I was excited as we made our descent: this would be my first time on the island of Ireland.
I got a bus to the city. I’d spoken to the driver as I boarded, and he said he’d let me know as we got close to my hotel. The landscape en route was lush, and dusk had started shooing the sun. As we entered a built-up area, I took out my phone and followed on Google Maps. We did indeed come close and then headed away. I had no way of knowing the route, so I waited for the driver to give me the sign. When he halted and turned off the bus, I spoke with him again. He’d forgotten about me. He explained how I could get to my room, but his thick accent made it difficult for me to understand. I gave up and hopped in a black cab. This driver was warm, pointing out the places of interest along the way, assuring me that we’d be there in no time. He didn’t disappoint.
It was rather late after checking in; I quickly walked to the nearest supermarket for supplies, and then called it a night.
This accommodation was at least as good as the place in Nunhead, though the décor was slightly sparser. I entered my unit into a hallway. To my left were two doors. To my right were a double-door cupboard and another door. Inside the cupboard were a washing machine, an ironing board, an iron, and one portion of washing powder. The first door on the left led to a spacious bathroom with tub and shower. Again, the tub would go unused due to time constraints. The second door led to a bedroom, where the king size bed was made by pushing two ¾ beds together. This was probably the only thing I didn’t like, and this is a complaint I have about many hotel beds. Two mattresses pushed together have an obvious rise in the middle which is not comfortable when rolling over and less comfortable when stretching across. Now I realise that many people are used to sharing a bed, but I’m not, and I use the whole space with relish. A raised bit in the middle is never welcome. But I digress. The door to the right led to a very spacious kitchen-living room. This was slightly bigger than the bathroom and bedroom combined, and was really lovely. The kitchen was equipped with enough crockery and cutlery for four people. Once again there was a dishwasher I didn’t use. No recycling containers were provided.
I had a car booked for the next morning. I’d booked with the same company because Europcar seemed the only reasonably priced option. To get the vehicle, I had to ride a bus. Google Maps led me to a stop, but there a driver pointed to a sign, and then kindly stopped anyway to explain. “Set down only” indicated that passengers were allowed to alight but not board the bus. He pointed me in the right direction, but like yesterday, his accent forestalled comprehension. I was now running late, so I phoned Europcar. Even though I’d sourced the phone number for their location in Belfast from Google Maps, I was nevertheless put through to a central call centre somewhere else. After a short befuddled exchange, the operator affirmed that he would contact Belfast to let them know.
The location is an odd choice. Customers who are hiring a car don’t have
their own transportation, so you’d expect such a company to be in the middle of
the city, surrounded by hotels. This one
is far from the centre. When I finally
found the correct downtown stop, I rode for 13 stops. Arriving, the slightly camp assistant was
friendly and informative. I was given
the keys to a Kia, my first time ever in a car from this manufacturer. It also had a manual transmission, and like
the other vehicle, the handbrake was a button, and the lights and wipers were
automatically controlled. This one had
an easy-to-use satnav, so I put my phone aside and followed the car’s
instructions.
My first stop today was at Giant’s Causeway. This is run by the National Trust and it is one of Northern Ireland’s quintessential attractions. For me there was a musical bent: Felix Mendelssohn wrote a concert overture inspired by a similar natural structure further north in the Inner Seas, on the Scottish island of Staffa. Mendelssohn’s muse was a basalt sea cave called Fingal’s Cave, and his overture, which is actually titled The Hebrides, is also colloquially known as Fingal’s Cave. In addition, I’d seen basalt columns a couple of years earlier on Taiwan’s Penghu Islands. Today, it took about 90 minutes to drive there, and to be honest, I was somewhat disappointed. The area was very beautiful and well maintained, but the formation itself might have been named “Causeway of the Dwarf Giants.” The columns were way squatter than I’d anticipated.
 |
| (Giant's Causeway) |
My next stop was at Springhill, a manor house
not far from Lough Neagh. You can read
about its history here. This drive would take an
hour. The place was, like all the
others, in the gorgeous countryside. I
was warmly received and directed to the house, where I had to wait. In this place, visitors were guided. Our guide was informative, but ultimately,
I’ve forgotten most of what she said. I
prefer wandering at my own pace and choosing for myself the items that beg
further reading. What was fantastically
interesting was a preserved, hand-written copy of the warrant for the execution
of Charles I, King of England.
 |
| (Springhill) |
Since this venue took up more time than I’d
expected, I decided to remove the next one from my day’s plan: The Argory was
only 30 minutes away, but it would close before I could make it. I headed instead to Castle Ward on the
southern bank of Strangford Lough, which I thought would remain open later. It took 90 minutes to drive there, and once I
arrived, I couldn’t figure out where to park.
