Journal - A Walk Along The Lough

I begin this journal entry with an alternate title to the post, which I hope is equally witty and intriguing (yet not as quick and catchy): "What Did I Do Today? I Went To Holywood And Saw The Titanic!" Or if this were to be published in a tabloid or any of the Belfast dailies (they happen to be the same thing): "Man Visits Titanic and Holywood In One Day...And In Northern Ireland." Unfortunately for my popularity (and fortunately for my future job prospects), today's outing did not warrant such exceptional news coverage, but I did get to visit both of the title objects, in some form or another.

Today my two German friends and I set off from our accommodations in South Belfast to walk northeast along the coast of Belfast Lough. The stroll to the city centre was pleasant and normal: partly-cloudy skies overlooked the normal bustle of church-goers and tourists that characterize most Sunday mornings. Passing the Lagan Weir, I noticed water strangely flowing upstream over the weir, which was only weird (bad pun, I know) before we realized that it must be the result of tidal action.

Continuing north we passed the large Odyssey Complex and Arena, home to the Belfast Giants, Northern Ireland's ice hockey team. We then entered the Titanic Quarter by walking under the unintended gate formed by the large cranes erecting several new buildings. We realized later that the city council is trying to redevelop this area in time for the anniversary of the maiden voyage of the ship RMS Titanic, which was manufactured in Harland and Wolff's Belfast shipyard and launched in 1912. By the way, it also sunk in 1912. Walking north along empty tarmac-covered fields, we eventually reached what the numerous interpretive signs informed us was the Harland and Wolff administrative building, where they designed their many ocean liners, including the Titanic. Across the street we couldn't help but notice the two enormous H&W cranes, the dominating feature of the Belfast skyline, aptly named "Samson" and "Goliath." As we retraced the steps on our detour, we wondered aloud how a city could turn what should be a shameful event (and perhaps an engineering failure) into a tourist attraction and source of pride. Maybe someone is a wee too optimistic.

The next stage of our journey should have dissuaded us from continuing, but our resolve was strong and our stomachs temporarily quelled by an apple. (We were saving the rest of our packed lunches for a suitable sandy beach, the only appropriate place to enjoy such a feast while at the shore. They would consist of: delicious authentic German bread (not the toast we think of as bread) with cucumbers and cheese (which recalled me back to some semi-pleasant memories of school lunches), hard-to-peel mandarin oranges, and hardtack in the form of my failed chocolate-orange cookies. But now back to our journey.) The dark clouds forming to our west seemed indicative of the district we had now entered, a landscape full of black-stained sheet-metal-covered cylinders, pungent smells, and fast-moving tanker trucks. In short: the place for heavy industry, multinational gasoline companies, and the city airport. Some may say that the buildings were ugly, I would contend that a few had a Calvinist "character" to them (that's a reference to Calvin and Hobbes, not the protestant theologian), but all would agree that the land use was far from environmentally friendly. The one bright point was a protected lagoon and bird lookout, inexplicably monitored by CCTV.

Eventually we reached the non-industrial shoreline and followed the path past a military base, through a brief rain shower, and into Holywood. I apologize for letting your hopes down, because I saw not one single celebrity in our time there, but rather a pleasant paved esplanade leading to a shell-filled beach. It was there that we found a bench upon which to enjoy a well-earned lunch, marvel at the variety of cloud shapes, and feel glad that we were not across the lough at the beach-less Carrickfergus.

It is well known through experience and anecdotal evidence that the shore possesses a power over the human mind (and hence step) perhaps equaled only by the game that mischievous children play whereby a bill of currency is made tantalizingly close yet always out of reach. By its mere macro-convexity, the shore caters to our inquisitive instinct about the hidden future, and forces us to see only that which is around the next bend, or perhaps just around the one beyond, and so on. In this fashion, we progressed slowly along the North Down Coastal Path, passing a pleasant park, many large homes, and a variety of rocks and sand. The wind at our backs helped as well. We soon came to Cultra, the affluent home of the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club, the Royal Belfast Golf Club, and the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum. I had hoped to visit the Transport museum (and ogle over their DeLorean exhibit), but the afternoon was late and I admit that few people share my blind enthusiasm over such subjects. Our visit to Cultra was not a waste, however, as we correctly surmised that "yacht" was probably a German word.

At about a kilometer beyond Cultra, our tired legs, the darkening clouds, and clammy feet convinced us to turn around and seek our return to Belfast. The west wind, probably jealous that we suddenly turned against it, blew with increased energy; yet after but a few minutes it became comforting, if only because we knew it had the potential to be much colder. The wind ceased once we walked away from the beach and through the semi-rural neighborhood, and by the graces of a cheerful woman we found ourself waiting for the NI Railways train towards Belfast. And waiting...and waiting... Oranges, some rowdy kids, and fifty minutes later, we finally boarded the train and enjoyed the comfortable, inexpensive, and quick trip back into the city. I look forward to the next free beautiful weekend day when we can continue our coastal walk to Bangor...after taking the train to Cultra!