Last Monday, April 28th, we parted ways with Sarah, Robin, Clovis, The Mill and the Republic of Ireland. A lot of good-byes, but no permanent ones.
Of this, I’m sure.
We were greeted quite warmly by Northern Ireland via sunshine and one glaring sign that Spring is a little further along on this side of the island.
The trees have leafed out.
The most longed-for assurance of Spring’s victory over Winter. And with their doing so, they have intensified the depth of the landscape with new shades of green.
Kathy and I casually acquainted ourselves with Belfast Monday evening by walking down University Street, while simultaneously gawking at the gorgeous architecture of Queen’s University, and through the Botanic Gardens. It was a brief introduction, but one that revealed Belfast’s beauty and vibrant culture.
And then there were three.
On Tuesday morning, we were joined by Nathalie, a Brit and one of Kathy’s dear friends from her year in France. We had a lovely time together over the next few days.
Tuesday was a day to more formally acquaint ourselves with the city. We walked to City Hall
where a Titanic exhibit was on display. This year marks the 100th anniversary of the ship’s construction, which took place—surprise!—in Belfast.
As they say here, and very proudly, “Built by the Irish, sunk by the English.”
We also meandered through Ormeau Park before visiting the Ulster Museum. After spending an hour and a half dodging rambunctious children, it was time to head to the pub.
But not just any pub—The Crown Bar.
One of the oldest pubs in the city and it has a beautiful interior: tile floor, tin ceiling, oil lamps. And snugs. Private booths encased by wood and glass and fitted with a door. They were designed so that gentlemen could have private conversations, with the added bonus of remaining unseen if wives came looking. But they are cozy. And rather elegant for a pub.
Wednesday we left the city and went on a day trip via tour bus and our driver, Tom, to see the Antrim Coastline.
That’s Tom, leaning out the bus window. At this point, he had decided it was entirely appropriate to pull the bus over to the right side of the road, note: the wrong side in this country, and pluck a few flowers from the gorse bush for everyone to smell.
“The petals smell like coconut,” he said. No. They don’t. He charmed us anyways.
One of our first stops was the castle in Carrickfergus, which otherwise would have gone unmentioned here had The Queen not bestowed the titles of Baron and Baroness of Carrickfergus upon the Royal Newlyweds. The town of Carrickfergus hasn’t been more proud since—well, ever. If I was Princess Catherine, I would be much more excited about the Captain-Hook-like statue that stands outside the castle more than the castle itself or the town of Carrickfergus.
We continued on our way to the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. A swinging, bouncy, thrilling way to cross from the mainland to a tiny island sixty meters away from which fisherman used to net salmon. Originally, the bridge consisted of just two ropes—one for feet to rest upon and another for hands to hold onto while shimmying across. Not to worry—the bridge is a little different than it used to be. There are boards on the bottom and roped sides. See?
Completely safe.
The waters off the Antrim Coast look tropical—patches of deep blue amongst otherwise calm, aquamarine waters.
An altogether different character than the battering Atlantic along the Western coast. But not any more beautiful.
Our final destination of the day was Giant’s Causeway. As the legend goes, there were once two feuding giants: one Irish, Finn McCool, and the other Scottish, Benandonner. Finn yelled across the Irish Sea, challenging Benandonner to fight and then built the Causeway so that he could walk to Scotland to carry out his issued challenge.
But Finn’s wife, Oonagh, was wiser than her husband.
She poured a sleeping potion into Finn’s tea and when he didn’t show in Scotland, Benandonner crossed the Causeway to find him. In the mean time, Oonagh dressed Finn to look like a baby. When Benandonner asked Oonagh where Finn was, she replied he was out cutting wood but would return shortly and would you like a cup of tea? and please be mindful and not wake the baby. When Benandonner saw the size of the baby he panicked about the size his father must be and politely declined the cup of tea and hurried back to Scotland, destroying the Causeway as he went to prevent Finn from coming after him.
There is also a geological explanation for the rock formations of the Causeway involving volcanic activity.
Yawn yawn yawn.
This
is all the evidence necessary to convince me the Causeway was built and destroyed by giants. Columns of hexagonal stones that rise up out of the ocean in varying heights and fit together perfectly like a jig-saw puzzle, creating an awesome landscape that stretches along the coast and into the sea for miles and miles.
We loved it.
Thursday was our last day together; Nathalie had a flight to catch in the evening and Kathy and I were heading to Ballylagan Organic Farm, our third and final WWOOF site. We spent the morning and early afternoon wandering around Belfast looking at various murals of the Troubles, a reminder of Art’s powerful ability to influence and convey, before having a bite of lunch together and parting ways.
At two o’clock Tom, one of our hosts, picked Kathy and me up in the city; we met Patricia when we arrived at the farm half an hour later.
And so we have found ourselves in the countryside once more, surrounded by rolling pastureland. But this time in the added company of cows, pigs, horses and chickens.
More to come about the farm soon.
In the meantime, just call me Farmer Ellen. And, although a bit late, Happy May!
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