The Plan:

I’ll start by saying I have always wanted to go to Ireland. It’s drawn me as long as I can remember. I am, however, a bit of a wimp, so, since no one in my life seemed to share my passion for Ireland, “Maybe next year” was a familiar refrain. Until this January, that is, when I planted the seed of a trip to Ireland in my best friend’s mind. Once she informed me that she was dead set on going to Greece, however, I knew it would take some work. I’m basically the whitest white person ever, and the sun is not my friend. Greece simply wasn’t on my radar screen. “There’s lots of booze in Ireland,” I told her, trying to appeal to her love for libations. Didn’t quite work though, so I reiterated how green Ireland is, knowing that she works in horticulture. She seemed to be bending a little, so I went in for the coup de grace: “There are lots of rugby players in Ireland to look at…with accents.” I saw her eyes light up. Home run.

We got some guidebooks and started researching possible destinations and flight prices. Originally, we had planned to go on a two week trip, but at the moment we were going to book our tickets online, my friend blurted out “Let’s go for three weeks! I mean, since the flights are so expensive, we should make the trip worth it.” Ignoring the little voice of reason in the back of my head that was telling me how illogical it was to spend even MORE money on a third week, in order to make expensive flights ‘worth it’, I agreed. And so, our flights were booked. On St. Patrick’s Day. Yes, I’m corny.

Now, for a little background on us – Me: 26 years old, compulsively organized, slightly shy (read: a complete goof in social situations). My friend, J: 25 years old, a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants type of girl and a social butterfly. The best friend anyone could ask for, really. We’re both pretty low maintenance girls and only need some nice cold drinks and some fun people to keep us happy. Oh, and we’re Canadian.

A little background on the type of trip this was to be – neither of us drive, because I’m a wimp, and she’s lazy. No, seriously, we just don’t. So this trip was to be accomplished using public transport. I hope this report will be useful to anyone planning a trip in Ireland this way – there doesn’t seem to be too much information on travellers’ experiences with the bus system there, and I know I got discouraged more than once after reading for the thousandth time that the only way to see Ireland is with a car. Also, we’re fairly budget travellers. Not the weird hippy kind though. Originally, we had planned to stay in hostels for the entire trip (in private rooms, with our own ensuite bathroom – because, sharing bathrooms with boys? Gross!) but as the plan came together, we sprinkled some Bed and Breakfasts and even a Castle into our itinerary.

After our flights were booked, I spent countless hours researching bus routes, hostels, day trip options, the best pubs, etc. etc. This was to be our first unescorted trip to Europe (I’d been to France on a school trip and she had been to Spain and Portugal with Contiki), so I wanted to have a bit of a plan. Upon seeing the binder full of info I’d assembled, J commented that she’d have to stick to me like glue, and if we got separated, I was to check the gutters for a drunk girl saying “I think we’re in Belfast….”. I think she was only half joking.

Finally, after 5 months of planning, and of torturing friends, family members and coworkers with countdowns and with every minute detail of our plan, our day of departure was here. Yay!

(As you can probably tell by now, this WILL be quite long. So stop reading if that puts you off. You will, however, miss many sheep references, so skip it at your own risk.)

Sounds like this will be a good one-staying tuned.

Bookmarking. Looking forward to more.

A long Irish trip report with lots of sheep references??? Count me in!!

Diane

Looking forward to your report! I can tell you have a great sense of humor.

By the way, you and your best friend sound just like me and my best friend. When we were young, I was the shy one and she was the outgoing flirt. Worked out great. We are now in our 50's and still best friends. I'm not so shy anymore but we still crack each other up!

bookmarking. Sounds like this'll be a report not to miss!

Sounds good so far! I loved all the information I found on public transit for my own trip, so I'm sure people will be interested.

Thanks for the encouragement everyone! The first installment is coming right up.

maureencol: I hope my friend and I stay as close as we are into our 50s too! We really were perfect travelling companions - I wouldn't have wanted to have this experience with anyone else.

