Northern Ireland Confidential

road to hale

I have completed travel on my one-way ticket so here I am. I guess since it was half a round-trip I had half the hassles. It really was a brilliant journey all the way around - save a landing in high winds that had me green around the gills as the plane touched down in Belfast. 

I lugged my 150+ pounds of luggage out to the cab.

I told the driver I was headed for the Lisburn Road.

He looked like he'd swallowed a bad clam. "The road to hell?"

Three beats while I tried to understand if he said road to hill, road to hale, what? Finally, it dawned on me. "Aye, that's the one."

Obvious and continued disgruntlement ensued. He was literally gunching and moaning about driving on the Lisburn Road! "It's the worst road in Northern Ireland," he proclaimed.

"I thought the Westlink was the worst road," I countered. It's the worst as far as I'm concerned - I've only been a passenger on it and I nearly had a heart attack.

He would not relent. Lisburn Road, straight into perdition.

Apparently there are some traffic issues on the Lisburn Road - a fact of which he is well aware because he lives right off it. "I keep trying to get the wife to move. She won't."

crossing paths

The interesting people I met in the airport on this leg of the trip were seated next to me on  the "people mover" at Dulles. I was searching through my carry-on for my phone. I realized that I have a number of photos that I wanted to e-mail myself because I'll have to relinquish my U.S. cell phone pretty soon.

I could not find that stupid phone for all the tea in Northern Ireland. I think I went through every pocket of that bag at least twice. A gorgeous toddler in a stroller watched me intently but with no expression. He never blinked his giant brown eyes. He had little curls and that perfect baby skin.

"I can't find my phone," I told him. His face didn't change.

god save the queen

CHARLESTON, S.C. -- God save the queen.

That is all I have to say as I await my UK visa and work permit. I'm now back in the States until the paperwork comes through. The moving truck is coming on 21 January - although I'm not sure when I myself am getting on the plane for good.

Today I went for something called a "biometrics exam," which is a fancy word for fingerprinting. I wasn't freaked out until I got to the U.S. Homeland Security office, in a shiny complex with lots of instructions (paraphrased):

No cameras or cell phones.
Bags and persons may be searched.
Have your papers ready.
Come up only when you are called.

I handed over my documents with shaky hands. I don't know why. I now have empathy for people who have little English skills and who must go through the process. It was very simple and not invasive in any way. I guess I'm just getting wound up for the big move.

Directly from the biometrics exam, I went to FedEx and sent off my passport to the agency in New York that will arrange my visa. That is the scariest part of it all. It just doesn't seem to make any sense to mail off that vital item. As soon as my passport comes back with my visa firmly affixed inside, I can book my ticket to Northern Ireland.

the ballad of frank and mary

The last night of this trip in Belfast was ending on a bad note. Discretion is the better part of valor, so not long after I set off for a much-praised restaurant in the dark and rain, I decided to get a cab.

This was a mistake. I had a mad cabbie who gave a diatribe on the stupidities of Northern Ireland and his theories of what must be done. He was one of those tormented philosophers I would have gone for in college but at this point he was just wearing me out. "And that is your black cab tour of Belfast," he said.

"And I thank you," I said, and jumped out.

Now I had little idea where I was. I walked around and realized I was going the wrong way once I hit Sandy Row. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing (even beyond my raging headcold) so I turned around. After about 20 minutes of aimless wandering, I went into the nearest business and asked where this place was!

Turned out I was just a block away, but when I finally found Cayenne (note to Paul Rankin: please invest in a legible, lighted sign dumb tourists can read in the dark), I looked inside and didn't see a soul. I cannot repeat here what I said out loud at that point. Did I do all this just to find out it was closed?

comedienne

The Crown Liquor Saloon and Crown Dining Rooms really are as beautiful as they say, a timeless piece of our history since 1849 ("as part of our National Heritage, we ask you to please respect the building and not to deface the interior in any way").

I had a lovely goat cheese and tomato tartlet and a Tennant's. I also had a nice chat with Sandra, who asked me where I was from. (My voice: a complete giveaway.) She joined the multitude of people who, upon learning that I came to Northern Ireland alone, replied along the lines of, "Who knows? Maybe you'll meet a nice man here."

I had my usual response: "Well, anyone named Seamus is most welcome."

I just like the name Seamus.

So I answered the typical questions and shared my unique fact: My birthday is 12 July. And the whole country shuts down, as well it should on my birthday, which I have always regarded as a red-letter spot on the calendar.

I have read that 12 July is a partisan holiday, a Protestant holiday that commemorates the Battle of the Boyne, King William's victory over Catholic James I. Be that as it may, I'm still happy that everyone gets the day off on my birthday.

Sandra got the significance of the holiday right away straightaway and delivered the best line of my whole trip:

"July 12, and it's a Seamus you're after?" 

premiere

My first movie in Northern Ireland was "Enchanted," shown at the cleverly named Movie House.

It is very much like going to the movies in the States (about 30 minutes of ads and previews) but the rating system is different. One of the ratings is U, which I guess means universal. I'll have to look that up.

I will probably pass the concession stand every time I go to the cinema. The good news is that the concessions are reasonably sized; the bad news is that the popcorn does not satisfy my hydrogenated coconut oil congealed American palate.

"Sweet or salty?" asked the young man behind the counter.

"I don't know -- what's sweet?"

"Topping of sugar, I think."

"Salty please."

So one option would be Styrofoam with sugar, and the other is Styrofoam with salt.

American Giveway #7: I asked for ice in my Diet Coke. The young man appeared  completely bemused by this. He was very polite as he explained, "We don't have ice up here [at this counter]."  Hmm.

The movie was enjoyable. Since I had eaten very little of my popcorn packing material, I decided to tuck into the Crown Pub for dinner, running between raindrops on the way.  American Giveaway #8: I had gone out in Belfast without an umbrella.

here comes the sun

Lesson I have learned: strike while there's sunshine. In Belfast, that means when you see a patch of blue sky, get outside immediately.

So this afternoon I headed for the Belfast Wheel. It's like the London Eye and apparently either loved or hated by the locals. I loved it. "At peak times, please be prepared to share your capsule," read the sign, but there was no danger of that on this cold but bright Wednesday.

I clambered in and up up up went the wheel [I did have a twinge of panic -- when did I develop this fear of heights?] over the gorgeous statues and stately buildings. In the distance I could see the water and the massive Samson and Goliath cranes. How I wish you could have seen it.

cure for jet lag

To shake the exhaustion of a transatlantic flight, I recommend staying a hotel where the fire alarm goes off about 1 p.m. You won't be tired after that. I speak from experience.