Here the lanes had narrowed, not unlike those in Cornwall, but not such
that the grasses could scratch at the paint on the car. It also looked to be closing, so I checked my
information again, only to discover that the house had already closed, and only
the garden remained open for another half hour or so. I opted instead to return to Belfast. I felt rather sad that I had missed two
possibly majestic places, but being unable to manufacture more daytime hours, I
retreated somewhat downtrodden. I could
only muster getting some supplies and returning to the accommodation for the
night. I did, however, take care of my
laundry.
I’d planned to spend the second day walking around Belfast. There were galleries and museums to keep me occupied. But when I woke, I decided that I simply had to see another National Trust property. I returned the Kia to Europcark, and then made my way to Donegall Square. The bus I needed would be a wee while, so I hopped into Gregg’s for only the second sausage roll of my trip. Needing to use the facilities, I left one bag at the table while taking the other to the bathroom with me. At least one person noticed this and reacted almost imperceptibly. I thought he must have wondered why one was important and the other wasn’t. However, upon reflection, it might have been out of fear. I discovered after landing in the UK that Northern Ireland was on high alert for terrorism. The Troubles that wreaked havoc for three decades from the 1960s to the 1990s were starting to simmer again post-Brexit. There were reports of incidents in the news while I was in Belfast, and I feel dreadful for the ordinary folk who just want to get on with life.
Warum kann die
Welt nicht leben und leben lassen?
On the bus, I bought a single ticket to Newtownards, where I’d need a different bus. In Newtownards, I bought a return ticket, and was dropped right outside the entrance to Mount Stewart. This manor house lies on the northeastern bank of Strangford Lough. You can read about its history here. I really loved this place! After wandering around the house, I had a latte at the coffee shop.
 |
| (Mount Stewart) |
Then I had to wait in light rain for transportation back. Arriving at Newtownards, I asked which bus might carry me to Belfast. This very vehicle would continue to the capital. Though I was unable to produce the original ticket that I’d used that morning, the driver let me stay on until his final destination. How nice!
Honestly, I found the Northern Irish very warm
and friendly. Their accent was at times
hard to understand, but their cadence was pleasant. They use the word “wee” a lot a lot a
lot. I was asked to sign my wee
signature, given the wee wifi code, told where the wee lift was, and directed
on a wee walk to the supermarket.
Sometimes I had to wait a wee while until a wee assistant could help
me. They also have an interesting way of
answering “How are you?” There is first
a hint of negative before something positive triumphs. I won’t be able to do it justice, but it was
something like this:
“How are you?”
“Well, the pollution today is bad, but my
lungs stay clear.”
Theirs was way more poetic and fluid than my
pathetic attempt above, but you get the picture. All in all, they seemed genuinely nice
people. Folks on the street tended to
step out the way as I took pictures.
This happens sometimes wherever I travel, but on the whole, people don’t
care. I got the impression here that it
was a general nicety; I admired them all the more. Also, while I felt a little cold most of the
time, the locals wore their summer shorts, which was a sight for sore
eyes.
Back at Dream Apartments, the current receptionist, upon hearing that I was South African, began reciting My Sarie Marais, an Afrikaans song from the pre-democratic era. This was entirely unexpected. It turned out he’d been a member of one or other of her majesty’s armed forces and had done a stint in my country. What a hoot!
After resting for a while, I got ready for the night’s entertainment. I walked the distance to the Grand Opera House. En route, I passed some bars from which hung rainbow flags. I guess I’d be going back this way afterwards.
 |
| (Belfast) |
The Buddy Holly Story was
promising…
This
sensational multi award-winning West End and Broadway show first opened in 1989
and has been thrilling audiences around the world ever since. Now it returns to
The Grand Opera House as part of its 2023 UK Tour, starring AJ Jenks as, the
original rock’n’roller, Buddy Holly.
Forget feel
good, Buddy – The Buddy Holly Story is FEEL GREAT! Experience the drama,
passion and excitement as a multi-talented cast of actor-musicians tell Buddy
Holly’s story, from his Texas rockabilly beginnings to international stardom
and his legendary final performance at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa,
before his tragic death at the age of just 22.
Featuring
two terrific hours of the greatest songs ever written, including That’ll Be The
Day, Oh Boy, Rave On, La Bamba, Chantilly Lace, Johnny B. Goode, Raining In My
Heart, Everyday, Shout and many many more, this show is just Peggy Sue–perb!
Arriving, the usher at the entrance was being pestered by a bee that wanted desperately to sit on her face. I ordered a pre-show glass of red wine. The barlady got it wrong and poured two. She then offered to keep the second one until intermission.
 |
| (Grand Opera House) |
I enjoyed the first half
of the show, which was indeed the story of Buddy’s rise to fame. The theatre was almost full, though up in the
gallery, where I sat, plenty of seats were empty. Members of the audience were boisterous, and
I guess this kind of show lends itself to clapping to the beat and a little
sing-along. I hate both of these
behaviours, the first one because non-musicians almost always clap off the
beat, and the second one because I didn’t pay for an unpracticed voice to
destroy the experience. However, I was
certainly outnumbered, as it seemed everyone got in on the action. Luckily, the amplified sound from the actual
performers drowned most of the audience out.