Takeoff! And Days 1-4 in Dublin:

After enjoying a farewell meal at a local restaurant (if I’d known how many sandwich-type foods I’d be eating on this trip, I might not have had a sandwich for my farewell meal), we were at the airport and on our way. We had to connect in another city, where we had a 5 hour wait for our flight to Dublin. We occupied ourselves by having some really terrible chicken wings and downing Diet Cokes that had to be poured into cups because of the ban on liquids. We also heard a few Irish accents and saw a few Irish passports, which caused us to become giggly little schoolgirls.

As the plane left the ground, we did little happy dances in our seats and then tried to get some sleep. We put on our oh-so-sexy eyeshades and settled back into slightly-reclined seats. Instead of sleeping, I had to listen to the flight attendants flirt with the guy two rows up from us who was heading to Ireland to bury his mother. Weird time to pick someone up, but to each her own, I suppose. I got really testy when I was awoken from a fitful, drool-filled sleep by a flight attendant hawking her duty free stuff in a louder-than-normal voice. It was 3:00 am, everyone’s trying to sleep, and you’re using your shouting voice to talk. Guess she wanted her new boyfriend to hear how good she was at selling alcohol. I satisfied myself with a withering glare in her direction and pretended to sleep for the rest of the flight.

Not even the rain could dampen our spirits as we caught our first glimpse of the Dublin Airport. Nor could the sight of a drunk man falling all over the place in the arrivals area. We were in Ireland, and we were freak-out excited. We opted for a cab to our accommodation, not wanting to cart our bags around in a strange city after getting off the Aircoach. Us? Budget travellers? Ha! Our cabbie did succeed in freaking us out a little, with stories about all the women who have gone missing in Ireland in the past 10 years and with stories about how our hostel was a place for down-on-their-luck foreigners to stay while they were looking for work. Uh, great, thanks. He seemed to be entertained by our amusement at the franchise name ‘Abrakebabra’ and was shocked that they’re nowhere to be found in Canada. We also grossed him out with tales of poutine and beavertails. Hey, they’re tasty. Anyway, the stories were worth the 30 euro cab ride.

Our first real introduction to cars driving on the left side of the road came shortly after we got dropped off at Citi Hostels on Charlemont Street. I went in to pay the bill and check in, and J stayed outside with our bags. I heard her laughing and calling me, and I ran outside to see a sheepdog driving a truck. Okay, so you can see where this is going, but to a North American eye, it genuinely looked like the dog was driving. He even looked left before making a turn. We found it hilarious, but as you know, small things…

We couldn’t check into our room for another 2 hours, so we grabbed some sandwiches at a nearby corner store and went back to the common room in the hostel to wait. That’s where we met Isaac, a fellow Canadian who’s been living in London for the past 6 years and who, as a result, has one really messed up accent. I derided his choice of baseball cap (Leafs suck!) and the three of us arranged to meet up later for some drinks.

Now, we did like Citi Hostels, but it WAS a little sketchy. It had a life-sized statue of Jesus in the hallway (that’s not the sketchy part) and was indeed attached to a different kind of ‘hostel’ for down-and-out people. We were told not to go through a certain door. Also, someone stole our Pringles from the kitchen. Not cool. In spite of all that, it was the only room on our trip that had a full length mirror. Big points! Also, despite being an only child, I’d always wanted to have bunk beds, so I finally got my wish to sleep in the top bunk. Feeling a tad sleepy, we settled in for a nap (which would prove to be a recurring theme on this trip) and then set out for some sustenance and an off-license (which would also prove to be a recurring theme). This is when we discovered our favourite place in Dublin – Harcourt Diner. It was attached to our hostel and had all kinds of junk food, like pizza, curry fries, kebabs, etc. We ate there at least once every day, the gourmands that we are.

