Last month, Gilberto, Steph and I began an what would be an onslaught of weekend trips. In four weeks, we would travel three times, leaving only one weekend free for rest. Otherwise, our work week would end with us packing and waking up incredibly early to catch a plane - or would end with us scrambling to get our shit together so that we could rush ourselves to the airport.
Our first excursion was to Belfast (Northern Ireland) and Dublin (Ireland), where we had two incredibly different experiences in each city.
Just before boarding the plane to Belfast on the Friday, I brought out a handy little bottle that Katherine had lent me. Both of us are deathly affraid of flying, so she had lent me her "Bach's Rescue Relief Spray". A small bottle containing a liquid that tastes vaguely of rubbing alcohol, that is supposed to calm you down should you be in a situation where you would need calming. Now you're supposed to take a couple of sprays, but Gilberto really wanted to spray it, and because of the amount I flinched, I got about 9 sprays. I'm not sure if it worked though. We were sat at the very back of the plane, one of the most fearful places for me - I mean you can see the plane tip up and down and move and hear all the noises - no no, I much prefer the middle. So it seemed that my fear during this flight was not entirely appeased by this special spray. Though I'm sure it was brought down a notch. And I think Gil could have used some - he seemed really closterphobic in the back, so there was him freaking out and me freaking out - well...hey..wait..why didn't Steph freak out?? Oh yeah. she was asleep. sheesh.
Anyhow, moving on, I suppose our arrival into Belfast should have served as an indicator for how the rest of the day was going to go. We sat at the back of the plane, surrounded by big Irish guys missing teeth and speaking funny. Actually, the entire flight staff spoke funny. In fact, everyone in Ireland speaks funny, they kind of remind of the Sweedish chef from the muppets with the mumbles and the slurring and the awkward speech that makes no sense. Anyways just after we landed, the three of us were speaking and kind of rustling in our seats, maybe even talking to those giant Irish guys about it being our first time there, I don't know what the context of the conversation was but I said 'Oh well, my last name is Herlihey, maybe I'll be okay' to which I received an angry grunt of a reply 'this is the North'. I guess it should be noted that the Herlihey's come from County Cork, which is in Ireland, and pretty far south. I suppose the last name is more well known there and I quickly learned not dare speak it while in Belfast unless I wanted my teeth knocked in.
The airport, in general, proved to be difficult. After the incident with the rude plane passengers, we had to wait for Gilberto to be questioned the hell out of at customs because he didn't have his work permit - I guess a valid passport and an address as to where you're staying isn't enough. These people wanted to see every document we could possibly provide - because - heaven forbid, we fell in love with their runt of a city and wanted to stay there longer as squaters. And again, just as we were about to leave the airport we decided to check out car rentals, only to get the run around until they finally told us that they don't rent to kids under 24. Belfast was pulling out all the stops, and we'd only been inside the airport.
Needless to say, Belfast, in general, is a sore spot. So lets try to get through this as fast as we can so that the memories of that godforsaken town are rehashed as quickly as possible and then subsequently memories of Belfast are just as quickly repressed.
Point form people, point form:
- We spent nearly two hours walking to get to the Titanic dock (the only thing worth seeing in Beflast) to wind up at a garbage dump. I got pissed, I got blisters, I got us a ride - from the only nice guy in all of Northern Ireland.
- It is illegal to drink outside in Belfast. I know right. Of all places in Europe where it is illegal to drink outside, its fucking Belfast, N. Ireland. And the people aren't exactly kind to tell you so.
- Apparently people in Belfast can read your mind, you can walk up to a bouncer to ask a question and be told 'no' before you even open your mouth.
- According to one drunk N. Irish chick, I'm 'hot as fuck'
- Belfast lacks its own culture...only reason I can see why there are so freaking many North American chains there... including Tim Horton's.
