I have fallen into the habit of burning the candle at both ends with Craig. I stayed up all night with him into the wee hours of the morning. Don't ask me why.
I have only slept for 3 hours and I'm really struggling to stay at awake so I can go to bed at a decent hour. I woke up around 2pm because Craig had to mail an urgent parcel. Of course, he couldn't go to the post office himself because he can't carry the parcel. We took a taxi to the Lisburn Road post office. We figure, we can kill two birds with one stone and pick up my parcel that has been touring around Belfast for that past month. So we get dropped off blocks away from the post office. Craig kept stopping every few feet because he was tired. After the long trek, we discovered that the post office shut down. I just had to laugh maniacally because this is the icing on the cake. This further justifies my hatred for the Royal Mail.
So we walked down towards the other side of the Lisburn Road for the other post office that is located in the Cooperative Superstore. Poor Craig was dead tired so we stopped at a cafe and had something to drink. And then we dredged on. We finally posted his parcel. Since we were at the grocery store, I decided to pick up some items for dinner.
Craig was supposed to go to the hospital to get his cast changed. He couldn't be arsed and unlike me he has not had a wink of sleep. He just wanted to get to bed. After today, I don't blame him. So we took a taxi back to the Shankill. The taxi driver was chatty. He was talking about his upcoming vacation to Vegas and California and that the entire trip will cost £1100, not a bad price. Craig mentions that I'm from San Francisco, the taxi driver's eyes lit up. He said he's always wanted to go to San Francisco, but unfortunately won't be going on this trip. I told him that I highly recommend it. San Francisco is the most European of US cities and it is very compact. You don't need a car to get around and public transportation is very cheap and efficient. Craig interjects on how San Francisco is 'Craicin' (translation: Awesome, great). Both he and the taxi driver go on a tirade about how Belfast sucks. The public transportation isn't user friendly, it's expensive and you can only get in and out of the city center, shops are closed at 6pm, nothing is convenient, prices are sky high and a rip off. Belfast pretty much makes your life hard (ie. the Royal Mail). As opposed to San Francisco --- the diversity, beautiful city, the friendly outgoing laid back people, anything you want is at our doorstep, anytime you want. They both agree it's a whole different lifestyle. The taxi driver made the point that when Americans do something to go all out and invest in it. Here in Northern Ireland, they're afraid to move forward or they just go half ass. Craig tells him, with me being here, he can see Belfast through my eyes. With me pointing out things he now sees how things don't quite makes sense and gets annoyed with them as well. He hasn't really noticed before because he was forced to resign, shrugs his shoulders, and just tell himself that is just the way it is. You have no options. There are no choices. People in Belfast know Belfast is crap. They straight out say it and make no qualms about it. Everytime they ask me how I like Belfast, it's like they expect a negative answer. They are ashamed of their own city. I find it kind of funny that Craig boasted to the taxi driver that we are getting married in San Francisco and THANK FUCK we are not living in Belfast. The driver called him a Lucky Git!
He went on to tell us how he picked up an Australian tourist today and they got talking. She is an avid traveller and is on tour around the world. He asked her what is the best place she's been to so far. She said Belfast and she wants to move here. He asked her, "Why on earth Belfast?". She said it's an up and coming city, it's growing economically, great nightlife, cafes but mostly it's because of the people. Craig interrupts and tell him I've been here 3 months and I hate it. I politely say that I don't hate it. It definitely has its shining moments. Taxi driver saw right through me and said, "If I had to choose Belfast or San Francisco. Definitely, San Francisco would be the best choice."
As for the tourist girl, I wonder how long she's been here. I suspect she hasn't been here long enough to see the real Belfast and I know she definitely did not have dealings with the royal mail. To each their own.
Showing posts with label Durdles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Durdles. Show all posts
Monday, August 4, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Drunk (In Norn Iron)
It's about 6:15AM and I can't seem to get shut eye. I am neither lulled by the pitter patter of torrential rain nor soothed by the ranting and raving drunken lunatic on the street. The makeup marathon sex hasn't seemed to help either. Seems to work for Mr. Crabby since he is snoring away here. So alas, I sit here eating left over chili whilst I type on the interwank.
