One thing you learn from living pretty close to the northern border is that we on the other side are often disliked, or more appropriately, not cared for. I can still remember when I was much younger driving across the border from Cavan into Fermanagh and having to go through a check-point with a heap of British soldiers watching our every move. In the bushes would be a camouflaged soldier with the barrel of his gun staring you right in the eye. Of course times have changed and check-points are few, but because the car has (Irish) Republic plates, we decide to drive up to Monaghan Town -not too far from the border – and take the bus to Belfast.
We miss the first bus even though we left at the crack of dawn. No matter what, Uncle Norbert only goes a certain speed -a slow one, or as he refers to it, “a safe speed.” By the time we catch the next bus, the sun peers up from behind a distant hill. It crawls its way across the rural fields and blankets me in warmth as I curl up for a nap.
Before I know it, we are pulling into Belfast limits. Surrounded by towering hills also known as the Black Hills, Belfast comes without much warning. With regards to figuring out what type of area one is in, flags, symbols, and graffiti murals are key. A large area we drive through is clean of graffiti and murals and the only way I realize where I am is in the shape of a Union Jack – rising above a fully fenced, barricaded primary school.
We arrive directly into the city centre at Great Victory Street Rail and Bus Station. The sheer voltage of the city is overwhelming. The rapid pace is enough to intimidate the most traveled of travelers. The main thing that makes Belfast what it is cannot be summed up in news stories and travel pieces of school newspapers – Belfast is, if nothing else, a resilient, acid-tongued environment. Exiting Great Victoria Station, one arrives on Great Victoria Street. I decide to head north to the left. This part of the city is known as the city center and I am not too far from city hall and where most of the city does its shopping (but I’ll get to that in a bit). Right now I am heading toward West Belfast, home to much of the violence of the last couple of decades.
After a ten-minute walk north, the Divis Road crosses over Great. Victoria. Turning left brings me to Falls Road, the predominantly Catholic strip in West Belfast. Walking the Falls Road, murals and different types of graffiti jump out. One reads in Irish (Gaelic) to “vote Sinn Fein.” Another, further up and more artistically done, shows support to Palestine, something the staunch Republicans feel is a similar situation to what they endured.
After walking the Falls Road, I retrace my steps back to Great Victoria Street and head one block north to the Shankill Road and turn left again. This is predominately a Protestant area and it seems much larger than Catholic area. This road runs parallel with the Falls Road and the “Peace Wall” separates the two. When I walk a bit further down to the Shankill, there is a steel barricaded gate through which one can walk to get into or out of the Catholic area of Bombay Street. During the 1970’s a large chunk of Bombay Street was burned down and a memorial to those who perished stands along the Peace Wall.
I eventually head back to the city center and land at the foot of Belfast City Hall. West Belfast almost gives off the feeling of a separate world than the rest of Belfast – like an arena or for a lack of a better term – playpen, because down here, murals are not seen and the only graffiti present are little things. Belfast, according writer Robert McLiam Wilson, is truly the place where they write things on their walls. They have everything – IRA, UDA, UVF, INLA and little things like “Jimmy luvs Shelly” and “Jenny’s a slut” and my favorite, “Don’t write on this wall” – classic! Here in the city center, across from Belfast City Hall, I jump on bus number 45 and ride it north out the city to Belfast Castle, located off the Antrim Road. Sitting on the top level of the double-decker I don’t realize my stop and miss it, but eventually get there when we turn around. Its outer beauty is something special and on a clear day you can get an aerial view of Belfast. Walking inside the castle, I don’t get the warmest of receptions. I figure it to be merely an elegant dining hall. All in all, too posh for the likes of me.
Belfast has had its troubles in the past, but it seems now, more than ever that peace has become a universal thought, if not a passion. The British army, although present, has retreated back to its barracks and actually keeps its eye on the city from the top of Belfast’s tallest skyscraper. To show its progression from being a war-torn area, cranes are present throughout the entire city. Job hiring for companies, big and small, flash across billboards and taped to traffic poles.
University of Bridgeport
Tuesday, July 1, 2025