If there is just over half a litre in a pint, the question has to be asked, ‘How many litres of beer can be drunk in a 3 day tour of Northern Ireland?’ And even more pertinent, ‘How many litres of Guinness can be drunk in that time frame?’
There were 34 people who had a fair stab at answering that question this Easter weekend, and considering in this holy nation that religious holidays also mean the pubs are meant to have restricted hours of serving, those 34 people did remarkably well.
Being so glad that I finally got out of Dublin for a weekend, I’m not sure whether it was leaving the drab landscape of grey Dublin behind us or what, but the north was amazing and really pretty. The tour itself was a bit disorganised but part of that added to the excitement of the weekend and gave us all some common ground to laugh about. We left Dublin on Good Friday morning, drove through the toll booth to the tunnel out of the city and then the driver gets a call to go back to base and pick up a late comer. Easier said than done on the main motorway out of the Nation’s capital. As the tour guide said, ‘we had reached the point of no return,’ so we drove through the tunnel, got off the motorway, back on it and through the tunnel again. Second time lucky we left Dublin and headed to Drogheda to see Saint Oliver Plunkett’s head, then on to Monasterboice to see the Irish High Crosses, namely the highest one in Ireland. From there it was onward bound to Belfast, yet again, easier said than done. You would think that on Easter weekend the government would find something better to do than road works on the main road from north to the republic. So an hour and a half in a traffic jam, the tour guide running out of stories about the surrounding areas to tell us and lots of bursting bladders, we eventually made it into Belfast.
If ever in Belfast, the Black Cab Tours are a must. They have special permission to enter both sides of the Political divide in this city. We saw the Protestant murals on the Shankill Road, the Peace wall that divides the two, the Catholic murals and Sinn Fein headquarters on the Falls Road and the International wall, as well as listening to all the stories and background info from the taxi drivers. It’s hard to believe that all this conflict was happening only 30-40 odd years ago, and as little as into the late 1990s.
Expecting that we were to stay in Belfast, we actually ended up continuing further on north to the far north coast of County Antrim, to a little town called Ballentoyne. There were sheep surrounding the hostel on the rolling hills that continued up and away from the coast line of high cliffs, so we were really in the country. And to prove it, we had no phone reception; ah well, we were all on holidays. We were told being Good Friday that the pubs would only serve until 11pm, so we were all keen to grab a pint or two. After some good Irish stew for dinner at one pub, we wandered across the road to check out the other one (that’s right; no phone reception, only one other shop called ‘The shop’ but two pubs) where we ran into Seamus.
Ah Seamus, how to explain him. 68 years old and he owns the hostel we were staying in (which didn’t issue keys of any sort, in this sleepy little town you apparently don’t lock the doors) and he requisitioned the microphone from the guy entertaining the rest of us at various intervals to sing the same song over again. At 3am, 4 hours after the pub was meant to close, 6 renditions of ‘Dirty Old Town’ later, a French Gaelic Football team singing French sporting songs and happy birthday, and a conversation with some sheep in the paddock about the full moon, I wandered back down the road to the comfort of the hostel.
Needless to say when we all woke up in the morning, there were a lot of hung-over people and this is where the shower debacle started. It appears this little town didn’t really know how to cope with an influx of a tour group, the French Gaelic football team, a large group of Asian men and some Muslim women, and the water run out. Not just the hot water but the cold too; so on top of being a big hung-over, the hostel dwellers (half paid extra to stay in the b&b down the road) went without showers for the day. You can imagine how great the bus smelt that day.
The morning consisted of the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge; this rickety old rope bridge built by fishermen to get to this little island about 250m away from the cliffs. All I can say is thank God it wasn’t windy! Then we headed to the World Heritage listed Giant’s Causeway. From the cliffs it didn’t look that spectacular, but when you were down on it, it was very impressive. These rock formations are just jutting out in perfect steps and seats all over the place.
Onward to Derry for the evening, when we got there, yet again the accommodation was slightly different. Most of the hostel dwellers were walked down the street to another hostel that did have keys thankfully. We all made beelines for the showers, then headed into town to the Weatherspoons for cheap drinks and some dinner before heading to a traditional Irish pub down the road. This place was pretty out there, dead animals on the wall and all these random other bits and pieces. The Irish music that was played was great, really got the place going, but there was no ‘Dirty old town’ from the night before. There was a random Irish jig taking place in the corner though.
The walking tour of Derry the next morning was great; the town is so pretty, situated on the River Foyle, and again blue skies were shining. The tour guide was really interesting; we walked the original walls of the city, before heading to the bogside where the bloody Sunday massacre happened. He clearly declared himself catholic, but I found that he wasn’t there to tell us how bad the other side was, listening to his stories and personal accounts of things that have happened was really interesting. Again, another must if you are in Derry. The murals here are so different from those found in Belfast; while still being clearly political, they tended to tell a story and link together a little more than the independent murals found in Belfast.
Keen to get back to Dublin and to the Guinness factory we basically stopped for lunch and then headed straight home. The Guinness factory was a little rushed by the time we got there, but we were desperate for a pint after our tour guide was almost putting us to sleep with his drawn out stories and singing. It got to the point that he would pause midway through his sentence, the bus would wait for something to happen, he’d start talking again and we would all start laughing! The idea was there, and the stories were interesting, he just took a long time to get there. The Gravity bar at the top of the Guinness brewery, with its 360 degree views of the city, is definitely worth it. And the complimentary pint of Guinness doesn’t go astray either.
When we all went our separate ways, we were tired, slightly hung-over (or drunk, depending on how many Guinness’s people had had) and sore from walking so many stairs and hills over the weekend. But I had a great time. The north certainly has this special charm about it, and despite its recent history and reputation the people were really friendly and keen to have a chat with anyone who’s interested. I’ll definitely go back if I get a chance.
So, did we work out how many litres of beer can be drunk on a 3 day tour of Northern Ireland? I think the answer is certainly a lot, one guy claimed to have drunk 10 Guinness’s in one evening, which is no mean feat. I think the answer should be, more litres than people generally drink water in a day.