Isaac and his friend knocked on our door at around 8:00, and we all enjoyed a few drinks while listening to some music on my iPod and the speakers I’d brought. I was so glad I’d brought these things. We had alot of our fun just listening to music and having a few drinks while getting ourselves all prettied up before heading out on the town. Isaac suggested a bar called The Bleeding Horse on Camden Street, and we immediately took a liking to it. It seems like you’ve seen it all, but then you’ll spot another room to explore. The guys had to head out early the next morning (read: they couldn’t keep up) so they left, which left us free to talk to our first locals. After drinking a disgusting shot (they’re not really sure on how to make Polar Bears over there), we ‘joined’ up with a work party and had a fun time chatting about our trip and about Canada and Ireland in general. This would also mark the beginning of the legendary “Can I ask you one question?” question. Throughout the trip, we heard this question dozens of times, and always knew that a mildly funny to genuinely hilarious question was to follow. This night, the popular question was “Why Ireland?” to which we simply answered, “Why not?”.

We eventually made our way outside for some fresh air (which wasn’t so fresh, because we went into the smoking area. Duh.) and ended up chatting with some more locals til the bar closed. They were definitely some funny guys, and told us they knew we were Canadian and not American because of the way we said “What?” Sounds interesting and very scientific eh? They invited us to come to a nearby club with them, and, not ready for our first night to end, we accepted. We walked by the entrance to a club called PoD and, seeing a huge lineup, went around the back where we got in easily, thanks to one of the people we were with who had worked there in the past. This place was pretty crazy – it’s in an old restored train station and has two distinct rooms with different styles of DJs spinning. A lot of guys dancing, and not too many girls. Many people seemed to be, umm, under the influence of hallucinogenic substances, and were quite happy. We danced our butts off, got invited to a party by some random person (geez, these Irish are friendly), lost our new friends, made some new ones and headed over to Harcourt Diner afterwards for some curry fries, yum yum. Stumbled next door and fell asleep at around 4:00 am.

The next day, we awoke around 10:00, and set out on a mission to get some touristy stuff done. After enjoying some toasties at Café Sol, we headed down to Grafton Street to do a bit of shopping. Let me just say, you Dublin girls don’t know how lucky you are with all the eye candy walking around in suits. Anyway, I tore me eyes away long enough to buy a cell phone, and J picked up a cute t-shirt. We then boarded the hop-on hop-off bus at the Trinity College stop and got the opportunity to listen to some singing from the driver before getting off at the Guinness Storehouse. Let me say here that it’s totally worth it to buy your tickets online beforehand. We got to skip two large lines and were inside doing the tour in 2 minutes. Neither of us are beer drinkers, but we did enjoy the tour, and picked up some cute souvenirs. We also really liked filling out a card and sticking it on the wall. Our contribution: Ginnis mayks me smrtur. Fun times. Like troopers, we got our free pint in the Gravity Bar and took a sip. Both of us struggled not to make faces, and we nonchalantly put our full pints on a table and left. Hope someone enjoyed them. J told me later she “couldn’t get past the foam.”

After that, we headed over to Kilmainham Gaol, which was my other ‘must-see’ place in Dublin. I wasn’t disappointed – our guide was exceptional, and really evoked the feel of the place. Too bad there was a baby in our group that had crapped its pants and wouldn’t stop wailing. In spite of that, I was really moved – especially in the execution yard. Definitely worth the trip.

Feeling a bit worn out by this point, we headed back to the hostel, stopping at an off-license along the way, where I got ID’d – woohoo! – and laid down for a nap. We meant to wake up at 8:00, but the alarm didn’t go off and we got up at 9:00 inside. Immediately though, we popped up and started getting ready for another night on the town. We decided to go to Temple Bar tonight, even though I’d heard it’s a vomiturium, because we wanted to experience it. We took a cab over, and our cabbie pointed us in the direction of THE Temple Bar, but we never made it. Instead, we stopped in at a place called Farringtons and had a few drinks and some fun conversation with some locals. Closer to the end of the night, we moved over to Messrs. Maguires with our new friends and enjoyed the corny 80s music they were playing. It’s the first time in years I’ve heard “I Had the Time of My Life” in years. Back to the Harcourt Diner for some fries afterwards, and another “Can I ask you one question?” session. “Do you know Wayne Gretzky?” Another fun night in Dublin.

