|
I hadn't planned on spending my birthday in Belfast, Northern Ireland this year--but when an opportunity of that magnitude knocks, it's hard not to answer in the affirmative.
Just over a month ago, I was part of a small delegation that traveled to New York City to meet with the CEO of a foundation dedicated to economic
development, education and reconciliation between Catholics and Protestants
in Ireland. We went to propose an exchange program between the Doane Stuart School (formed in 1975 as the result of a
merger between the oldest Roman Catholic and Episcopal church schools in
Albany) and schools in Northern Ireland, hoping that we might share our own
ecumenical success with Protestant and Catholic young people from Belfast.
The foundation head was supportive of our plan, encouraging us to connect
with some of the 40-odd "integrated schools" that have been
established in Northern Ireland over the past 20 years to co-educate
Protestant and Catholic students together. We pondered a summer trip, but our
benefactor noted that we'd be better served by visiting schools before they
broke for vacation. So, hey presto: a mere three weeks later I found myself
winging eastward with Doane Stuart's headmaster on
an Aer Lingus red-eye,
bound for Shannon in the Republic of Ireland, and from there on to Belfast.
While it may be obvious to state this, you can't even begin to perceive the
border between Northern Ireland (part of the United Kingdom) and the Republic of Ireland from 28,000 feet. Looking down from our bright green Airbus
A330-300, all we saw was the lush scenery that earned the Emerald Isle its
name, with ancient stone walls and tree lines making a patchwork quilt of
farmlands from horizon to horizon, and no clear natural boundaries separating
"the North" from "the South." Which
shouldn't be surprising, of course, given the geographic artificiality of
partition line drawn in 1920 to separate the newly home-governing Republic
from the North.
But there was nothing artificial, then or now, about the socioeconomic and
political divides between the South and the North--nor between the Catholic
and Protestant communities in Northern Ireland itself, although it's an over-simplification to define those
sparring camps strictly by their religions. After four centuries of uneasy
parallel existence, ever since King James I "landed" English and
Scottish Protestants in Ulster, the Protestant and Catholic communities in
the North not only worship differently, but they also eat different foods,
play different games, speak different languages, go to different schools,
read different newspapers, live different lives.
And as "the Troubles" devoured the city of Belfast over the past thirty years, Protestants and Catholics increasingly
have come to live in different neighborhoods, which are often divided by
armed, guarded "Peace Walls" or by less formal, but no less
absolute, boundaries known as "interfaces." As we moved about
Belfast during our visit there, it was quite easy to recognize when we'd
crossed an interface by the changes in sign colors hanging from lampposts and
on buildings: red, white and blue in Protestant areas; green, orange and
white in Catholic ones. The closer one came to an interface, the denser such
signs grew, as people didn't seem to need to advertise so strongly in the
heart of their own neighborhoods, where community identity wasn't challenged
by the neighbors across the street.
But I get ahead of myself. We entered Northern Ireland via the bright and modern Belfast International Airport, which seemed to be free from such partisan markings. Of course,
like all things in Northern Ireland, it hasn't always been so: BIA is located in Aldergrove,
home to a once-politically-sensitive Royal Air Force unit, although the
military presence about the compound is much diminished these days. Belfast
itself sits some 25 miles to the southeast, surrounded by a ring of hills,
split by the River Lagan, situated right at the mouth of the deepwater
Belfast Lough; a true port city.
While cabs from the airport are reasonable (about 20 UK pounds, plus tip), we
opted to accept a lift from the brother of one of Doane
Stuart's teachers--who gave us the sort of insider's tour that the travel
ministry isn't likely to endorse. We entered the city by winding our way
through Catholic West Belfast, the area most scarred by the Troubles. Many of the Peace Walls in
that area are still decorated with provocative (both in terms of political
agenda and artistic intent) murals, and the destitution on either side of the
walls (for about the same distance that a strong person can throw a rock or a
petrol bomb) speaks volumes about the depths of the acrimony that divided
this community, literally and figuratively.
You've seen it on the news, but you haven't really seen it until you walk through
a gate in a barbed wire topped fence and have your tour-guide wistfully point
out his childhood house, now on the other side. Chilling. Fortunately,
though, both lamppost signage and mural intensity diminished as we worked our
way across West Belfast towards the more mercantile city center, which stands as the most
integrated area in Belfast, commercial opportunity seeming to override even the most stringent
sectarianism.
