The rain reminded me of a movie scene. The single light above the front door illuminated the swirling rain that was otherwise invisible. It was very fine, and didn’t seem to land at all, and I was surprised that I found the outside of the Kathmandu was wet when I got into the car.
It took about an hour to drive into Belfast, though during this time we didn’t talk much. I was surprised with the amount of traffic on the road, mostly big trucks. Entering Belfast, just as dawn broke, was much like entering Cardiff in August. Factories were visible off the main road that led into the outskirts of the city. Closer in, rows and rows of houses were visible. Streets and streets with houses on each side sharing red tiled rooves, only rarely were they semi-detached housing, row houses being the norm. Within the city itself there were no major surprises; it was just another city - wet, dirty and otherwise grey. I got dropped off at the city library at 8-ish and was told to be there at 5 or 5:15.
It was only raining lightly when I got out of the car, which was good, though I found it to be very cold. On went the scarf and gloves. I was feeling brave so I didn’t bother with the beanie. The Kathmandu hadn’t come off during the whole trip.
The library doesn’t open until 9:30, so I wandered down the street in the direction of the city. The library is on a main street that leads right to City Hall. It was still mostly dark, with thick cloud cover blocking out the dawn, so I got to see the city lights before they were switched off for the day. The lights around City Hall looked great. All the trees have no leaves - obviously - but were draped with fairy lights (that all European cities have at this time of year, no doubt. The city hall itself - a massive Victorian affair with a big bronze roof, had lights shining up at it from the ground, highlighting all the nooks and crannies, casting nice looking shadows. It was well done, I think. City Hall seems to be the centre of town. It is in Donegal Square, which takes up a small city block, and around it the traffic flows in four lane roads. I think it is also the centre for the buses, as lining each of the roads are lots and lots of bus stops, each with six or more bus numbers written on the signs.
On one of the corners of the block that the city hall takes up is a big tent, with an ice rink inside, apparently. It is for a Disney on Ice show, although from what I can gather, it is also available for the average citizen to skate for a little while - I guess Belfast doesn’t have an ice rink. The front of the city hall (I think) faces the road that goes up the library (I think it is called Royal Avenue, though there aren’t a lot of signs around). It has a big display, counting down the number of days, hours, minutes and seconds until the New Year.
No shops are open yet. I get the feeling the city doesn’t come alive until 9 or 9:30. I walked here and there. Once again, it is just another town. I wandered towards the lough, and came to a bridge crossing the River Lagen, but didn’t cross it. East Belfast is very industrial, and I’m sure there is less to see on that side that there is on this side.
I wandered for 50 minutes and gave up. After finding the tourist office (which opens at 9:30, and is very close to the road the library is on) I found a cheap cafe/bakery and came in for a coffee (50p). The only money I have with me is a £10 note, and the girl doesn’t have change - it being so early in the morning. She told me to come back with the change later! I bet that wouldn’t happen in Australia! Behind me is a whole counter filled with apple turnovers, fresh doughnuts, cakes and the like. I am trying not to look. They smell very good.
Hopefully the library will have Trinity and I can look what happened in Belfast. At the start of each section of Trinity there is a map of the region or town relevant to that section. Belfast is one of them, so if I do find a book, it will be good to see where I can go. I remember that the city hall featured, so I can mark that off the list now, having walked around it and marvelled at the solid Ulster/Victorian design. The hall didn’t appear to be open. Conor built a grand set of bronze doors for the hall under commission for the city of Belfast when the hall was built (in the book), so it would have been good to wander into the hall and try and find a set of doors that Leon Uris was writing about.
This coffee is awful.
It isn’t raining now.
Most buildings here are Georgian (I think). That is to say, they all look similar to the designs of Dublin buildings, and I think that they are called ‘Georgian,’ though I really have no idea what classifies a building as ‘Georgian’ (apart from them being erected when one of the King Georges was around). Each building is about two or three stories high (I guess because when they were built there was no elevators - or electricity, for that matter). Between each window are pillars, carved into nice little curly things at the top.
