As I mentioned before, I traveled to various locales in Ireland at every opportunity I could. Back when I backpacked through Europe all of those years ago, I went at a furious pace. Traveling by train I would hop an 8-hour train each night, which I would then use as my mobile hotel. I would arrive in a city such as Warsaw or Budapest at close to 6 in the morning, and I would spend the entire day touring the city. At 8pm that evening or so, I would hop back on the train and rinse and repeat. Granted I didn't see everything I wanted to see, but I saw enough to know when I came back in the future, I would know exactly the places I would want to spend a few days in. When you're young, dumb, and single, there's not really a better way to travel.
While my tour of Ireland was not at nearly the same frenetic pace, I did make sure that I tried to see as much as possible. The first weekend we had free, Dan and I were set on heading to Belfast. We talked to a few others in the group, and eventually we grabbed a bus Belfast-bound with a total of 9. Normally, I hate to travel in groups. Invariably, there is always one person that isn't quite as enthused with seeing all a particular locale has to offer. And not that I'm saying that's completely wrong, it's just that I don't travel that way. If I'm going to a museum, I want to see everything in the museum. Otherwise, why would I go? By the end of our weekend, everyone but me was sucking wind pretty bad. I don't know if it was Saturday night's libations or just the amount of walking we did, but by the time we took the hop-on, hop-off city bus tour, half of our nonete were more than ready to hit the road. I was able to convince a few to do a short walking tour of the city with me. That may have been my favorite part of the trip.
Ultimately, I walked away thinking that Northern Ireland was not really Ireland at all. Any geographer could tell you that, but from a pure cultural and dialectical viewpoint, I didn't once feel as if I were in the Emerald Isle at all. The houses looked British, the people sounded British, heck the people even looked British. It was like I were in Disneyland and was magically transported to Limeyland on one of the rides. And while I greatly enjoyed my short weekend in Belfast, I couldn't help but think that that feature, "the un-Irishness" of Belfast, was a real downer. If I wanted to hear a Limey lilt, I would have just spent a weekend in London or hopped a ferry over to Liverpool.
Another odd thing I noticed about Belfast was an increased sense of commercialism. It reminds me of the debate that was had during the Irish Civil War between the socialist republicans and the capitalist nationals. It is clear from the few days I spent in Belfast that this is one place the capitalists won. The bars were mostly dance clubs, the bustling malls were brimming with goods, and advertisements were crammed into any available signage. Even Dublin, in all its cosmopolitan nature, felt downright homey compared to Belfast at times.
Which is one more interesting paradox, because Belfastians proclaimed that Dublin was a far more expensive town. This came as a bit of a shock to me, as I noticed my bank account rapidly declining due to Belfast's use of the sterling. Whenever I told anyone I was studying in Dublin, they were quick to assert, "how can you afford to live there?" often with a derisive sneer, often to suggest Dublin was a city for rich tourist suckers. Perhaps it's just a big brother/little brother complex, but this seemed to be Belfastians' way of digging at Dubliners. There were no violent undertones in their derision, just a palatable snarkiness. But most interestingly, though I traveled to a number of other places in Ireland, only in Belfast did people remark about the economic status of Dublin.
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