Belfast: It's Britain, Not Ireland

In a land not too far away from Southern Ireland, there is a little city called Belfast. Although located in the exact same land mass as what is called the REPUBLIC OF IRELAND with no water or barriers separating the two, it is like entering a strange new land.

There are no pot holes in the roads, and the signs and the buildings all look English.

It is only out in the countryside where the houses start to look more Irish, bar the Union Jack and Ulster flags flying high as you enter the towns.

Nobody drinks Barry's tea. Twinings appears to be the preferred brew.
There is Irish stew but no bacon and cabbage on the menu.
The people speak with that lilt - the kind that everybody thinks of when you mention the Irish accent and then comment about how much they love the sound of it. It's the "Movie-Irish-Accent" - the "In the Name of the Father" kind with none of that southern country hick.

There is less of a presence of the Catholic church hovering over all aspects of life - I one time had to "compete" with Priest and ended up sending him away from an old lady's house. I had an appointment, he did not and he had decided to "call in" to the house unannounced. God has eternity anyway and I had to explain to him - (I mean the Priest, not God,) that I have mileage restrictions.

Catholicism in the north is contained in the "Catholic areas". Irish from the Republic if venturing north would always feel slightly on edge, with a preference to hang around in the "Catholic areas". My colleagues advised me that most would never dream of venturing north as they just wouldn't feel comfortable. People in the Republic are always somewhat puzzled by the Troubles in the north and feel like everybody should just relax.

Hardly anybody is called Niamh, Dierdre, Grainne, Padraig, and if they are, they are most undoubtedly Catholic with parents who give their kids Irish names with every intention of nobody being able to pronounce their names such as "Caoimhin" (Kevin) and "Concobhar" (Conor). Having a funny Irish name is like a badge of honour for the Catholics up North.

The more sensitive (Protestant) Northern Irish apparently don't like it when you call Northern Ireland "The North" and the Republic of Ireland "The South". Heh, whaddaya going to do? Beat me up in cyberspace? :p

Northern Ireland to the Northern Irish as my Northern Irish colleague says is "Ireland but with better roads and infrastructure."

Belfast is interesting for its political history given that all the Troubles happened not very long ago. Tourism only really kicked off back in the late 90's. Be sure to go on the Black Taxi Tour - there's nothing more authentic about being driven around by an "old codger" telling you all about life in Belfast during the time of political unrest from his own personal perspective.

Incidentally, we had two American girls in our cab, and they did a whole lot of, "Oh my gawd, that's so awesome," about anything and everything (including the Royal Mail post boxes), which annoyed the hell out of the old cabbie. "Why can't they be more relaxed like you?" he mutter under his breath to me.

Some of the murals are really eerie, and although the city is relatively peaceful, there is still the presence of barb wire and locked down communities.

There's also still signs of sectarianism simmering under the surface.

Sometimes you've gotta rub your eyes and wonder whether you've been transported to the "Deep South".

Americans. They are fucking everywhere in Belfast because they all think they're Irish and want to tell you their whole fucking life story. "My mom's great-great-great grandfather's uncle's brother's sister-in-law came from Killarney and then moved to the States back in the 1800's...." zzzzzzzzzzz. I am not exaggerating. I one time emailed the Roho Group in the States and as my email signature included the Community Services address, I ended up getting the answer to my question, and then a separate email from the same guy telling me about how his great-great-great-great grandfather's uncle's brother (you get the drift,) came from M town and pretty much his entire life story starting from 1894. They do a pilgrimage to Ireland at some point in their life to trace their roots, and many advised me that Ireland is their NUMBER ONE destination in Europe. (Me: "Really?! But why?!!") Then we had all these Irish people (who cannot pronounce their "th") telling people that I was from Perth, which meant I had all these Americans at the hostel coming up to me going, "I heard you're from Perrrrt." (Me: "Noooo! Not Pert! Perth!!)

Somebody in the marketing department made the executive decision of equating the new and "exciting" shopping centres to stripper poses.

Must be a Northern Irish thing.

Regardless of your religion or political views, Ireland is still Ireland. By this I mean the weather was shit. So big is the irony of the Irish "summer", that I actually took this crappy photos of the ad on the bus.

On the Belfast tourist website, they have posted many misleading photos such as this of Belfast Castle.

In reality, it looks something more like this:

(Above: Me saying to A: "Let's take our one obligatory photo and get the hell out of here.")

It was torrential rain every single day (yeah, I actually considered buying another pair of gum boots), bar the day we decided to do a day tour out to Giant's Causeway.

Okay, the sun wasn't shining the entire day, but at least it was mostly dry! My winning streak of sunshine when road tripping in Ireland still continues.

Along the way at the Bushmills distillery we spied some "Guinness cows" - tee hee hee. Obviously not the real name for the breed of cow, but when they're striped black and white like that, they're obviously eating grass laced with Guinness.


As for Giant's Causeway....yeah, the rock formations were pretty cool, but I was expecting maybe something a little bigger....? (The photos on the web kinda lie.) To me, the rock formations were more of the "little" rather than of the "giant" variety.