I am listening to George Michael destroying U2’s Miss Sarejevo. It’s worse than the coffee.
My first armoured police car has just passed the cafe. I have noticed that there is a complete lack of soldiers and well armed RUC; obviously thanks to the cease-fire, but a car similar to the one I have seen on the news has passed - how exciting.
The people walking past look weary. It’s bound to be because of the constant cold and wet. Their heads are down, the collars around their necks to their ears, scarves are wrapped and knotted tightly so as not to blow behind them (I am yet to learn this trick, My scarf always billows behind me as I walk, but I think it looks cool). The weary look might be because of the cold, but it nicely fits a stereotype I had in my mind of Belfast people.
It is 9:20 and the city is starting to wake up. It is as light as it is going to get today. There is even a hint of blue on the horizon.
I have seen a couple of raven-haired beauties, but they all look hard - they don’t have the nice soft Celtic look I am keeping my eyes peeled for.
Time to leave.
12:00
An update. I went to the library and read the Belfast section of Let’s Go: Britain and Ireland. Belfast is a very boring city. City Hall has a tour, but it costs money and there is a museum somewhere that doesn’t interest me.
I am now at Queen’s University, a little bit lost. I have been trying to find the Falls Road area, but wandered too far north. Without looking at a map, I know that it is to the west of the city centre, but that is all.
I went to the tourist office, but she had less to offer than the library.
I am in the bistro of the student union, eating the lunch prepared for me by Margaret, hoping not to be kicked out, for not buying food. It is warm in here and the place is alive with students. I almost feel at home, which is quite scary. I am hoping someone will start a conversation with me, but it doesn’t look likely.
The university building (the original building) is an impressive structure. It is red brick, just like I expected all of Belfast to be. I guess once I go further west, I will see more of that. I know there is something famous about the building, but for the life of me I can’t remember it. Maybe it was designed by someone famous?
I bought a decent road map of Ireland (£4.50) while in the tourist office. The weather has been pretty good this morning. I am only a little damp and was even able to take my gloves off at one stage.
I have finally found a copy of Trinity! I wish I had of seen one in Derry, as it has lots of sites on the map deep in the Bogside I would have visited if I had remembered. Belfast is boring in Trinity as well, not much happened here, the only building worth seeing would be where the Saviour’s Church of the Shankill would be, but that is deep in the Shankill and I can’t be bothered walking that far.
1:30
I have found the Falls Road! On my way here I walked down Sandy Row, and realised I should head back to the city centre before going further north. Sandy Row is a Loyalist stronghold, complete with the standard flags, curbs, murals and pub names. I have heard the name ‘Sandy Row’ on the news over the years. When Sandy Row came to an end, I turned right, heading east towards the town centre, through a building site. About a block further north was Divis Road.
I started down it before realising the significance. I turned down Divis Road originally because I thought I was heading too far north, not because I realised it would lead me into the Falls. Divis Road seemed large enough to take me westwards, so I started walking along it.
I was well away from any shelter, walking along a stretch between a factory surrounded by a large fence, and a housing estate complete with its own fences, when the rain started belting down. The Kathmandu was turned inside out, with the black nylon side on the outside, so it was fairly rainproof, but my bag was getting wet. I ran for a hundred metres or so and sheltered under a bus stop, waiting for the rain to stop. Silly me, this is Northern Ireland - the rain hasn’t stopped for the last three weeks. It eased a little after ten minutes, and I couldn’t be bothered waiting any more. I started walking briskly.
This place is like an urban slum. On the right hand side of the road, the concrete stretches for about 50 metres before the ten metre high fencing of the aforementioned factory starts. It is topped with barbed wire and cameras. The fence looks like it protects a prison, not an industrial estate. I don’t know what the factory makes. Of course, I rode past that prison in the suburbs of Derry, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I found this building to be a prison as well. As far as I know, Maze is in Belfast suburbia, but at least it looks like a prison. The RUC station in Portrush was also well protected from attack, with fencing and barbed wire as well, but that building looked like a fortress, not a police station.
