Day Two: Belfast

I was once told by a doctor that when you lose a night of sleep, you can never truly make up for it, no matter how much rest you get in the following days. Which is probably why in spite of having gone to bed at like nine o’clock our first night in Ireland, I feel like death upon waking up the following morning at 6:15am. As my mother reminds me I need to get my suitcase ready for the porter to pick up, I instantly regress to the state of angst-filled teenager, cursing the ill stars I was born under, and wondering how anyone could be so unlucky as I am at this moment, in Ireland on a vacation that I really didn’t have to pay for! Woe is me! Curse you evil world!

Eventually I get out of bed, and a little after that we’re back on the bus, now heading to Northern Ireland. Our first stop is in a city called Downpatrick, where St. Patrick is allegedly buried. You know, St. Patrick. The one of banishing snakes and green beer fame? Yup, that guy. They say he’s “allegedly” buried there because he died in roughly 460 AD, and I guess they didn’t have DNA tests back then so nobody‘s completely sure. While touring the cemetery, I made sure to take about fifty million pictures in case any ghost decided to reveal themselves. Unfortunately, the only thing that was revealed was my inability to take quality photos.

A few hours later, we make it to Belfast and stop near the city hall to grab a quick lunch. Over a delicious meal of fish and chips, my mom and I make friends with some of the other tour goers. Everyone we meet is beyond nice and inquisitive to my job and life, making me feel even worse for my judginess earlier. But there is always one downside whenever I meet new people. I get to explain all over again that no, I’m not in college right now. In fact, I actually haven’t been in college for three years, and that was grad school, and no no, I’m not a child prodigy, I just look like it. Yup, almost 30. Yes, I get that a lot. After lunch, I try to stand in the sun so maybe my skin will wrinkle faster.

We arrive at our hotel in Belfast, which despite being in Ireland was apparently assembled by Swedes, because our bedroom looks like an Ikea display case with modern furniture and a crazy computer console on the desk. The computer had a huge welcome message for Ms. Steinhoff (I assume my mom) and… Steinho? I am not kidding, it says Ms. Steinhoff and Steinho. HOW DID THEY KNOW???

A brief interlude. Shortly after arriving at this hotel, I almost fall down a flight of stairs and die, but am saved by our tour bus driver, a delightful Irish fellow named Mickey, who grabs me before I plummet to what could only have been a most painful demise. Mickey and I quickly bond over this incident and become best friends for life. I instantly become cooler for having an in-joke with the bus driver.

Next up, a tour of the city. The tour mentioned that Belfast happens to be where the Titanic was built. They showed us a bright, shiny new museum (not open yet, we drove by it) that has been constructed for the hundred year anniversary of the Titanic’s sinking on April 14, 1912. If you’re interested and have a bazillion dollars to burn, there is going to be a memorial cruise next April that will follow the Titanic’s voyage across the Atlantic, stopping on the spot it sank on the proper night, then hopefully continuing on what would have been its route to New York City.

ENOUGH ABOUT HISTORY! Now on to what Ireland is really known for. The drinking. The tour ended with a stop at the Crown Bar, a beautiful old Victorian pub filled with these tiny cubicles where guests can seclude themselves for a night of Guinness binging. The story goes that you can leave the door to your “snug” as they’re called, open if you wish to invite others in, but were originally built as a way for people to drink unseen. That’s Victorian morals for you I guess. It’s okay to be an alcoholic, just don’t let anyone SEE YOU being an alcoholic. We linger at the bar until our Guinnesses (Guinnessi? What is the plural of Guinness??) have all been quaffed, and then head back to the hotel. Somehow I manage to direct my mother and our new traveling companion, Evelyn, back to the hotel without anyone getting murdered.

We dine in the hotel restaurant and are seated next to a family from our tour. The most remarkable fact concerning this event, is that the family contains young people. YOUNG PEOPLE!!! They invite me to go walk into the city for drinks, and I very much want to join them on this journey. I’m a young person! I like drinking! I’m super hip! Okay, I’m moderately hip. I can pass for hip if I need to. If someone held a gun to my head, I could hopefully convince them that I maybe knew a few hip people in college. I really do want to go to bar and hang out with these young people…. But instead I pass out in the hotel at ten o’clock.

And so ends DAY TWO.