And that sense of commercial opportunity is palpable these days in Belfast, as the landmark Good Friday Agreements that brought at least
nominal peace and stability to the North mark their
third anniversary this month. One physical manifestation of that optimism is
construction, which is rampant throughout the city center, with new buildings
going up, damaged ones going down, and historic ones being renovated and
refurbished, hopefully to the betterment of the city's tourist trade. (Those
tourists that do visit the North these days tend to head out to the coast, to
take in such geological marvels as the Giants Causeway, a remarkable natural
collection of wave-swept hexagonal stones that looks exactly like its name).
We didn't have any problems booking lodging in Belfast proper, accordingly, choosing the Belfast Hilton (4 Lanyon Place, Belfast, Northern Ireland BT1 2LP, UK; 44-28-9027-7000) as our base of operations. We also considered the
newly refurbished and very grand looking Europa
Hotel (Great Victoria
Street, Belfast, Northern Ireland BT2 7AP, UK; 44-28-9032-7000), until we discovered its historical reputation as
Europe's most-bombed hotel. We weren't that brave. Given hectic
work schedules, we also took many of our meals at the Hilton's in-house
restaurant, Sonoma, a California-themed restaurant made better than it had any right
to be by the presence of top-notch local salmon on the menu. And anyplace
with fish that good is more than fine by me.
The Hilton is within easy walk of many of Belfast's major urban landmarks. To the north and east, the landscape and
skyline both were dominated by the Harland and Wolff Shipyards, once one of
the major engines of the industrial revolution--and birthplace of the RMS Titantic, who started her engines for the first time
there at Laganside in April, 1912. No monument
marks the spot. H&W's gargantuan cranes (the
world's second and third largest, and known by their familiar names: Samson
and Goliath) are still in operation, though, although shipbuilding has been
supplanted by oil drilling platform construction over the past decade or so.
Belfast City Hall is equally hard to miss, defining the heart of the city
with its neoclassical bulk, its manicured green swards (packed with people
enjoying the sunshine while we were there), and its imposing garden statuary
(much of it offensive to those who don't embrace the sterling legacy of the British Empire). Donegal Place and Royal Avenue (directly north of City Hall) also
provided a nice set of shopping opportunities, including a visit to
financially beleaguered, yet still imposing, British retail giant, Marks and
Spencer, which offered an interesting (to American sensibilities) combination
of grocery store and clothing outlet.
Our more far-flung travels took us to Stormont Castle, where the Northern Ireland Assembly established by the Good Friday Agreement meets. While
access to the interior of the Castle is somewhat restricted, the grounds
alone make it worth a visit, particularly the mile-long driveway up the hill
to the Castle. We also visited Belfast Castle, high up on the shanks of Cave Hill to the north and west of the
city center, and offering fabulous gardens and exquisite daytime and
nighttime views of Belfast, City and Lough. The cellars of Belfast
Castle were restored a decade ago, and now include an antique shop, small tap
room, and intimate restaurant, where I had, yet again, very fine local fish,
and did indeed mark my birthday in fine, if low-key, fashion.
The nature of our trip to Belfast meant that we spent a great deal of time in
and around schools there, visiting Queens University of Belfast (one of the
half-dozen highest rated universities in the UK), passing through Campbell
College (an elite boarding school known for its stellar athletic programs)
and spending quality time at Lagan College and Hazelwood College, the two
oldest integrated schools in Northern Ireland. And while this trip certainly
didn't qualify as a typical relaxing American vacation abroad, I can't deny
the sublime joys associated with touring the Lagan campus with a young,
Protestant Orangeman and his female, Catholic friend, or in talking to
Protestant and Catholic students at Hazelwood, together, about the challenges
they face when they return home to their divided neighborhoods.
Those moments made this trip deeply, deeply rewarding in ways that most mere
vacations can never be. And while it's hard, today, to recommend Belfast as a tourist destination, as a focal point for a changing world
order, and as a breeding ground for a new generation of peacemakers, it's
awfully hard to top. I can't wait to return--hopefully, someday, to a city
without Peace Walls, to neighborhoods without interfaces, to a Belfast that's taken it rightful place as one of Europe's great cities.
Copyright 2001: J. Eric Smith.
|