Belfast...

News for yesterday: Selling your bike back to a bike shop in Cambridge is like selling your college textbooks back to the university bookstore. You will get screwed over. Guaranteed. I was awash with sentimentality about saying goodbye to my eco-friendly mode of transportation until no one would buy it back from me for more than £15. Bearing in mind that Matthew and I have invested a total of approximately £175 in our cycle-related expenses, we weren't in a happy mood by the time we got home. As a result, Matt's bike is currently locked on a random fence in the Cambridge market square because its rear tire is deflated. He wasn't about to carry the (and I quote) "worthless piece of <blank>" all the way back to our flat. Sweaty from our effort (it was actually warm outside!) and ready to curse the greed of the stupid bike shop owners, we sulked toward home. And wouldn't you know that at this exact moment, we passed a blind man slowly making his way over the Trinity bridge with his walking stick. Immediately, I was convicted of my own selfishness and felt guilty for worrying about a little lost money. At least I can see. At least I am healthy and capable enough to ride a bike. Time to reinstate the "Thanksgiving Method" and focus on my blessings instead of wasting my breath on complaints and discontent.

That said, let's revisit another thing that made me grateful for what I have - Belfast, which should be known as Bleakfast. Its reputation preceded it, and we thought surely it couldn't be as bad as everyone was saying. But it was. It is worlds away from other cities of the United Kingdom, and its complex history certainly casts a long shadow. As recently as the early 2000s, armed conflict existed between the Catholics and Protestants of the city. I can't pretend to understand why they hate each other so much, but there was enough anger to cause bombings and shootings galore. The attacks credited to the IRA (Irish Republican Army) are one of the major reasons why you will never see trash bins in the London subway system or on many London streets. The threat of bombs being planted inside them is too great. In one portion of Belfast, there is still a wall dividing the Protestant and Catholic segments of the city. We drove by it in our car, and it reminded us of pre-1989 Berlin. To be fair, I am sure Belfast has its positive side; but, I don't think we found it.  Queen's University looked nice, City Hall was an attractive enough building, and the new Titanic museum has opened near the docks where the ship was originally conceived and constructed. But needless to say, Tomas, Matthew, and I were not too brokenhearted when our time in Northern Ireland came to an end. Here's a quick pictorial recap of the (limited) highlights:

Queen's University resembles Matt's Cambridge College, Girton. Looks a little like the Smithsonian Castle in Washington, D.C. as well.

And this is the Belfast City Hall. It was all decked out with the Union Jack and Olympic rings. This portion of the city was definitely the most friendly. It had all the shops, trendy restaurants, and young professionals.

In the docklands area stood the new Titanic Belfast attraction. It opened at the end of March and is fairly state of the art (as far as museums go); however, Matthew found it noneducational and uninformative. (He's used to Cambridge standards these days. Haha.) It did seem as if the architecture and the design of the exhibits were given more thought than the information contained within them. In short, many aspects were eye-catching, but we learned more about the linen industry in Belfast than about the actual tragedy of the sunken unsinkable ship.

The shape of the museum is intended to represent the bow of a boat. Arguably, it also looks like an iceberg. The smaller brick building on the right was the headquarters and drafting center of the shipbuilding company, Harland and Wolff. It was in this warehouse that the sketches were drawn and the plans concocted. Then across the street, the pieces were put into place on the slipways.

If you look closely you will see hubby and I are standing under the second "T" in front of the museum. Thanks, Tomas, for being our photographer!

The two giant gantry cranes used to erect Titanic can be viewed from a shopping mall off High Street. On the top floor there was a free panoramic viewing deck. The twin cranes were known as Samson and Goliath because of their size and strength. The blue "H&W" stands for Harland and Wolff.

The style of the exhibits varied. This was a full scale replica of a first class cabin. I thought it was interesting that only the captain and the first class passengers had freshwater baths. Everyone else had to use saltwater that was pumped into their designated loo.

And this was a full scale replica of a private third class cabin. Quite a difference in space! I would have been sick as a dog traveling in steerage. Projected images of passengers (actors) were encased in the exhibit, and to me, it reenforced the humanity of the victims. Made the scenarios more relatable.

Besides the Disney-style ride through the shipyard (yes, there was a ride!), this was my favorite room. It showed how the plans were transferred from paper drafts onto the warehouse floor using chalk and templates. I find it incredible that such a mammoth project was completed without the use of computers or other modern-day technologies.

Closeups of the plans illuminated the floor of one room, and I noticed this portion of the drawings. It was the infamous staircase in the first class lobby area. If you have seen the James Cameron version of Titanic, you'll recognize the spot. Above it was the glass domed ceiling. Again, Matthew complained of the lack of information. "Where are the measurements? We can't even tell what scale this is in." What an engineer.

I left the museum satisfied. Granted, the majority of day had focused on how the ship was built, but I haven't ever learned about that. New knowledge acquired. Switching from one depressing topic to another, I'd like to share with you some pictures demonstrating the doom and gloom of Belfast.

This was the street on which our hostel was located. It was only a couple of blocks from Queen's University and the central restaurant district, so it was supposedly a good part of town. But, we were ready to get the heck out of there. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the dog-sized rat. Maybe it was the fact that the hostel owner told us to park our rental car in front of the window so the guard could watch it overnight. Yeah... Enough said.

These murals are everywhere near the Catholic/Protestant dividing wall. Our hostel owner told us that the wall is now called "The Peace Wall." One: I don't think I believed a word that guy said. Two: How does the wall signify peace? Or does it just keep the peace by separating the opposing sides? Three: Please note the hooded man. In less than 24 hours, we concluded that velour sweatsuits are an acceptable male wardrobe staple in Belfast. Especially when accompanied by a buzz cut and tattoos.

Finally, here is a portion of the wall. Call us cowards, but we didn't bother to get out of the car.

I don't want to paint an unfair portrait of Belfast. Personally, I won't plan to make a return visit; but, as I said earlier, it wasn't all bad. We kept our sense of humor about us.

We appreciated the giant mosaic fish.

And Matthew imitated said fish, which was entertaining.

Plus, there was a cool antique saloon with private booths, wood paneling, stained glass windows, and gas lamp lighting.

We probably would have regretted skipping over Belfast solely based on its negative press. But, I'd say that if you have read this post, there's no real reason to add the city to your own travel bucket list. Go to Dublin instead. I'll tell you why next time!

Ya'll come back now, ya hear? Sorry, I'm prepping for our imminent return to Oklahoma. Won't happen again. (That's a lie.)