Ah ’tis a fine Sunday when you can slip on up to the six counties for a leisurely visit. I decided in the am to see where I might find myself and Cork was approachable, but a slower trip. belfast made the most sense at just over two hours. Its a fine ride to the north and all the better when the weather’s sweet and Sunday’s was a peach. As we crossed the Boyne I sensed the day would go well- there’s always a certain pang of significance to the crossing especially when one is pushing on into Ulster.

Belfast has a strange gateway railway station. The central statin doesn’t quite seem that central, and yet I gather is more central than it once was…so it’s all rather relative I suppose. What sort of image does Belfast conjure up for you? Recent times of course remind us of the troubles, of sectarian violence, of division, and of extremes. yet, when I was through in April on my way up the north Antrim coast, it was clear that Belfast is a city of resurgent affluence, new construction, investment and certainly different circumstances than the view from outside might portend. You may also remember the Harland and Wolf shipyards that produced the Titanic and of a working-class urban centre. Belfast is not the place of memory. The first impression as you walk into town, even on a Sunday is that its a bit of a shopping town. They have some quite large city centre malls – the Tesco is even situated in a restored neo-classical masterpiece. There are pedestrian friendly streets, a wealth of high-end boutiques, cafe’s and … as of last week a bright spanking new Apple store. The scale of the city is a pleasant surprise. Very walkable and very densely rich. The architecture has the feel of fin-de-siecle turrets, arches and fine craftsmanship. A lot of red, sandstone mason’s pride.

I had a superb and filling late lunch at ‘Made in Belfast’ – a wonderfully eclectic eatery. A pint of Guinness along with some Belfast crab on brown bread (with olive oil, pesto, cherry tomatoes). I was warned that the burgers were not available (some incomprehensible explanation) and that the special of the day as a substitute was roast beef. Well, when in belfast, go for the special. It was delicious and was served with a wonderful au jus, carmellized onions, broccolli and green beans. I was able to charge my mobile at a plug alongside my table, pop onto the internet on a dwindling laptop battery and satiate my noontime needs.

After some wandering about to get feel for the city, I did feel obliged to pop into the Crown pub for another pint. Don’t be counting…I may have had more than one with lunch. But, the Crown is renowned. The only disappointment was the unavailability of fresh oysters…my heart had leapt at the possibility. All the more so as it would have been a sense of connectedness with the west on Sunday. The stores close at a very generous 6pm on Sundays, so this worked well for me catching a 7pm train back to Dublin. The trains were all on time, comfortable and quite reasonable in cost. The trip home was a packed crew…presumably returnees from a full weekend in the north.

The currency situation is rather odd I find. Having gotten used to Euros, all is well…you just don’t do the conversion and life seems alright. In point of fact in Dublin, you are paying in euros, directly what you would pay in dollars, so life is more expensive here. There has been a lot of press lately about how many of the chains are gouging customers in the republic. However, despite this, I found that I was actually paying in sterling what I am paying in Euros. That’s a wee bit more again. This was not the case in all venues, as the pints cost me £2 as opposed to being as high as €5 in some Dublin pubs at certain times…curiosity…liquor costs vary by time of day in Ireland. Novel.

All in all, though, a fine place for a visit and I’ll look forward to tripping up again to get further afield.

Today’s objective (as tho’ the day needed an objective) was to finally explore the National War Memorial Gardens and Phoenix Park. Bottomline: It’s a really, freakin’ enormous park. We already knew it was the largest walled park in the world, but the scale is not really appreciable until move about its extents under your own steam. It’s a rustic park for most parts – thankfully the more rustic, the more quiet and peaceful. The smell is delicious. I rode placidly appreciating the views of distant villages, across vista’s entirely within the parkspace itself and occassional glimpses out of the greenery and off in the distance towards the cranes in Dublin. Parts of the park are more developed than others – near the Aras an Uachtaran (the President’s House) is very ceremonial, where the Ordinance Survey offices are tucked unobtrusivelly into a forest nook. The around the Wellington Monument was crawling with people. Apparently it was Septemberfest and Some sort of Soccerfest as well. There was a cricket tourney all coexisting within a mere corner of the park. The Dublin Zoo (also a constituent part of the park) was busy with families coming and going.

The National War Memorial gardens were the polar opposite. Its also a substantial park, but it’s somber and respectful (as it should be) the hilly grounds very much a manicured space festooned with ruiney-looking monuments. Respect and reverance. On the downside I swam back in the pouring rain. Well, at least the larger portion of the day was dry. Quite the change from yesterday, the sunburn effects of which I can still feel