If I had attempted this blog last night, all you would have read was Belfast…bla…bla…bla… Jaggermiester bombers…bla…bla…bla! Suffice to say I was introduced to the art of dropping a shot glass of this hideous stuff into Red Bull. So what happens physiologically, is that you get bombed but hugely energetic and make no fekking sense at all….none at all.
We had the best meal ever, from what I remember, at this Irish pub called Lavery’s that had two huge gorgeous bouncers who stood outside. In fact every pub and restaurant had the “Boys in Black suits” standing outside, which I thought would be a perfect job for Marty.
We had perfect “melt in your mouth” pork spare ribs and then Marty had a Pork and apple pie with heavenly mashed spud. I had roast duck cooked in caramelized apple and mandarin pieces, with mustard potato mash that made the hairs on yer shin stand up in excitement.
About an hour after the meal, the Jaggermiester’s kicked in and I was toast. Energy or not I was heading home to imitate dead ants.
So firstly what did we do yesterday? Good question which I am trying to recall as I watch the rinse cycle of our clothing at the Laundromat in central Belfast with the United Nations around me, looking at me as if I am an alien, with my Apple Air Book out trying to concentrate on what I am writing. My bodyguard has arrived back from cleaning out the Audi, so I don’t feel so vulnerable now.
Yesterday we concentrated on researching the history of Marty’s family in the Masonic lodges which turned out to be a very engaging process with the locals of Belaghey, where we started with asking the Pharmacist, and then was introduced to the man who owned half the town and knew everything about everything. So in a different document, this is all recorded and photographed and for those of you are interested, I can share this with you.
It was an incredible day for Martin who was able to view and photograph all the historical records (dating back to 1901) he had hoped for. He was then able to email these to his parents John and Robin in Noosa, and I believe they had a great phone conversation last night about the progress made in documenting the Arrell history. I was in a comma at this stage on the bed still with my boots on.
Late in the afternoon, we got straight on the motorway from Belaghey and travelled directly to Belfast which took us about 1 hour. The travelling speed on the motorway is around 100kms, but with no Garda (Police) ever in sight everyone (and I mean everyone) travels at around 130- 140 kms which delighted the hell out of the lad.
It is fair to say that I did not want to come to Belfast. But after a round of paper, scissors, rocks…… I lost and I am glad the Gods swung it Marty’s way. Victoria Square should have been a major draw card for me, as when I discovered this shopping precinct, I had to be dragged kicking and screaming from it.
The fashion here is eclectic and exciting, with a uniqueness of it’s own. In saying that I did notice that every second young boy around 12 years old looked like Justin Beiber and a lot of the young girls look eerily like Paris Hilton, however what is fascinating is that they go to extremes to express themselves.
The police Stations here (and in fact all of Northern Ireland) have 12 meter high fences with rolls of barb wire at the top of them, and the reason for this was once again evidenced in the news this morning when a petrol bomb was hurled over the fence of the police station in Holywood, the very place where Rory MacCoulroy hails from.
It is still tenuous here politically, and although covert, you can sense that the turbulent history of this city still permeates life here today. It is still here, and you can feel it.
We have decided to stay one more day in Belfast to learn more of it’s identity, then travel to the outskirts and find a nice B and B before returning to Dublin on Sunday, a day later than planned.
We are having a great time and we love travelling together, having all these diverse experiences that we can share with you.
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