We had been in Belfast for about eight hours. At that point, we only knew that we were staying at the Paddy's Palace hostel, which was colored green. The owners clearly are the most creative people, ever. In addition to being a true representation of Irish culture, the hostel was in a great location: across from Queen's University, which immediately changed my belief that it was national law to make all schools in Ireland unattractive. The school even has botanic gardens - although I do not recommend going there in February expecting to see roses.
With a few hours to kill before our other travel companions arrived, we headed for the Ulster Museum to catch up on Belfast's local history. If you get a chance to go to Belfast and you like replicas of every mammal and sea creature to have ever graced this earth, the Ulster Museum should be your first destination. You might also enjoy it if you are a fan of cannons, tribal artwork and tea sets. If you want to learn something about "The Troubles" in Belfast, I do not recommend checking out the entire floor devoted to a major part of the city's history; you will leave with even more questions about Belfast's history than you had before arriving.
We set out for dinner at a restaurant that proved to be far too swanky for us - especially the additions to our group, who entered with their backpacks.
After licking the plates - yes, really; I told you we didn't belong at the restaurant - for any remains of the best chocolate cake ever, we decided to stop in at a "super famous" pub, as described by Elizabeth, my personal guide and travel agent for all things Europe. Did you know that "super famous" is synonymous with "full of old men and two boys who look a little bit like Justin Bieber?" Next door provided us with a crowd that looked more our age.
A group of guys slid into the booth next to us. Their ringleader had a soul patch growing on the right side of his chin. It was very distracting and is not a look that I recommend. He had a lot to say, but after we got past the initial small talk, we began a depressing discussion about what I was planning to do with an English major - the kind of question only an engineer would ask. Elizabeth took my discomfort and defensive, "I like to read!" as a cue that conversation needed to be steered to a different, more pub-friendly topic.
"Sally, ask him about 'The Troubles'," she said to one of our fellow travelers.
No! Isn't that like asking about the Civil War at Coupe's?, I thought.
Despite Sally's refusal to pursue a free history lesson, which I find always goes well with a pint, our lively and upbeat friend started talking about religious relations in Belfast of his own accord.\nAs a rule, at a pub, you never ask the people you meet about their religious affiliations, but you figure it out anyway. You ask where they live, where they go to school, even where they work. You probe, they respond and ask the same back. He explained that he grew up with religion as a defining factor in his society, that this behavior went unquestioned because it was what he - and all of his friends - knew. Sally and I listened, interested - but also praying for insight into what, exactly, constituted "The Troubles." After we lost a few of our party to naps of increasing length on the table - at the late hour of 11 p.m. - we left for the Palace.
At the end of our weekend, even after a black taxi tour of the Protestant and Catholic sides of the city and a trip to the Peace Wall, I still wouldn't have been able to teach anyone all the historical facts pertinent to "The Troubles." We all realized, however, that we had observed firsthand the effects of a conflict-ridden history on the population. Fortunately, a quick visit to Wikipedia upon our return filled in a few gaps.
Allie's column runs biweekly Tuesdays.