Onward to Belfast (and the gorgeous Antrim coast)
November 07, 2005
My enjoyment of Belfast and what I saw of Northern Ireland was most likely a matter of chance and circumstance, and not necessarily one of content. Any comparisons I could make between the two capital cities on the Emerald Isle would be unfairly weighted in favor of Belfast just because it seemed the gods were finally working in my favor.
Ten minutes after the bus pulled out of Busaras in Dublin it started to rain�warm, fat raindrops that made the lush green hills look even more impossibly green, and didn�t let up for most of the trip. It was beautiful to watch, and you all know how much I love the rain, but walking around a new place in the rain is kind of a pain in the ass with a heavy pack, and sore, blistered feet. But the rain just did not seem like it was going to let up, and so I got my rain coat ready, resigned myself to walking around Belfast cursing Ninurta, and dozed to the sounds of Irish radio (which I really enjoyed!). But about twenty minutes before arriving in Belfast the clouds parted, the sun came out, the rain stopped, and everything was bathed in this warm, dewy glow. It really was that magical.
Dublin is most definitely a livelier town, but Belfast had the kind of charm and hospitality I had been expecting to find in Dublin�ten minutes off the bus and I wanted to hold the entire population of Belfast to my bosom for all their friendly help. I, of course, got hopelessly lost on my way to the hostel despite all their help and ended up at the new-looking opera center. Exhausted I dropped my pack, pulled out the hummus and pita I�d bought at the Super-Valu the day before, and just sat enjoying the glittering, post-rain view. Then I went into the cultural center and asked a lady there to show me the way. ( �Oh, dear, you�re SO far. How did you get all the way over here?� �Czech Airlines?� )
In any case, I eventually found my hostel. It was the cheapest one I stayed in (6.50 pounds), but by far the cleanest and coziest, and MOST IMPORTANTLY for me�having not showered in two days�there were clean, individual bathrooms with wonderful, steamy hot water.
But torn being hungry and being dirty I chose to go out and find a place to eat first�priorities, priorities. It had been a few days since I�d had a proper meal that wasn�t out of a bag or in a Styrofoam cup. Within an hour the following four things happened, which sealed my love for Belfast and set the mood for the next two days:
1�I found a bookshop which not only sold excellent used books, but also sold my favorite form of trashy reading�Harlequin romance novels. Short, clich�d, and shamefully entertaining, I limited myself to purchasing only two, though at 35 pence each I was tempted to buy ten. 
(The Marriage War, I mean, look at that cover. How could I *not* buy it?)
2�I found a restaurant which served possibly the best vegetable lasagna I�ve ever tasted, and where, I swear to you, the waitress used �wee� no less than 3 times in a sentence. (�Alright, dear, why don�t you have a wee sit, at a wee table, and I�ll bring your wee tray over when it�s ready.�)
3�I found a cheap-o shop where I got a smaller, much-needed day pack, the kind for which I had searched throughout London and Dublin, but had not been able to find for less than 7 quid/10 euro.
4�I found a pharmacy which had on sale two of my favorite toiletries�St. Ives Apricot face scrub and Palmolive Milk & Honey bodywash.
These four things may not seem like a big deal, but they made all the difference to me. Fed and satisfied with my purchases I went back to the hostel and showered, and then went down to the hostel basement where I met two German brothers, two loud, patriotic Canadians, and later one hot Bermudan with whom I would spend most of the next two days.
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