by Christine Doughty (Temple University)
UPON ARRIVING IN BELFAST last Thursday, I was excited to experience Ireland and all the things it has to offer. As I walked through the terminal I felt as if I had just stepped into a time portal. The small airport in Belfast was not expected. It smelled like home and there were very few people in. Getting through customs wasn't hard, but I finally felt my jetlag seeping into my bloodstream. I arrived at Europa Bus Station (which was a target for attacks during the Troubles, it was bombed more than eleven times) I did the tourist zombie walk to the hostel. If you're wondering what the tourist zombie walk is, imagine someone pulling a suitcase that is too heavy, but has other carry-ons strapped on the other arm which makes it perpendicular to the rest of the body in order to counter the weight. The arm then directs the undead to their target. I don't know.
So I show up at the hostel and find out that although I had given an arrival time when I booked my room, that check in isn't until "half one". This was food for delusional thought. I had never really heard "half one" before, but I was tired and needed a bed. I didn't know if that number really meant twelve thirty, as in it's almost one ("halfway there!"), one thirty, or something else. I ended up passing out on a loveseat in the open computer area where everyone walking around me must have thought I was a hobo.
When I finally got into my room, I ended up sleeping for what I feel like was the next two days. My time in Belfast was short, but I got to meet a couple people, some being from Germany, Northern California, and a girl who was from Australia but now lives in Dublin. I had two other roommates but they were kind of weird and we didn't talk. I'd rather forget about it. I got to see Albert Clock, City Hall, the Botanic Gardens, and many other places during my own zigzag walking tour of Belfast. Don't go on it, it takes two days.
I met this guy Steve from the hostel who was really cool and on Saturday night we did a historic pub tour in Belfast. Most of the places were dimly lit with wooden walls, booths and jolly patrons. One of the pubs, whose name escapes me now, was very similar to a frat party. It was just too packed for me.
On Sunday, slightly hung-over, I made my way back to Europa bus station where I met up with a bunch of lovely people who are also participating in this program. I was excited to see other people who I could identify with; I was getting lonely on my walks around Belfast. The bus we took felt like a madman was driving. Suit cases were falling all over the place, people were smashed against one another, others were tripping over the fallen suitcases, and it seemed as if this bus ride would never end. We arrived in arMAGH about an hour and a half later, clutching for our carry-ons and our lives. Setting up camp was pretty easy here, despite the shuffle with the rooms and putting things away.
My first impression of Armagh was that it is a very quaint town. It has all these tiny streets that are really easy to get lost in. I have also learned that if you want to go to anywhere all you need to do is walk down a hill. Right or left never really seem to matter, it just depends on how quickly you want to get there. There are those times when you find yourself needing to walk up another hill, which complicates things. I have no reservations as far as this program goes, I know I will have a good time completing the work I need to do, my greater concern is that when I walk across the street I look the right way. On the next episode of my nonamerican travels: A small American girl has buck wild experiences in Armagh.
Belfast