All is good on the relationship front again. Yesterday Craig got out of work early and texted me to meet him at our favorite cafe. I was thinking, "Oh no, is he going to be breaking up with me over latte?". I see him with a tall glass of mocha and a chocolate fudge cake waiting for me at the table. "Things have been getting a little tense in the house", he says, "I thought it would be nice to take a walk and take advantage of the sunshine." The sunshine is a rare thing here in Northern Ireland and people take advantage of it as much as they can. I have learned my lesson in believing the BBC weather reports because they are never true. They reported torrential rain yesterday and it proved to be the opposite.
We sat and people watched for awhile. Durdles all dressed up and somewhere to go. Friday night is a big night for them. It's the start of the weekend and that means one thing...to get pissed drunk. They drink for recreation and it's to be expected since it's a pub culture. But I never understood getting drunk for pleasure. Where is the fun in acting like an idiot and puking your guts out? Oh well, when in Rome...
We went to Winemark and joined in the festivies. He got a 4 pack of Guinness and I got two bottles of cider...Mixed Fruit Kopperberg. Ahhh...Kopperberg, nectar of the gods! We also got some snacks at Centra, our home away from home. We dropped the stuff at the house and walked along the Lagan Towpath towards Ormeau Road. There was bit of a vibe going with people chillaxing outside the pubs having their pints. Everything was honkey dory until...
We saw flashing blue lights in the distance. Craig lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes and says, "Oh no, here we go, the police". "What's going on I say, is there a riot over there?" "No", he says, "it's a marching band, fuckin' hell". "Oh neat!" I was ecstatic and literally dragged him off his feet to go near the action. Craig is Protestant you see. His immediate family just wasn't into it. Although his extended family are well known super Prods. His aunt was seen on national television beating a priest over the head with an umbrella and telling him to get the hell out of the Shankill. The priest was just walking through there as an effort of solidarity and peace. Madness! Nevertheless, Craig hates what the Orange order marching bands stand for. From November until July 12th they march throughout the streets of Belfast. It's an annoyance really, they block traffic and make people late for work. In case you don't know, the Orange order is a Protestant lodge where super Prods get together and get pissed drunk and hate on Catholics (aka Taigs or Fenians).
We stopped in front of the orange order. I can hear the thunder of the bass drum, and the cracks of the snare coming closer from the distance. Bystanders excited like it's the Macy's Thanksgiving parade. And there I saw upclose and personal, super Prods in orange sashes, stoic and proud to be Protestant and British. Little boys holding their batons in the air and marching like little soldiers. Banners of No Surrender and William of Orange's mug.
Suddenly, the drummers and flutes stop. Everyone stands at attention and sings, "God Save the Queen". They always close with this song to show their allegiance to the Crown. Bystanders shout, "No Surrender!" From the corner of my eye, I see Craig roll his eyes. I ask him why he is ashamed of his culture and who he is. He answers, "As an outsider, you have a naive view of things which is understandable. But having grown up on the Shankill and seen marching bands all my life, I know what this represents. They are a constant reminder of why Northern Ireland became so fucked up in the first place. A bunch of mindless sheep who can't think for themselves. This is not about religion, it's about corrupt power and money. I can guarantee you that every person here is a paramilitary. They don't mess about. I don't want to have anything to do with them. Most of the world thinks this is what defines Belfast, but they are the minority. The majority is most of us normal people who just want to get on with their lives and leave the troubled past behind."
I see his point and I can't argue. And it is way too complex for me to understand. Unionists, Loyalists, Republicans, Nationalist. It's all Greek to me. More than likely, I was the only Taig standing in a crowd of Super Prods. I could feel the hostility and the agression. Just before the parade started, a chavette ranted, "Any Fenian that comes my way, I'll jam them in the face!". If only she knew who she was standing next to...lol.
We headed back home, got buzzed, had poignant discussions on how religion makes you do weird things and how to safely remove yourself from harm when caught in the middle of a riot. Good times!