- Guinness tasted like crap in Belfast...though that could have just been me trying to get used to it
- It rained, and I wore Vans, and didn't bring extra socks, I was hobbling along the streets by the end of the day
- Kids in Belfast are fucking strange. Like, they don't look like scene kids, they look like anime characters and hang out at Burger King. They wear moon boots and have tokyo hotel hair. During the day they hang out near the water. They are strange. STRANGE I tell you! STRANGE (i don't understand them young'ns...sheesh I'm getting old)
Unfortunately we didn't have much time in Dublin, but we did have enough time to check out a series of pubs in Templebar, a popular hot spot in Dublin, renowned for its authentic pubs and bars. The streets are literally lined with them. We visited three pubs while there. The first pub boasted a live band that played traditional Irish folk music (complete with fiddles). The place was crowded with people young and old, everyone yelling over each other, enjoying the music, and just having a great time in general. The band finished one set and we finished our pints of Guinness (or rather I shared Steph and Gilberto's pints) and we moved on. The second bar was more traditional, but also packed. As we walked around and settled we noticed that in the streets and bars there a lot of groups of young women dressed completely ridiculously. I think when we finally saw one group walking around with a blow up penis we clued in that these various groups were bachelorette parties that seemed to take over all of temple bar. The second bar played modern music, and some how we were sound enough of mind to remember the title of one song (which we asked a fellow patron for) to download when we returned to Geneva. We didn't stay at the second bar very long, but instead moved on to a third pub, which had a guy playing guitar in the corner - 90's classics - to a group of incredibly rowdy and drunk Irish peoples. And Scottish. And American. And well, he went through the list a few times - lets just say the group was diverse.
Gilberto was quick to make friends with the guitar player, who had the crowd jumping and singing and dancing the entire time. It was a great atmosphere and certainly proved to us quickly that not all of Ireland is full of bitter assholes (just Belfast) - but rather, Ireland is a place where you can have a good time with some very awesome people. Once the guitar player finished his set, and after I practically forced Gilberto and Steph out of the basement club they found (we had to get up early and I apparently took on the 'parent' role for this trip) we left and headed back to the hostel - but not without stopping to get some ice cream and have a completely incomprehensible conversation with an Irish couple (incomprehensible because of their accents....and alcohol intake). Everytime the girl would talk, Steph and I would look at each other and laugh - we seriously had no clue what she was saying. Slurred Irish accents - certainly the best thing you'll ever hear out of someone's mouth.
The next day, due to swollen feet / blisters (oh gee, that doesn't happen ever *cough cough Paris circa 2007*) I decided to forgo Steph and Gilberto's walk around Dublin and instead took a city tour bus. It was cold on top of the double decker, but totally worth it as I got to see most of Dublin and learn about its history. It turns out Dublin is a place with a lot of history outside the bars and Guinness brewery (which we unfortunately did not get to see). I later navigated my way (aka asked the bus driver) back to the main bus station to meet Gilberto and Steph, where we boarded a bus back to friggin' Belfast where we quickly hopped a plane and got the fuck out there! But not without eating at a trusty Subway first...I didn't get sick though, and I maintain it was because of my drug intake (tylenol and rescue relief spray).
We returned home, tired, sober, and me with a new pair of Guinness socks and a bag full of bandaids and blister care.
Moral of the story: don't wear Vans while traveling the rainy UK.
Photos:
Me terrified on the plane, because Gilberto was using electronic devices when they specifically told him not to!
Steph and I wandering the streets of Belfast. I think we are desperately looking for a place to eat / a bar - but when Steph went up to one she was told 'no' before we even asked the question. Then they said they weren't going let us in because Gilberto was drinking a beer in the street, which was illegal. Then they were rude. Then we left.
Gilberto unknowingly breaking the law
Tim Hortons - IN EUROPE - freaking expensive though!
The horror! The horror!
The EasyJet in flight magazine suggested we went to this small restaurant in Belfast. They didn't tell us how rude they would be when we decided to order a side of Soda Bread.
After spending quite a bit of time walking down a derelict street in Belfast, I finally got pissed and decided to hitch hike my way out of there. We were supposed to be seeing the titanic dock, but after an hour of walking (with blisters) all we had seen is abandoned ship yards and garbage dumps. Finally George, the nicest man in Northen Ireland - who runs/owns a small tour bus and who runs/owns a b&b - came by and drove us to the Titanic dock, and then back to the city - where we went straight to the pub to have some Guinness - see below.
Apparently this fish thing is a tourist attraction in Belfast. That and creepy anime character scene kids.
One of our last stops in Belfast - a church.
Gilberto, Steph, and a bunch of drunks from Scottland. Belting out the 90's classics!
The guitar guy - doing his thing.