On the left, across the cracked concrete pavement lie the housing estates. Black fences with gates like I saw in Derry separate them from the road. It looks as though they can only be opened from the inside. There is little or no grass within these fences. In front of most buildings is just concrete. The walls of the buildings are brick, though most of them are covered with graffiti or propaganda murals. Nothing is neat; all is shabby. It is almost as if this area of the town has given up on itself, as if all public monies goes towards the police forces (as it probably does!) The IRA originally styled itself as the protector of its communities; yet with all the money it gets from overseas, and from drug sales within Ireland, you would thing they would put some of it back into the Falls area.
I haven’t passed many people since I started the walk from the city centre (after leaving Sandy Row). Those that I do pass give me a quick look and then resolutely look back down at the road, at a spot a metre in front of them.
I passed the Divis Tower and finally remembered the significance of this road. Divis Road leads into the Falls, and directly onto Falls Road. The Divis Tower is a noted Republican stronghold, with a British Army position on top of the building! Fences even surround this apartment block, and cameras looked out onto every entrance.
This area was the focus of some major rioting at the very start of the troubles. Stray bullets flying around during one of the clashes killed one or two residents of the Divis Tower flats.
Once past the Tower, the semblance of a normal city neighbourhood started appearing. The estates were a little way off the main road, and even a shop or two were visible. From across the road I spotted a row of shops, which included a pub. I found my way through a gate - I think positioned on the side to stop cars ramming though it from the road and into a pub.
It has cameras on the outside and a buzzer to get permission to enter, although these aren’t used any more, just like the pub the other day. The Guinness here is £1.85 - the cheapest Guinness I have come across. Alex told me that in Northern Ireland the Guinness was cheaper than anywhere else and I guess West Belfast has to be one of the cheapest areas in the North.
This is a rough pub. It has a dirty tiled floor, with a black and white pattern of diamonds, repeating every metre or so. The front of the bar is cheap, wooden panelling, with a very dented, though highly polished brass footrest running the length of it. Everyone in here is seated or leaning over a bar, talking over their pints to a mate. There aren’t any women in here. The men seem to be middle aged, with deep lines etched in the faces. They wear old trousers, and cheap woollen pullovers. There are some younger men as well, but they all seem to be in the twenties and no older. These men are wearing dirty jeans, work boots and shirts. To a man, everyone has a cap like those worn in Yorkshire (I don’t know what they are called). Though I would think twice before comparing these men to Yorkshiremen out loud. The walls have the same cheap panelling as the bar, though only to shoulder height. Peeling green wallpaper covers the rest of the wall. From the ceiling, brass fittings give way to fans and lights. In the furthest corner, a TV hangs from the wall with horse racing. A couple of drunks are clutching their form guides, cigarettes and pints in their other hands, staring at the set.
I guess this pub used to be nice when it was built, but little or no money has reduced it to shabbiness, just like the rest of the neighbourhood. It is much like any shabby pub, but the men look tough here. When I walked in they all turned to look me up and down, and then back to their friends. I am being completely ignored, apart from the curious stares I get when someone new walks in and passes my table (which is in a corner near the door). I guess they don’t get many strangers here, especially strangers who write on a pad of paper. I hope they don’t think I am a journo.
Before I came in I noticed who occupies the office next door; it is the MP for West Belfast, Mr Gerry Adams.
10 pm
After leaving the pub, I continued along Falls Rd, which eventually split into Anderstown Rd and another one. Along here is Milltown Cemetery, a very large cemetery with an equally large population of dead republicans. Somewhere inside, Bobby Sands is buried, though I couldn’t be bothered to try and find him. I was knackered – the walk from the pub to the cemetery had taken me about 45 minutes. The main entrance to the cemetery opens into a path that winds its way through a nice green setting, full of old and intricate stone tombstones. It has been the loveliest part of Belfast I have seen. To be honest, the path reminded me a little of a botanical garden; large dark green leaves hung low, shutting of any sun (that wasn’t available to be shut off anyway). Everything was moist and seemed almost tropical - except for the bloody cold. It was raining again, and I couldn’t be bothered walking blindly around a large cemetery for a name like Bobby Sands. I had walked for so long, I don’t think this journal adequately portrays the length of road I walked looking for this bloody cemetery. I found out later that there is a separate section for the ‘martyred’ republicans, but I wasn’t to know this.
