Birthday Trip To Belfast
Dublin, Drogheda and Belfast, Ireland: I turn 27, tarot cards predict my pregnancy and some girls threaten to beat me up.
So here I am again, a bit heartbroken and in need of adventure and the company of a good friend. Two weeks ago I buried my dad, and now it’s my birthday. It feels strange trying to be happy amidst it all. Luckily I have long ago invited myself to the motherland of my other mother, Miss Sharon D, to celebrate me turning 27. I grab my sportsbag and hop on two planes – seriously, why are there no direct flights for such a short trip? – and am greeted with a big, warm hug and a lovely present when I arrive in Dublin.
We are staying at The Generator, because it has a bar. Unfortunately, like in Barcelona, this bar is empty. It ain’t stopping us from grabbing burgers, Baby Guinness and gin, before we miss the company of drunk strangers, and we head to Temple Bar, the actual bar in the district with the same name. There’s live music and lots of people, but we manage to grab a seat, that we end up sharing with two German girls. I strike up a conversation with them to make the closeness less awkward, but they turn out to be super boring, and when they leave we breathe a sigh of relief. We have some drinks and sing along to Wild Rover and eventually make it to bed.
The next day is my 27th birthday. We have a morning poo to Beethoven, which I highly recommend, and then get a lovely brunch at Wuff before hopping on the tram. Here, a guy is talking loudly to his “wife” on the phone about calming down their dog. He asks us to talk to his dog Buster on the phone and tell him to be quiet, but Sharon refuses and I awkwardly whisper “Buster, shut up” into the phone before I drop it and he moves on to another lady. Turns out it was a radio station prank.
We walk around the shops, looking at candy and buy a “Birthday Girl” badge so I can bring attention to myself. Sharon loves whiskey now, I still kinda hate it, but a visit to Jameson Distillery seems like the perfect way to celebrate. We learn all about whiskey and the Jameson brand, and immediately forget all about it when we get to the fun part – tasting whiskey. After the tour, we have some delicious cocktails at the bar, including Jameson with ginger and lime, and one with steamed apple and cinnamon. A bit drunk, we have lunch at the nearby My Meat Wagon, where we share a platter of different meats, mashed potatoes, onion rings and fries.
At this point I’m trying to sober up, despite having a good buzz on and wanting to continue. Ahead of my trip I’ve booked a tarot reading at The Tarot Guide. The session takes place in a residential area, so we take a bus and then walk around a quiet neighbourhood, trying to find the right house.
The tarot-lady Lisa tells me I hold on to a lot of anxiety and negativity, and that I have an ex-boyfriend that keeps making an appearance in my life, not unlike Mr. Big from Sex And The City. She also says that I’ll meet a nice police officer in February, then back comes Mr. Big to haunt me, and oh, in November I might get pregnant.
Afterwards, Sharon and I go to Dublin Zoo to see the Wild Lights display. Scattered around the zoo, we find illuminated silk lanterns in shapes of jellyfish, polar bears, Chinese horoscope animals and a 16-metre high Christmas tree, to name a few. We munch on popcorn while walking through the craft market and watching Chinese perfomances with hoops, balls and slinkies. The cherry on top is when we make a wish by the God of Wealth statue, and then it’s off to Nancy Hands pub for some more birthday drinks. It’s been strange not getting a call from my Dad wishing me a happy birthday, but I’m so happy that Sharon took the time to come celebrate with me and make things a lot less sad and weird.
The next morning we go back to Wuff for brunch, because it’s delicious and no one likes having to make big decisions and discoveries first thing in the morning. Last time I was drinking in Dublin I didn’t get to visit the Trinity College library, so we make a quick stop there before jumping on a bus to Drogheda, Sharon’s home town.
We do a minimal amount of sightseeing, literally running into the St. Peter’s church to see the severed head of Saint Oliver Plunkett, before the one and only Gazza Dooza picks us up and drives us back to their house, where I finally meet Momma D! You know when someone close to you talks so much about a certain person that it almost feels like you know them? That’s Sharon’s mom. She gives me coffee, donuts and a box of chocolate and we chat by the fireplace in their living room for an hour, before we have to catch our train to Belfast. Class planning, we know. We grab a bottle of wine at the gas station and rush to our train. Train rides are usually boring, but thank God for Sharon and wine!