Anyways. Must. Go. To. Sleep.
All is good on the relationship front again. Yesterday Craig got out of work early and texted me to meet him at our favorite cafe. I was thinking, "Oh no, is he going to be breaking up with me over latte?". I see him with a tall glass of mocha and a chocolate fudge cake waiting for me at the table. "Things have been getting a little tense in the house", he says, "I thought it would be nice to take a walk and take advantage of the sunshine." The sunshine is a rare thing here in Northern Ireland and people take advantage of it as much as they can. I have learned my lesson in believing the BBC weather reports because they are never true. They reported torrential rain yesterday and it proved to be the opposite.
We sat and people watched for awhile. Durdles all dressed up and somewhere to go. Friday night is a big night for them. It's the start of the weekend and that means one thing...to get pissed drunk. They drink for recreation and it's to be expected since it's a pub culture. But I never understood getting drunk for pleasure. Where is the fun in acting like an idiot and puking your guts out? Oh well, when in Rome...
We went to Winemark and joined in the festivies. He got a 4 pack of Guinness and I got two bottles of cider...Mixed Fruit Kopperberg. Ahhh...Kopperberg, nectar of the gods! We also got some snacks at Centra, our home away from home. We dropped the stuff at the house and walked along the Lagan Towpath towards Ormeau Road. There was bit of a vibe going with people chillaxing outside the pubs having their pints. Everything was honkey dory until...
We saw flashing blue lights in the distance. Craig lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes and says, "Oh no, here we go, the police". "What's going on I say, is there a riot over there?" "No", he says, "it's a marching band, fuckin' hell". "Oh neat!" I was ecstatic and literally dragged him off his feet to go near the action. Craig is Protestant you see. His immediate family just wasn't into it. Although his extended family are well known super Prods. His aunt was seen on national television beating a priest over the head with an umbrella and telling him to get the hell out of the Shankill. The priest was just walking through there as an effort of solidarity and peace. Madness! Nevertheless, Craig hates what the Orange order marching bands stand for. From November until July 12th they march throughout the streets of Belfast. It's an annoyance really, they block traffic and make people late for work. In case you don't know, the Orange order is a Protestant lodge where super Prods get together and get pissed drunk and hate on Catholics (aka Taigs or Fenians).
We stopped in front of the orange order. I can hear the thunder of the bass drum, and the cracks of the snare coming closer from the distance. Bystanders excited like it's the Macy's Thanksgiving parade. And there I saw upclose and personal, super Prods in orange sashes, stoic and proud to be Protestant and British. Little boys holding their batons in the air and marching like little soldiers. Banners of No Surrender and William of Orange's mug.
Suddenly, the drummers and flutes stop. Everyone stands at attention and sings, "God Save the Queen". They always close with this song to show their allegiance to the Crown. Bystanders shout, "No Surrender!" From the corner of my eye, I see Craig roll his eyes. I ask him why he is ashamed of his culture and who he is. He answers, "As an outsider, you have a naive view of things which is understandable. But having grown up on the Shankill and seen marching bands all my life, I know what this represents. They are a constant reminder of why Northern Ireland became so fucked up in the first place. A bunch of mindless sheep who can't think for themselves. This is not about religion, it's about corrupt power and money. I can guarantee you that every person here is a paramilitary. They don't mess about. I don't want to have anything to do with them. Most of the world thinks this is what defines Belfast, but they are the minority. The majority is most of us normal people who just want to get on with their lives and leave the troubled past behind."
I see his point and I can't argue. And it is way too complex for me to understand. Unionists, Loyalists, Republicans, Nationalist. It's all Greek to me. More than likely, I was the only Taig standing in a crowd of Super Prods. I could feel the hostility and the agression. Just before the parade started, a chavette ranted, "Any Fenian that comes my way, I'll jam them in the face!". If only she knew who she was standing next to...lol.
We headed back home, got buzzed, had poignant discussions on how religion makes you do weird things and how to safely remove yourself from harm when caught in the middle of a riot. Good times!
Anyways. Must. Go. To. Sleep.
Friday, June 27, 2008
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