Twenty or so seats to the left of me was a man who felt that, apart from
clapping and singing, he should also loudly agree or disagree with lines from
the script.
During the intermission, I enjoyed the second
glass of wine. Returning for the second
half, though, all the history disappeared, and what was presented was an
anthology of his music, one hit after another, uninterrupted. This is not consistent with the title; there
was now no STORY at all. Only right at
the end did they play an apparent radio broadcast announcing his death in a
plane crash. I didn’t enjoy the second
half. Instead, I busied myself fretting
about the particles that I was inhaling – a spotlight to my right lit the air
in front of it so brightly that I could see thousands of tiny particles
floating in the very air I was breathing.
After the show, I decided to walk back to
those pubs flying the rainbow flag. I
chose one and entered. This was the
first time in years I’d been into a place that seemed to exist for the gay
community, and I was both excited and reticent.
There was a group roughly mid-bar, made up of perhaps 4 men and one
woman. They had been at it for a while,
and seemed jolly. They also seemed
entirely straight. I sat at one end of
the bar, furthest from the door, shielded from intruders by the group just
mentioned. On offer was Guinness on tap
and several versions of Guinness in bottles.
Those were the only beers.
Spirits were also for sale, judging from the conversation I was
overhearing. I chose a pint of Guinness,
then one bottle and later another. I
chatted a little with the barman, who also seemed straight as an arrow. I’m not sure what I thought I might find on a
Tuesday night in a small capital city on the Irish Sea, but it failed to entice
me to stay out long. I took the third
drink home.
While the flags here were the “traditional”
rainbow flag of LGBTQ+ solidarity, I had, since Southampton, seen this flag
everywhere:
I didn’t know what it meant, and the companions I asked were not sure. Getting back to Taiwan, I’d find that it signifies that all are welcome. I like this. Inclusion is so much better than separation. Liberation movements have their place and raison d'être, but should always be followed by conciliatory efforts, lest we segregate ourselves into tiny, insulated, distrustful communities.
Heiraten
The next morning,
after emptying the fridge of my supplies, I wandered to the ferry port. It was an easy walk northward and I reached
my destination within 20 minutes. In the
waiting room was a make-shift snack bar.
It reminded me of a coffee and toast stand inside a church hall during a
social. Some rudimentary equipment stood
on regular counters. A lone woman took
the orders and then prepared the food and drinks. The prices of the limited items were the
cheapest I’d seen on the trip. I ordered
my third sausage roll and a coffee.
I became aware of a man possibly thirty years my senior. He was holding a tall staff, a crude walking stick, it would turn out, and falling asleep, bopping his head. I became aware of him because he seemed to notice me. There was an announcement about our departure, and he asked me to repeat, as he’d not caught it. He was Canadian, traveling alone for several months. He’d lost his phone or his watch, and he felt the need to tell me that he’d lost lots of weight and his pants were falling down. He asked me a question that surprised me, and I will get back to it in a day, when the same question was asked by a different person. It was interesting talking to him, but when boarding began, I didn’t hold back to his speed.
I had a movie on my phone that I’d been dying
to see for months. I’d been unable to
buy it in Taiwan due to those pesky licensing laws that I wish the
entertainment industry would get over and bring to an end. While in London, it
had popped into my head, and I’d found that Google TV was selling it here! Awesome!
With a three-hour ferry ride ahead, this two-hour Dampyr would be just what
the doctor ordered. I’d brought my
Bluetooth speakers along. With these
over my ears and the phone screen on the dinner tray, I disappeared into that
realm to which one teleports in a movie theatre.
The ferry eventually departed an hour
late. Not all seats were occupied, but
this was a very large vessel. I was on
Manannan, one of three vessels operated by Manx Ferries. My internet service, spotty as it had been
earlier in the trip, cut out completely halfway across the Irish Sea. I’d find out later in a text from the service
provider that this was because I hadn’t activated roaming before leaving the UK.
I’m very glad they sent this message; I now knew to do this before
my quick stop on the European mainland at the end of my holiday, and THANK GOD! More
about that later. These waters of the
Irish Sea were perfectly calm. Due to
Manx licensing laws, the bar at the stern of the vessel had to close halfway
across. I had not felt like a drink
until I heard that announcement.
You may wonder why I mention leaving the UK when I’m clearly in the Irish Sea, somewhere between Northern Ireland and northern England. I didn't know when I lived in England that the Isle of Man is not part of the UK. It is a crown dependency that governs itself; certain facets of statehood are managed by the UK on its behalf. The country has its own Manx Airlines; it is not a member of the United Nations. It’s a complicated system, and fascinating in a way not unlike the status of City of London. Two more crown dependencies are Guernsey and Jersey. You can read about the intricacies of these arrangements on the internet.