We check into YHA in Belfast after sundown and then head out to find something to do. We find a rooftop bar, The Perch, which looks really cool with its bird cages and all, but there are no seats in the cozier areas, so we are forced to sit at the bar. Everyone around us kinda resembles a Parks and Rec character: Ben is behind the bar, and with every scoop of ice he plops into people’s drinks, he probably recalls bitter memories of Ice Town. A stoic Ron Swanson and bored April Ludgate sit around the bar. And here we are, Ann and Leslie, exhausted but chatting away. Bartender Ben asks us what we want to drink before Sharon even finishes her whiskey, I decline to have anything and Sharon gets a refill, and he walks away without giving us the check. When we finally flag him down to pay, he tells us someone paid for us (or Sharon) and we have no idea who. Very confusing.
After pointing out Parks and Rec characters for a while, we take a walk around town and find the Christmas Market just outside of Belfast City Hall. It’s super cozy and full of stalls of food, drinks and decorations. We buy some snacks and look around until we find a German Biergarden selling steins of drinks. It’s so full, we have to stand up while drinking, and I feel very full and crampy, so afterwards we head back to the hostel for some sleep. I’m 27 now and I like to get up early and go to bed at a reasonable hour, so sue me.
Lucky that we got a decent amount of sleep, because come morning we are doing a very long day trip with McComb’s Coach Travel. Our amazing tour guide and bus driver Patrick first takes us to Carrickfergus Castle, a medieval building with a lot of militant history.
Then we drive along beaches and through valleys, passing Castle Black from Game of Thrones and little villages before we make a stop at the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. The walk towards the bridge is beautiful, with views of Rathlin Island and lots of bright blue water. The wind is harsh and the rain in cold, but it’s all worth it when we see a rainbow peeking through the cloud as we pass the rope bridge to Carrickarede Island. Even though the bridge has been made a whole lot safer than it probably was when first built over 350 years ago, the strong wind and the long drop is still enough to make me nervous. But what a rush!
The tour group has Guiness and steak pie at the Fullerton Arms pub in Ballintoy before we do a bit of a hike to Giant’s Causway, a beach of thousands of hexagonal stones, forming a honeycomb pattern. We climb some of the rocks, which is kinda scary in the wind, but hey, doin’ it for the ‘gram. By now my ears are red and ringing from all the icy winds, so getting back on the coach for a little snooze is just what I need.
Eventually, the sun sets and we reach Old Bushmills Distillery for a hot toddy. Sharon buys a 12-year old whiskey to take home, and I just struggle to swallow this poison. I may be an adult, but I still can’t drink strong alcohol without a mixer.
When we finally get back to our hostel in Belfast, we are cold and tired, and my feet have been blackened by wearing wet tights all day. We take a hot shower, but the lack of heating in the rooms makes it a very unpleasant experience to get clean and ready for a night out. We grab a lot of food at a downtown bar while listening to some pretty dope live music. As the band packs up for the night, we head to The Duke of York, where I find a beautiful knitted hat that says “Gingle Bells” left behind on a table. I decide it’s mine after no one comes back to claim it, and wear it as we head to The John Hewitt, where we befriend some old guys that insist on buying us drinks and show us videos of their cows. The band plays all of the classics, except Wonderwall, which Sharon confronts the singer about after the set, and then I interrupt their conversation to tell him the exact same thing. Great minds think alike, and these geniuses have to go to bed. At least we made it past midnight this time around!
Our last day in Belfast is spent eating waffles for breakfast and having mid-day drinks at Duke of York. We find a wooden booth to drink in somewhat privacy, and write a message on the walls. Then it’s back to Dublin for our last night. The whole city is overbooked, so the only available hostel is Kinlay House, which is very overpriced for a small dorm with 8 single beds. We have great burgers and beers at Bunsen, which we also frequented last time we visited together, before once again hitting up Temple Bar. All pubs are too full to move around or even get from our standing spot to the bar, but we manage to find a place to have a drink and listen to a live rendition of Wonderwall. I am beyond happy. As it gets late, the crowd get bigger and drunker, and we eventually make it out to catch some fresh air and head back to the hostel. We fall asleep after chatting to one of our roommates, but are woken up in the middle of the night by two English girls bringing guys back to the room. They all get half naked before I tell them to go somewhere else, which results in one of the girls getting super aggressive, calling me a bitch and repeatedly threaten to beat me up. I can’t go back to sleep after that, feeling a mix of white hot rage and fear for what these chicks will do if I head down to reception to complain about them. Since all hostels are overbooked, I decide against doing anything, as I’d want to secure another room after snitching on these psychos. I barely get any sleep, and in the morning one of the girls do apologize, although it means fuck all to me. I’m just ready to pack my stuff and get out of there. Sharon follows me to the bus stop, we have one last hug, and I’m on my way back home.