British Isles- Day 10- Belfast, Northern Ireland

Friday, July 21,2011- Belfast, Northern Ireland.

The ship had berthed at the Belfast docks overnight. We arose at 7 A.M. It was 53 degrees, sunny and crisp out. From our balcony, we could see the activities of a busy commercial port. The Harland & Wood ship repair yard seemed hard at work. The Titanic had been built here. The Union Jack flew from various flag poles. A band of Irish pipers were playing dockside. We heard and enjoyed them play the stirring tune of “The Gary Owen” and the more plaintive appeal of “Danny Boy” (Londonderry aire)

We breakfasted in the Horizons cafe with couples from California and Arizona. The talk was friendly, as we all readied for our day in
Northern Ireland. The area had been a war zone for much of my lifetime until the early 1990’s peace accords. I was anxious to see a city that I had watched on television for decades. Our group met in the Princess Theater and then walked down the gangways to our bus. We were touring the scenic Antrim Coast and the legendary “Giant’s Causeway” today.

Driver Greg and tour guide Emily greeted us and we were off. Emily briefly explained the evolution of Northern Ireland and the partition of its six counties in 1922 from the 26 counties of Eire to the South. A recent plebiscite had shown that 60 % of the voters in Northern Ireland still favored allegiance to the Crown over unification with Eire to the South. Another vote is scheduled in two years.

Agribusiness is a major source of commerce in the north, after ship repair. Barley, wheat and oats supply the makings for good Irish whiskey. Sheep, woolen products and cattle for beef are the other economic mainstays.

As the bus careened north along the motorway, we could see Lough Neagh in the distance. The large Loch touches five of the six counties and is a source of eels for food. It’s not my taste, but to each their own. Patches of potatoes, both queens and reds, reminded us that this is after all Ireland with its green green grass, sheep and friendly people.

It was a 90 minute ride to the North Coast. Emily did her best to fill us in with cultural chit chat. She and her colleagues had a name for the chatter, “MMBA’s” (mindless minutiae of bugger all.” Still it kept our interest up. We stopped at a high promontory along the Antrim coast to look out upon the ocean. The dim visage of Scotland lay just 20 miles across the Irish Sea. Since ancient times, fishermen and other merchants had traded across the sea with their Gaelic cousins.

Beneath us, along the water’s edge, we could see the thin rope bridge that let out to a small island. The fishermen use it and the tourists love to walk out on its shaky expanse and be photographed there. It is scenic and beautiful ireland at its best.

The bus traversed the Antrim coastal road. We enjoyed the visage of a very blue Irish sea and the dark expanse of Scotland just at the horizon. On a sunny day, the view along the coast is incomparable. Finally we pulled into the very large complex that is the “Giant’s Causeway.” A good sized Inn sits atop a rise of green land that is about two hundred feet above the sea below. The actual formation is a series of basalt columns that had been pushed from an ancient volcano into the

sea. The cool water had fractured the basalt mass of rock into a tight collection of octagonal columns that looks like a man made causeway extending out into the sea. The surrounding cliffs are craggy and erose with that dark volcanic appearance that is eerie at sunset or in the early morning.

We got off the bus into a virtual sea of other tourists from everywhere. Some of them were off the Princess. Others were from various land cruisers on tours of one sort or another. We walked down the steeply sloping roadway towards the sea. A shuttle bus was available for those who were unable to make the walk.

It was about a 3/4 mile walk to the sea. Along the way we were treated to the very blue ocean crashing upon these dark volcanic rocks. The coast of Southern California is similar in appearance. A procession of other pilgrims was walking in both directions, enjoying the sun and sea of a beautiful day oceanside.

At the bottom of the hill we came upon the first rock formations. They are geometric in their octagonal shapes. Your mind does a shift, wondering at the precise nature of the rock shapes. It is easy to see how the early inhabitants made up so many stories about a giant walking across these stones to Scotland after an old enemy. The irish do love to spin a yarn and this place had inspired many.

Tourists were scrambling all over the various rock formations with cameras snapping all around us. We did the same, smiling for posterity.
The cool ocean air was invigorating and the warm sun made you feel glad to be alive. The scenery here would never tire you. We saw the path ahead leading up another quarter of a mile to a bluff along the sea, but we didn’t think we had time to pursue it. I can see why you would want to stay at an Inn here and wander the cliffside trails for a few days.