The next morning, we had to get up early for our day trip to Wicklow. It was rough, but you will be pleased to know that we dragged our butts out of bed to actually see some scenery! We had opted for the Wild Wicklow tour and had booked it in advance. It was a piece of cake to board the bus in the morning at a designated pick up point. Our driver-guide’s name was Ita, and she turned out to be fantastic. She talked pretty much non-stop the whole way up through the mountains and was a wealth of information. We stopped to take some pictures at one point in the mountains, and these turned out to be my favourite pictures of the trip. With the purple heather in bloom, the mountains were breathtaking. We stopped for a break at the Avoca Handweaver’s shop, where I picked up a scarf for my grandma, and then later in the village of Laragh at Lynham’s, a family run hotel, for a rather expensive carvery lunch. When we finally got the chance to explore Glendalough, it was hard to get a feel for the place because of all the people milling around. It was still enjoyable to explore, and we opted to take the 20 minute trek to the Upper Lake. Again, I’m sure it’s even more spectacular with less people around. The walk back was a killer, but Ita had some little glasses of whiskey waiting for everyone before the drive home. Both of us passed out on the way back, and then had a relaxing evening at the hostel, calling home and writing in our journals. I suppose the ride over and late nights had caught up with us a little and we needed an evening to recharge our batteries, especially since J was beginning to feel a cold coming on.

We had gorgeous weather for our last day in Dublin. J wasn’t going to come with me to Trinity College originally, but changed her mind at the last minute. She admitted later that she was really glad she did, because she found the Book of Kells exhibit really interesting. We were both stunned by the Long Room at Trinity…wow. Incredible. We’re both bookworms, so it was especially stunning. Just walking through some of the buildings at Trinity brought back memories of university for both of us too. Since the day was so beautiful, we picked up some tasty looking sandwiches and some “crisps” (Thai Sweet Chili..yum) and made our way over to St. Stephen’s Green for a little picnic. We both loved St. Stephen’s Green and took a bunch of photos. Even the homeless people wandering around the park were very friendly. Some more souvenir shopping, plus a fruitless search for a ‘nail bar’ and then it was back to the old standby, the Harcourt Diner, for dinner. Yes, we’re quite the foodies. Can you tell? We couldn’t help it….the pizza was so greasy and yummy….mmmm.

We HAD to go out on our last night in Dublin, even though it was a Monday. Doesn’t matter to Dubliners what day of the week it is – I love this city. Through my thorough research, I knew that a place called Flannery’s had a quiz night on Mondays, so we headed over there. Well, turns out the quiz isn’t til after midnight, so to pass the time (for no other reason, really, I promise) we had a few drinks and got started talking to some more locals. One guy was very knowledgeable about Canadian music, which impressed us, and one guy was very touchy-feely, which didn’t impress us so much. We ended up joining forces with this group for the quiz, which turned out to be a good thing, because a lot of the questions were about Irish or European pop culture. The Canadians represented on one question though: “In America, what’s three under par called?” The Irish wanted to say Albatross, but we insisted on Double Eagle and, of course, got the question right. I don’t think we won the quiz though. It was a little hazy at that point. I’m sure you can guess where we headed after that (hint: we had some kebabs) and then off to sleep once again. This was probably our favourite night out in Dublin. And no, it wasn’t because of the touchy-feely guy.

I'm laughing and smiling through the report - can't wait to hear more! I was just in Ireland in June, and am aching to go back.

It has been a long time since a trip report had me chuckling so much! Thanks for taking the time to give us all the details; I'm looking forward to more, and hoping you'll share your photos as well.