The murals along the street were clearly pro-IRA, with guns and black clad soldiers on almost every one.
It is a rough area. Those estates that weren’t behind tall black fences had white cages around the ground floor windows, like-wise all the shops. Even the traffic lights had wire mesh around them. Evidence of the fact that the IRA is not so much a glorious army fighting for freedom, but a bunch of roughnecks using sectarianism as an excuse to prosper from neighbourhood gangland tactics.
I had walked so much, that I couldn’t be asked to walk all the way back to the city centre. A passing bus cost 45p.
I found a post office and sent £2.35 worth of post off, including the cards that Mary Alcock gave me.
From the city centre I walked all the way to the tourist office. I was hoping to find some centre of bus information on the way, as I wanted a ride up to Cave Hill.
Belfast is a normal modern city when one is inside the square mile that makes up the city centre. The buildings themselves are quite old, but filled with glass and plastic shops - all the main brand names - like so many other European capitals.
If it weren’t for the headlines that make up the city’s reputation, there wouldn’t be a different feel about the place. But walk outside the square mile and the beautiful city changes into the ugliness I saw today.
The tourist office directed me to a bus that started right back at the town hall, where the first bus had dropped me off. By the time I had retraced my steps it was 3:30 and I had to wait 10 minutes. I had expected Cave Hill to be as it was in the book, set 100 years ago. A grassy hill overlooking the city where people went for Saturday picnics.
It is now just another suburb, a Loyalist stronghold, filled with the requisite Union Jacks, red, white and blue curbs and murals of the UDA. The bus stopped on a street in the suburb of Cave Hill. I tentatively walked up to the bus driver, who said there was a hill called Cave Hill - which was visible from the bus - but it would take about an hour and a half to walk there from where I was. Yes, people used to go up there for picnics, but not anymore. I think it is a little strange that people don’t talk about the Troubles in direct terms. He told me that the bus would wait on the street for another ten minutes or so and then head back into town.
The bus route from Town Hall had taken me up the road past the library - only a couple of minutes walk from the tourist office! I wish the stupid lady had told me that – it would have saved me a heap of time.
On the way back, I got off at the library, both for convenience and the fact that two of the most beautiful Raven Haired lasses I have seen got off at the same spot.
The bakery I had the coffee at this morning was close to the library, so I went in there and paid the 50p. The girl who served me wasn’t there, but I explained the situation and the money was taken. The girl who took the money didn’t seem surprised by the fact I got the coffee on trust.
I went to the library’s Internet section to pass the time. It cost £2 for an hour, but I was there for about 40 minutes.
I think I was on my feet for about 5 hours today and was exhausted, so I slept most of the way back here.
A fried dinner was waiting and I just relaxed until now. Tomorrow I will leave here before 10 am, as Margaret has an appointment then. Never mind. They say the weather ‘won’t be good’ tomorrow and will be worse on Wednesday. I am learning the Irish way of understating the weather. Tomorrow’s weather will be at its awful worst. It ‘won’t be good’! Ha! ‘Not bad’ means there might be some sun if you’re lucky. ‘Beautiful’ must mean a maximum over fifteen and only half a day of rain - I won’t hear that while I am here.
Today I spent 50p on coffee, £4.50 on the map, £2.35 at the post office, £1.85 on Guinness, £1.35 on busses and £2 at the library, totalling £12.55. Yesterday I spent nothing and Saturday was £2.35 (Guinness and Mass). That’s £15.40 in three days, a little over budget but I am confident that my money situation will be fine.
What I am beginning to think, however is that I won’t reach Dublin in time. I think I will end up catching a bus from somewhere.
Well, here I am in Belfast. It doesn’t seem to be the kind of city built for tourists. It is primarily and originally an industrial town; shipbuilding and linen workhouses filled the place throughout the last century.