The walk back up the hill reminded us of our age, but it felt good. We sat along the way at intervals, to enjoy the crashing surf on the dark rocks below us. Your eyes could drink in this visage forever. Finally we returned to the top and the swarm of tourist around the Inn. A small ice cream stand was under siege. The gift shop was wall to wall people. We saw and said hello to John and Susan from New Jersey and then walked the cliff path, enjoying the view. A bus load of Spanish teenagers were singing and carrying on like all kids their age. They were happy to be her and young and alive. Good for them !

After an hour,the bus returned and we filed into our seats glad we
had come here. Emily directed the bus a few miles down the picturesque coast road to the small sea side town of Port Rush. This is a sea side resort that the everyday Irish come to. We exited the bus and walked along the harbor front. Small fishing craft lay at anchor in the protected harbor behind a breakwall. The beach area was flush with small children running hither and yon. The ocean temps were but sixty degrees, but people were swimming and wading in the cool surf.

A miniature amusement park, above the beach, offered rides and games for the smaller people. Ice cream stands did a brisk business. The area looked both prosperous and happy.

We walked down Main street, eyeing the small shops. Most are of the “beachy” variety, trinkets and beach bric a brac. They were all busy though. We found a small cafe named “Morelli’s” and sat down for some good coffee and those delightful scones with clotted cream and jam. It was becoming a favorite of ours. Then, we found an internet cafe and tried to send a few messages into the ether. The service was “dial up” and as slow as molasses.

The walk back was enjoyable. Lots of people were here on vacation. They all seemed as happy as families could be at the beach on a sunny day in July. It was a far cry form the war torn visage of Ireland a few decades back. It was good for me to see this.

It was mid afternoon and the day was waning. We had a ninety minute run back into Belfast ahead of us. We saddled up and headed in . Emily did her best with MMBA to entertain us. We enjoyed the very green visage of a rural Ireland from our windows. The bus made good time and Emily decided to give us a brief glimpse of the City of Belfast.

The hundred year old City Hall and adjacent Victoria Square here are solid and impressive. Statues, flags and memorials draw people to the square for all manner of celebrations. The waterfront and downtown area had been heavily bombed during W.W. II. Many of the buildings here are of newer construction. Belfast, like much of Eire, sits on a sandy bog. The bedrock is 90 feet below the surface. It called for some creative engineering solutions. They don’t always work however. The city had erected a large statue and monument to Victoria’s consort Prince Albert. The foundation had started to slip beneath it and it now tilts discernibly to one side, making it the local venison of the leaning tower of Pisa.

The fortress like edifice of the main police station, with its fifteen- foot fencing, was one of the sole reminders of the “troubles.” I had seen this building on television for years. It was a grim reminder of a time of strife in Eire that is hopefully now [past. We didn’t get to see “bogside” the Catholic enclave, but I could see the Irish tricolor flying above a tall building in the distance. The old loyalties die hard among the Irish.

The bus carted us back through the Harland and Wood shipyards and other repair facilities to our dockside berth. A light rain fell at 5:00 P.M. as we sat on our Balcony and enjoyed a dram of Bushmills that I had
purchased along our route. Hey, this is Eire! What did you think, I would be drinking a pepsi?

We cleaned up for dinner and headed off to the Michaelangelo Dining room. We were meeting John and Susan from New Jersey. Sylvia, an English woman and her husband, whose name I never got because of all the chatter, joined us. We had a mushroom tort, oyster soup, filet of salmon and some Bavarian Chocolate cake, washed down with a Mondavi Cabernet. It was a memorable repast like the others.

After dinner, Mary and I rode up to the “Skywalkers Lounge” on deck 18. The views here, out over the ocean, are inspiring. The place didn’t open until 10 P.M. though and that was too late for these pilgrims. We repaired to our cabin where I sampled another dram of Bushmlls, just to make sure I had the taste down. We read for a time and then retired on a cool night in Ireland. The ship had left her berth during dinner and was headed across the irish Sea to Greenoch, the port of Glasgow, Scotland.