I'd just like to interject that yes, the Leafs DO suck.

Continue...

Fantastic...something that makes me smile in every paragraph.

... a big smile from the Canadian west coast... keep it coming!

I'm glad to hear someone else use public transport. We traveled through Scotland, Northern and the Republic of Ireland by coach. It was great! Much easier to meet folks. It just takes a little planning and flexibility. The great hall at Trinity and the Harp are very impressive.

Greatly enjoying your report.

What a great report! We were there in May and I was just talking to my sister in law last night trying to convince her to go. I think I'll forward your post and then she won't need much more convincing. Sounds like your trip was everything you had imagined and then some. Ireland truly is a magical place. Thanks for sharing!

Wow, three weeks in Ireland! What a luxury. Enjoying your attitude and looking forward to more . . .

I'm really enjoying your report, despite the fact that I'm 45 YEARS OLDER than you are and also a teetotaller. I want to go to Ireland within the next year or two, and you're making it sound very appealing.

LOL great report, keep it coming.

Thanks for the kind words so far, everyone - they're much appreciated. This trip was so fun, I'm trying to make the report reflect that. Next up is beautiful Belfast.

Days 5-7: Our first bus experience, and “Wow, you’re staying in a really dodgy part of Belfast”

Our time in Dublin was over, and since we didn’t want to drag our bags on public transportation, we again opted for a taxi to take us to the bus station. I had read some horror stories about long distance buses, but was pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to figure everything out. Another example on when my anal retentiveness saves the day: I had done my research and knew exactly what bus to catch and when to catch it for each leg of the trip. This saved us a bunch of time, cause we timed our arrivals at the bus stations perfectly. After stowing our luggage beneath the bus, we boarded our bus to Belfast, which got really crowded at the Dublin Airport stop. The ride was supposed to take 2.5 hours, but ended up closer to 3.5 due to traffic. We contented ourselves by getting excited about sheep: looking for black ones, babies, cute ones, etc. I’m sure this marked us as first-time, nay, first-week visitors to Ireland, because into our second week, our reaction to sheep was “Meh, sheep.” We were, however, sheep freaks at this point in the trip.

I hadn’t expected Belfast to be surrounded by hills and/or mountains, so was pleasantly surprised by how scenic it looked. My romantic ideal was smashed, however, as I dragged my big honkin’ bags down Great Victoria Street, en route to the Belfast International Youth Hostel on Donegall Road. J and I were consumed by fits of laughter, as my paper ‘souvenir’ bag broke halfway and I had to carry it under one arm, while trying to keep my rolling duffle upright as it went over curbs. We finally made it, and I could have kissed the guy at the desk when he told us the hostel had an elevator. I didn’t though, cause he was a lot older than I am. This is where we realized that Citi Hostels was a bit sketchy. We both really liked our room in Belfast and the electronic keycards that came with it. I kind of missed the Jesus statue from Dublin though. And I got a bed on the ground! Doesn’t take too much to make me happy.

We dumped our bags, then headed out to find some nourishment. We both wanted to sit down somewhere, as opposed to just grabbing a (ho hum) sandwich, so we happened upon Wetherspoons, which I understand is a chain pub in the UK. The bartender asked where we were from, and then asked if we had any Irish relations. When we said no, he wouldn’t listen, saying “Ah, come on, with red hair and freckles like that, your great great grandmother MUST have bumped into an Irishman somewhere along the line.” I’d hear the same thing a few times throughout the trip and always got a kick out of it. He was also very disappointed to learn that we wouldn’t be visiting County Donegal on this trip. J and I both enjoyed our meals at Wetherspoons (I had some yummy alfredo and she had a cheese and spinach tart), and took note of the drink specials they had on for the next night, because, as you may have noticed, we enjoy a good drink once in a while.