I got up at 6:20 and stumbled into my jeans, through breakfast and out the door by seven. The rain reminded me of a movie scene. The single light above the front door illuminated the swirling rain that was otherwise invisible. It was very fine, and didn’t seem to land at all, and I was surprised that I found the outside of the Kathmandu was wet when I got into the car.
It took about an hour to drive into Belfast, though during this time we didn’t talk much. I was surprised with the amount of traffic on the road, mostly big trucks. Entering Belfast, just as dawn broke, was much like entering Cardiff in August. Factories were visible off the main road that led into the outskirts of the city. Closer in, rows and rows of houses were visible. Streets and streets with houses on each side sharing red tiled rooves, only rarely were they semi-detached housing, row houses being the norm. Within the city itself there were no major surprises; it was just another city - wet, dirty and otherwise grey. I got dropped off at the city library at 8-ish and was told to be there at 5 or 5:15.
It was only raining lightly when I got out of the car, which was good, though I found it to be very cold. On went the scarf and gloves. I was feeling brave so I didn’t bother with the beanie. The Kathmandu hadn’t come off during the whole trip.
The library doesn’t open until 9:30, so I wandered down the street in the direction of the city. The library is on a main street that leads right to City Hall. It was still mostly dark, with thick cloud cover blocking out the dawn, so I got to see the city lights before they were switched off for the day. The lights around City Hall looked great. All the trees have no leaves - obviously - but were draped with fairy lights (that all European cities have at this time of year, no doubt. The city hall itself - a massive Victorian affair with a big bronze roof, had lights shining up at it from the ground, highlighting all the nooks and crannies, casting nice looking shadows. It was well done, I think. City Hall seems to be the centre of town. It is in Donegal Square, which takes up a small city block, and around it the traffic flows in four lane roads. I think it is also the centre for the buses, as lining each of the roads are lots and lots of bus stops, each with six or more bus numbers written on the signs.
On one of the corners of the block that the city hall takes up is a big tent, with an ice rink inside, apparently. It is for a Disney on Ice show, although from what I can gather, it is also available for the average citizen to skate for a little while - I guess Belfast doesn’t have an ice rink. The front of the city hall (I think) faces the road that goes up the library (I think it is called Royal Avenue, though there aren’t a lot of signs around). It has a big display, counting down the number of days, hours, minutes and seconds until the New Year.
No shops are open yet. I get the feeling the city doesn’t come alive until 9 or 9:30. I walked here and there. Once again, it is just another town. I wandered towards the lough, and came to a bridge crossing the River Lagen, but didn’t cross it. East Belfast is very industrial, and I’m sure there is less to see on that side that there is on this side.
I wandered for 50 minutes and gave up. After finding the tourist office (which opens at 9:30, and is very close to the road the library is on) I found a cheap cafe/bakery and came in for a coffee (50p). The only money I have with me is a £10 note, and the girl doesn’t have change - it being so early in the morning. She told me to come back with the change later! I bet that wouldn’t happen in Australia! Behind me is a whole counter filled with apple turnovers, fresh doughnuts, cakes and the like. I am trying not to look. They smell very good.
Hopefully the library will have Trinity and I can look what happened in Belfast. At the start of each section of Trinity there is a map of the region or town relevant to that section. Belfast is one of them, so if I do find a book, it will be good to see where I can go. I remember that the city hall featured, so I can mark that off the list now, having walked around it and marvelled at the solid Ulster/Victorian design. The hall didn’t appear to be open. Conor built a grand set of bronze doors for the hall under commission for the city of Belfast when the hall was built (in the book), so it would have been good to wander into the hall and try and find a set of doors that Leon Uris was writing about.
This coffee is awful.
It isn’t raining now.
Most buildings here are Georgian (I think). That is to say, they all look similar to the designs of Dublin buildings, and I think that they are called ‘Georgian,’ though I really have no idea what classifies a building as ‘Georgian’ (apart from them being erected when one of the King Georges was around). Each building is about two or three stories high (I guess because when they were built there was no elevators - or electricity, for that matter). Between each window are pillars, carved into nice little curly things at the top.
