Hellfast

Greetings weary readers! We awoke at around 10am after effectively sleeping for somewhere between the vicinity of 12-14 hours in an effort to get over our stubborn colds. I can safely assure you that the stranglehold it has had on us has weakened, and this was shown by Zach’s lack of inconvenient nosebleeds today.

We decided to check out the town, and see what this hole has to offer. The answer...nothing at all really. They have their own ‘Brisbane Eye’ – a pitiful excuse of a Ferris Wheel marking the city centre – and this was juxtaposed with the ‘statement making’ city hall that neighboured it. After being heckled by a group of blue collar (their shirts were blue also...) tour guides trying to flog their sub-par tours of a sub-par city, we settled on a free tour offered by a spritely mature-aged chap by the name of Arthur. His tour focused more on how far Belfast has come since ‘The Troubles’ and how they are bridging the gap to a better Belfast. He started the tour by describing how the main city areas were barricaded off and that getting in to the city required searches not unlike what you would experience at an airport. Then, upon entering a shop in that barricaded spot required another search. Those these barricades have been torn down, one such still remains as an example: The police station has an outpost with bullet proof windows and was surrounded by reinforced concrete walls with a 2 metre high barricade on top of that. Ironically though, as pointed out by the tour guide, there was a lone ‘Police’ sign sticking out just above the outpost. As we walked along, we saw tank jeeps drive in to the compound – each of them bearing ‘POLICE’ and their associated colours in clear paint. An example of ‘Normal, but not really normal’ according to our guide.

And that really was the motto of Belfast. People seemed ambivalent to these striking views. Where there was a large IRA bombing in the city, killing a large amount of people, there was no plaque commemorating those that had died there. However, we soon learned that people have come to accept what happened. People know what happened. But they want to strive forward and work towards something brighter.

Anyway, we walked around the city and out to the river where we could see the Harland and Wolff shipyard in the distance – the same shipyard that built the Titanic back in 1912. However, the people are quick to point out that despite Belfast being known for its ‘violent and racist wars and the construction of the doomed Titanic ship,’ it was not at fault for the death of so many people on that ship. They mostly blamed a man named Joseph Bruce Ismay and the fact that it was sunk by an Englishman. They even have that on t-shirts in the shops here – ‘RMS Titanic – built by Irishmen...sunk by an Englishman.’

We almost walked on to the set of an upcoming movie ‘Kill Bono’ about a guy who was in the same class as the motley crue of the band U2, and is jealous because his band never reached the same amount of stardom. We watched the filming for a while, but then decided to head to the first Presbyterian church for a quick tour. The man there was very knowledgeable and friendly and let us look around and take pictures. He also informed us more about this Ismay character, and how he asked to have the number of lifeboats on the ship reduced because the First-Class passengers would not have an adequate enough view. Essentially, the Titanic had enough lifeboats for everyone on board to begin with. From the vibe I got from the tour guide, people don’t really like this Ismay character too much. Apparently he did some other stuff in regards to the Titanic sinking, and he managed to safely get onto a lifeboat and escape, but apparently he had to have his right leg amputated so it’s good.

After leaving the church, our tour guide gave a lecture to some passer-byers inspecting the church. This resulted in a heated conversation; (read in traditional Irish accent)

“My name is Arthur, what is your name?”
“You’re speaking to Norman”

The other guy quickly walked away exclaiming “I don’t want to get shot” and entered the nearest clothing store in fear for his safety. This was not the only time our Arthur got into a heated debate. Not soon after, he was being heckled by the same tour company that heckled us...

“Look at you, walking around Belfast for 3 hours! You must be tired! You must be knackered”
“It beats spending three hours behind him”

They heckled each other a little bit more. That was just a notable snippet. Eventually our tour rounded out at the Ulster hall, where a notable range of music performers have played over the years. Apparently Led Zeppelin played Stairway to Heaven there the first time. He then explained to us that he was in a band and that he was best friends with the producer of Joy Division. I guess friendship means nothing in the music business if your band is crap.

Anyway, we stopped over at Crown Bar for a feed. We were recommended the ‘Crown Champ’ – a combination of mashed potato and sausages and some other thing which we didn’t know, but instead we decided on something a little bit more flattering. After we ate (while watching Stoke City smash Arsenal 3-1 and the Irish patrons overwhelmed with laughter and joy) we decided to head up to the mural dedicated to those who perished as a result of the needless conflict. Just as we got up to the neighbouring houses just outside of the city, we were met with a nearly full beer can, coming from the top level of a large apartment complex, falling and exploding on the patchy bitumen sidewalk in front of us. We both thought that the IRA were bombing again. But we were thankfully mistaken when we didn’t see any AK-47 wielding, balaclava wearing Leprechauns come out afterwards. After that, we walked through a neighbourhood that was most unsanitary and unsettling, and walked across a bridge overpass that was caged off, preventing people jumping off to the Westlink highway below. Not surprising really, seeing as I would jump off if I had to spend another day in this god forsaken city.

Anyway, we returned home as it started to get dark, and it felt as if we were going to get killed if we stayed out any longer. On the way to dinner, after coming to the conclusion that ‘hey, Dublin isn’t THAT bad after all,’ I alerted Zach to the freshly blood-splattered sidewalk near our hostel. It really has come a long way from its violent ways.

As I’m sitting in this hostel (perhaps the only fantastic thing Belfast has to offer. Brilliant and helpful staff, free wifi in the room and no creaky stairs) typing this blog, I looked out the window to the street below where I see people exiting the church in direct line of sight, and as I watched them file off one by one to their cars, as optimistic and cheerful as they were, I wondered how they could ever believe in God while they live in a hole such as this.