We walked back to our hostel and enjoyed the view out our window, which was of an Incredible Hulk doll tied to the top of a lamppost. We pondered the unanswerable question of how he got up there, and were then treated to a show on the sidewalk. Some drunk people were drinking right outside, when one started throwing food at the others, mooned them, and just walked away. Welcome to Belfast. Nah, we’d already decided we were liking Belfast – it reminded us a little of home with much wider sidewalks than Dublin. After the food fight outside settled down, J and I went downstairs to book our Mini Coach tour to the Giant’s Causeway for the next day (very convenient, their office is right inside the hostel) and then settled down for the night.

We’d been told the hostel had its own café that was open in the morning for breakfast, so we headed down there. Wow! They have pretty much everything you could want for breakfast – I opted for my first full Irish breakfast of the trip. Actually, it was an Ulster Fry, since we were up north. Eggs, bacon, beans, potato bread, soda bread and sausages. Yum yum. The cashier told us to “take a wee seat” and wait for our breakfast. We fell in love with the use of “wee” up North and started to use it ourselves, as in “I have to take a wee pee” etc. etc. Breakfast was delicious and fuelled us up for our Causeway trip.

We boarded the bus with our guide, Michael, and were on our way, driving along the coast, through some of the spectacular Glens of Antrim. Michael didn’t talk too much, but chimed in with nuggets of information here and there. We were loving the green hills and valleys on one side and the ocean on the other. Already, we felt the tour was worth it. The bus stopped in a little port town called Carnlough for a washroom and picture break. It actually reminded me of Newfoundland. Okay, so I’ve never been to Newfoundland, but I think it’d look like Carnlough. Continuing on, we arrived at the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge. J and I knew we wanted to do this, so we paid our 1 pound entrance fee and began the 15-20 minute trek to the bridge. After hearing Michael’s stories about how people have had to be airlifted off Carrick Island because they’re too terrified to cross the bridge again, I was expecting the worst, but it really wasn’t that bad. Except for the people bouncing up and down on the bridge while I was on it. Jerks. Aww, kidding, they were just having fun. Once you’re across, you’re rewarded with some great views. The water around the area was a beautiful turquoise – except for the biting wind, I could have been in the Caribbean. The trek back to the bus was brutal, and even us young pups had to stop for a rest. We picked up our “I crossed the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge” certificates (which I think should read “I made the really hard and hilly walk to and from the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge” since that’s more of an accomplishment) and reboarded the bus.

Onto Bushmills, where we stopped for some soup and sandwiches at a local restaurant and dropped off the people on the tour who were doing the Bushmills distillery tour. It had started to rain at this point, but we told ourselves that it would make our visit to the Giant’s Causeway more dramatic. Hey, we’re optimists. Once there, we opted for the Causeway Coaster bus to take us down the hill to the Causeway. I’d been using the word ‘Wow’ on this trip a lot, and this was no exception. Really, really cool. The rocks were quite slippery because the rain was coming down pretty hard, but we got on ‘em and started climbing anyway. J was particularly frightened and I could hear her whimpering at one point, but she was a trooper and we climbed to one of the higher bits to take the obligatory “I’m the king of the world” pictures. Originally, I had had visions of finding all the neat features, like the organ and the boot, but it was quite cold and rainy, and as you know, I’m a wimp, so we decided to head back after about 45 minutes. For some unknown reason, we decided to WALK back to the gift shop at the top of the hill instead of taking the Coaster bus, despite having purchased return tickets on the way down. For the love of all that is holy, don’t walk up that hill if you’ve already done the rope bridge and if it’s cold and rainy. I blame it all on J. Tea in the little cafeteria warmed us up nicely though, til it was time to board our bus back to Belfast.