I am listening to George Michael destroying U2’s Miss Sarejevo. It’s worse than the coffee.
My first armoured police car has just passed the cafe. I have noticed that there is a complete lack of soldiers and well armed RUC; obviously thanks to the cease-fire, but a car similar to the one I have seen on the news has passed - how exciting.
The people walking past look weary. It’s bound to be because of the constant cold and wet. Their heads are down, the collars around their necks to their ears, scarves are wrapped and knotted tightly so as not to blow behind them (I am yet to learn this trick, My scarf always billows behind me as I walk, but I think it looks cool). The weary look might be because of the cold, but it nicely fits a stereotype I had in my mind of Belfast people.
It is 9:20 and the city is starting to wake up. It is as light as it is going to get today. There is even a hint of blue on the horizon.
I have seen a couple of raven-haired beauties, but they all look hard - they don’t have the nice soft Celtic look I am keeping my eyes peeled for.
Time to leave.
12:00
An update. I went to the library and read the Belfast section of Let’s Go: Britain and Ireland. Belfast is a very boring city. City Hall has a tour, but it costs money and there is a museum somewhere that doesn’t interest me.
I am now at Queen’s University, a little bit lost. I have been trying to find the Falls Road area, but wandered too far north. Without looking at a map, I know that it is to the west of the city centre, but that is all.
I went to the tourist office, but she had less to offer than the library.
I am in the bistro of the student union, eating the lunch prepared for me by Margaret, hoping not to be kicked out, for not buying food. It is warm in here and the place is alive with students. I almost feel at home, which is quite scary. I am hoping someone will start a conversation with me, but it doesn’t look likely.
The university building (the original building) is an impressive structure. It is red brick, just like I expected all of Belfast to be. I guess once I go further west, I will see more of that. I know there is something famous about the building, but for the life of me I can’t remember it. Maybe it was designed by someone famous?
I bought a decent road map of Ireland (£4.50) while in the tourist office. The weather has been pretty good this morning. I am only a little damp and was even able to take my gloves off at one stage.
I have finally found a copy of Trinity! I wish I had of seen one in Derry, as it has lots of sites on the map deep in the Bogside I would have visited if I had remembered. Belfast is boring in Trinity as well, not much happened here, the only building worth seeing would be where the Saviour’s Church of the Shankill would be, but that is deep in the Shankill and I can’t be bothered walking that far.
1:30
I have found the Falls Road! On my way here I walked down Sandy Row, and realised I should head back to the city centre before going further north. Sandy Row is a Loyalist stronghold, complete with the standard flags, curbs, murals and pub names. I have heard the name ‘Sandy Row’ on the news over the years. When Sandy Row came to an end, I turned right, heading east towards the town centre, through a building site. About a block further north was Divis Road.
I started down it before realising the significance. I turned down Divis Road originally because I thought I was heading too far north, not because I realised it would lead me into the Falls. Divis Road seemed large enough to take me westwards, so I started walking along it.
I was well away from any shelter, walking along a stretch between a factory surrounded by a large fence, and a housing estate complete with its own fences, when the rain started belting down. The Kathmandu was turned inside out, with the black nylon side on the outside, so it was fairly rainproof, but my bag was getting wet. I ran for a hundred metres or so and sheltered under a bus stop, waiting for the rain to stop. Silly me, this is Northern Ireland - the rain hasn’t stopped for the last three weeks. It eased a little after ten minutes, and I couldn’t be bothered waiting any more. I started walking briskly.
This place is like an urban slum. On the right hand side of the road, the concrete stretches for about 50 metres before the ten metre high fencing of the aforementioned factory starts. It is topped with barbed wire and cameras. The fence looks like it protects a prison, not an industrial estate. I don’t know what the factory makes. Of course, I rode past that prison in the suburbs of Derry, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I found this building to be a prison as well. As far as I know, Maze is in Belfast suburbia, but at least it looks like a prison. The RUC station in Portrush was also well protected from attack, with fencing and barbed wire as well, but that building looked like a fortress, not a police station.
On the left, across the cracked concrete pavement lie the housing estates. Black fences with gates like I saw in Derry separate them from the road. It looks as though they can only be opened from the inside. There is little or no grass within these fences. In front of most buildings is just concrete. The walls of the buildings are brick, though most of them are covered with graffiti or propaganda murals. Nothing is neat; all is shabby. It is almost as if this area of the town has given up on itself, as if all public monies goes towards the police forces (as it probably does!) The IRA originally styled itself as the protector of its communities; yet with all the money it gets from overseas, and from drug sales within Ireland, you would thing they would put some of it back into the Falls area.
I haven’t passed many people since I started the walk from the city centre (after leaving Sandy Row). Those that I do pass give me a quick look and then resolutely look back down at the road, at a spot a metre in front of them.
I passed the Divis Tower and finally remembered the significance of this road. Divis Road leads into the Falls, and directly onto Falls Road. The Divis Tower is a noted Republican stronghold, with a British Army position on top of the building! Fences even surround this apartment block, and cameras looked out onto every entrance.
This area was the focus of some major rioting at the very start of the troubles. Stray bullets flying around during one of the clashes killed one or two residents of the Divis Tower flats.
Once past the Tower, the semblance of a normal city neighbourhood started appearing. The estates were a little way off the main road, and even a shop or two were visible. From across the road I spotted a row of shops, which included a pub. I found my way through a gate - I think positioned on the side to stop cars ramming though it from the road and into a pub.
It has cameras on the outside and a buzzer to get permission to enter, although these aren’t used any more, just like the pub the other day. The Guinness here is £1.85 - the cheapest Guinness I have come across. Alex told me that in Northern Ireland the Guinness was cheaper than anywhere else and I guess West Belfast has to be one of the cheapest areas in the North.
This is a rough pub. It has a dirty tiled floor, with a black and white pattern of diamonds, repeating every metre or so. The front of the bar is cheap, wooden panelling, with a very dented, though highly polished brass footrest running the length of it. Everyone in here is seated or leaning over a bar, talking over their pints to a mate. There aren’t any women in here. The men seem to be middle aged, with deep lines etched in the faces. They wear old trousers, and cheap woollen pullovers. There are some younger men as well, but they all seem to be in the twenties and no older. These men are wearing dirty jeans, work boots and shirts. To a man, everyone has a cap like those worn in Yorkshire (I don’t know what they are called). Though I would think twice before comparing these men to Yorkshiremen out loud. The walls have the same cheap panelling as the bar, though only to shoulder height. Peeling green wallpaper covers the rest of the wall. From the ceiling, brass fittings give way to fans and lights. In the furthest corner, a TV hangs from the wall with horse racing. A couple of drunks are clutching their form guides, cigarettes and pints in their other hands, staring at the set.
I guess this pub used to be nice when it was built, but little or no money has reduced it to shabbiness, just like the rest of the neighbourhood. It is much like any shabby pub, but the men look tough here. When I walked in they all turned to look me up and down, and then back to their friends. I am being completely ignored, apart from the curious stares I get when someone new walks in and passes my table (which is in a corner near the door). I guess they don’t get many strangers here, especially strangers who write on a pad of paper. I hope they don’t think I am a journo.
Before I came in I noticed who occupies the office next door; it is the MP for West Belfast, Mr Gerry Adams.
10 pm
After leaving the pub, I continued along Falls Rd, which eventually split into Anderstown Rd and another one. Along here is Milltown Cemetery, a very large cemetery with an equally large population of dead republicans. Somewhere inside, Bobby Sands is buried, though I couldn’t be bothered to try and find him. I was knackered – the walk from the pub to the cemetery had taken me about 45 minutes. The main entrance to the cemetery opens into a path that winds its way through a nice green setting, full of old and intricate stone tombstones. It has been the loveliest part of Belfast I have seen. To be honest, the path reminded me a little of a botanical garden; large dark green leaves hung low, shutting of any sun (that wasn’t available to be shut off anyway). Everything was moist and seemed almost tropical - except for the bloody cold. It was raining again, and I couldn’t be bothered walking blindly around a large cemetery for a name like Bobby Sands. I had walked for so long, I don’t think this journal adequately portrays the length of road I walked looking for this bloody cemetery. I found out later that there is a separate section for the ‘martyred’ republicans, but I wasn’t to know this.