With a short stop for photos at Dunluce Castle (no time for a tour), we headed back to Belfast and into our beds for a wee nap. We enjoyed some tunes on the iPod with speakers, got ready and headed out around 9:30, on a mission to find Wetherspoons and its drink specials. Both of us have absolutely terrible senses of directions, so we shouldn’t have been surprised when, after wandering around for half an hour, we hadn’t yet found it. We asked a drunk guy if he knew where it was, and he either said “Aye” or “Why?” not sure which, and then pointed down a street. We decided not to believe him, but found out later he was right. Ah well. We went into the first place we saw with people in it, which was called The Globe. After settling in for a few drinks, a group of very young looking guys came in and ordered…wait for it…a pitcher of Sex on the Beach! Culture shock time…Canadian guys would never order Sex on the Beach. Ever. Throughout the rest of the trip, we’d ask people if it was normal for guys to order girly drinks like that in Ireland and got answers ranging from “No way” to “As long as they’re drinking other things too” to “Hell yeah”. So who knows. Anyway, turns out The Globe has karaoke on that night of the week – J and I put our names in, cause we’re never going to see these people again. We rocked “Bad Moon Rising” (okay, maybe not ‘rocked’ but people WERE enjoying themselves, clapping and singing along. No one had their hands over their ears) and then headed out in the direction of the Botanic Inn on the recommendation of the barstaff at The Globe, since it would likely be much more lively.

We found it (miraculously) without too many problems, and heard the doormen tell a group of guys that it was full and that they wouldn’t be letting anymore people in that night. We were about to turn away, but the doormen waved us in. God, it’s nice being a female sometimes. It was definitely lively, and we enjoyed ourselves talking to some locals. The “Can I ask you one question?” question of the night was, “How do you say about?” Upon hearing that we do in fact pronounce ‘about’ as ‘about’ and not as ‘aboot’, people couldn’t hide their disappointment. It was a fun night all around – on my way to the bathroom, I got swept into numerous dancing groups – people in lines, people in circles – all dancing to the Pogues song ‘Sally MacLennane’, which is one of my favourites. We walked back to the hostel afterwards – felt very safe the whole time.

We took it easy the next morning and into the early afternoon – had some French toast at the café in the hostel and then I did some laundry (another reason why I loved this hostel – washing machines and dryers!). We had booked a Black Taxi Tour for the afternoon at the booking office in the hostel, and met our guide Norman at 3:00 pm. He asked us if we wanted to take the regular city tour, or the political tour and we went for the latter without hesitation. He did take us around the city a little beforehand and showed us City Hall, the Odyssey Pavilion and other touristy things before entering the Shankill Road area to show us the Protestant murals. It was quite interesting, and I was listening to Norman’s choice of words to see if I could detect any bias one way or the other, but didn’t at all, at any point. We got out to take some pictures and Norman then took us over to the ‘Peace Wall’ and gave us a marker so we could add our names. It was then off to the Falls Road area to view the Catholic murals and some memorial gardens before heading back. I highly recommend this tour to anyone visiting Belfast – it was quite enlightening.

Norman asked us where we’d like to be dropped off, and we opted for Great Victoria Street, where we stopped in at a restaurant called Gingerroot for some yummy Indian food. After that, we made the short walk over to the city centre and just walked around, went into some shops but didn’t buy anything. That night, it was off to the Botanic Inn (or The Bot, as it’s affectionately known) for some more craic. The highlight of our night was meeting Stuart, who ended up walking us home and telling us about what it was like to grow up during the Troubles. We were glad to get some local perspective and enjoyed Stuart’s stories. When we got to the road our hostel was on, Stuart said, “You’re not going down THERE are you? That’s one of the dodgiest parts of Belfast.” Our hostel was situated right on the corner of Sandy Row, a working class Protestant area. In fact, the curbs and lampposts in front of our room were painted red, white and blue, and I could see a mural from the window. Stuart then informed us that he was Protestant and so COULD go down there with us – in fact, he said he had ‘lost his friends’ and ‘could he stay in our room with us?’ Haha. We patted him on the shoulder, told him nice try, and headed in for the night, just the two of us. We fell asleep to the musical sounds of drunk people shouting and singing at the late night kebab place just across the road.