The murals along the street were clearly pro-IRA, with guns and black clad soldiers on almost every one.
It is a rough area. Those estates that weren’t behind tall black fences had white cages around the ground floor windows, like-wise all the shops. Even the traffic lights had wire mesh around them. Evidence of the fact that the IRA is not so much a glorious army fighting for freedom, but a bunch of roughnecks using sectarianism as an excuse to prosper from neighbourhood gangland tactics.
I had walked so much, that I couldn’t be asked to walk all the way back to the city centre. A passing bus cost 45p.
I found a post office and sent £2.35 worth of post off, including the cards that Mary Alcock gave me.
From the city centre I walked all the way to the tourist office. I was hoping to find some centre of bus information on the way, as I wanted a ride up to Cave Hill.
Belfast is a normal modern city when one is inside the square mile that makes up the city centre. The buildings themselves are quite old, but filled with glass and plastic shops - all the main brand names - like so many other European capitals.
If it weren’t for the headlines that make up the city’s reputation, there wouldn’t be a different feel about the place. But walk outside the square mile and the beautiful city changes into the ugliness I saw today.
The tourist office directed me to a bus that started right back at the town hall, where the first bus had dropped me off. By the time I had retraced my steps it was 3:30 and I had to wait 10 minutes. I had expected Cave Hill to be as it was in the book, set 100 years ago. A grassy hill overlooking the city where people went for Saturday picnics.
It is now just another suburb, a Loyalist stronghold, filled with the requisite Union Jacks, red, white and blue curbs and murals of the UDA. The bus stopped on a street in the suburb of Cave Hill. I tentatively walked up to the bus driver, who said there was a hill called Cave Hill - which was visible from the bus - but it would take about an hour and a half to walk there from where I was. Yes, people used to go up there for picnics, but not anymore. I think it is a little strange that people don’t talk about the Troubles in direct terms. He told me that the bus would wait on the street for another ten minutes or so and then head back into town.
The bus route from Town Hall had taken me up the road past the library - only a couple of minutes walk from the tourist office! I wish the stupid lady had told me that – it would have saved me a heap of time.
On the way back, I got off at the library, both for convenience and the fact that two of the most beautiful Raven Haired lasses I have seen got off at the same spot.
The bakery I had the coffee at this morning was close to the library, so I went in there and paid the 50p. The girl who served me wasn’t there, but I explained the situation and the money was taken. The girl who took the money didn’t seem surprised by the fact I got the coffee on trust.
I went to the library’s Internet section to pass the time. It cost £2 for an hour, but I was there for about 40 minutes.
I think I was on my feet for about 5 hours today and was exhausted, so I slept most of the way back here.
A fried dinner was waiting and I just relaxed until now. Tomorrow I will leave here before 10 am, as Margaret has an appointment then. Never mind. They say the weather ‘won’t be good’ tomorrow and will be worse on Wednesday. I am learning the Irish way of understating the weather. Tomorrow’s weather will be at its awful worst. It ‘won’t be good’! Ha! ‘Not bad’ means there might be some sun if you’re lucky. ‘Beautiful’ must mean a maximum over fifteen and only half a day of rain - I won’t hear that while I am here.
Today I spent 50p on coffee, £4.50 on the map, £2.35 at the post office, £1.85 on Guinness, £1.35 on busses and £2 at the library, totalling £12.55. Yesterday I spent nothing and Saturday was £2.35 (Guinness and Mass). That’s £15.40 in three days, a little over budget but I am confident that my money situation will be fine.
What I am beginning to think, however is that I won’t reach Dublin in time. I think I will end up catching a bus from somewhere.
posted by Bren Carlill @ 6:53 AM
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