Aicha

A lovely Italian restaurant in Belfast, she feasted

lasagna, while we enjoyed other pasta. The waitress,

to her delight, was a fellow international student.

She was eager to share all the joys and discoveries

of her independence and learning.

Aicha. Belfast and beyond.

She's a thinker, and she thought through what she wanted us to do.

1) FRIDAY: Dinner at a good restaurant. 

We'd walk around the university area

Elms Village, where all the international

students stay. Aicha has a little room on an

upper floor with her own bathroom.

and choose one. So, a little jet- lagged after a sleepless plane ride, we checked into our air-b&b, a quiet room on the other side of the river, and the kind owner drove us to the old, beautiful campus, where we promptly got lost, and wandered the quad. But cell-phones prevailed, and Yay. There she was. We walked and talked our way through the campus and into the restaurant.

The campus. 1849 -- Victorian high gothic, as a London guide later told us --now educating over 20,000 students. Beautifully kept grounds and buildings.

After dinner we really needed to get some sleep. Aicha's #2 request was that we all go to an Irish Pub was postponed.

Then we discovered the art of catching a cab, which is to say, forget flagging down any of the many whizzing by, and find the place on the curb where they sit and wait to consider your offer and then  decide whether or no to give you a ride. After three attempts a dear man finally had pity on us. I liked him.

As he let us off, I told him we were driving to the Mourne Mountains the next day. He turned to me and said, "Ah, do you know the song?  You must know the song. It's about a young man who goes off to live in London and misses his home. Goes like this," and he recited

 There's beautiful girls here, Oh never you mind

Beautiful shapes nature never designed

lovely complexions of roses and cream

But let me remark with regard to the same

That if at that those roses you venture to sip

The colours might all come away on your lips

So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me

In the place where the dark Mourne sweep down to the sea.

 I suddenly wasn't tired anymore.

2) SATURDAY, The Mountains of Mourne

I'd googled the site, and found a good place to start from, and entered it into my phone and on a sheet of paper. Being the car navigator when the driver is nervous and insists on checking in with the left curb every hundred feet just to be sure he isn't running headlong into oncoming cars isn't easy. I considered asking for combat pay. But Aicha was a soothing and confident presence. You'll do it grandpa! And he did. 

Past the villages, past the lovely farmlands and over the hills (Yikes! a two-lane road, one-lane wide, up and around a little walled bridge where the oncoming traffic can't possibly see us? "It's ok Grandma. Chill." It was.) 

Miracle of miracles we landed at the exact parking lot we aimed for. It had room for 16 cars, and the 16th car was about to move. We waited while a couple, mean, lean walking machines, were changing from their lycra and hiking boots to their nike's and woolies.  Aicha and I had on hiking boots. Rock just had nike's. But it was all well marked, and there, down the road by a sheep rail, was the start of our trail. A woman just coming back said we didn't have to go far to see good views. It would get challenging well on, but no need to go for hours.  We'd play it by ear.  Or foot.

Glad to be in the country. Glad to be in the beautiful quiet, the

lovely green of it all.

Glad to be alive.

So much to see. This was a stone wall, how many decades ago? Still is, but grown over with moss, ferns and brush now. The woods behind are as deep and midnight dark as I'd ever seen. It gave new meaning to the brother's Grimm's tales, 'into the woods.'  Um. No thanks.

Far fields, brush and heather a-bloom, or whatever that plant is. But note the trail. Sharp, sharp rocks on the walking feet the whole way. We took the soft sheep paths whenever we could, whenever the mud allowed.

Autumn berries, autumn blooms. Have to be tough to escape the sheep's grazing, maybe.

About here we met a little pick-up, driven by a man with his sheep-dog in the passenger seat. It pulled an enclosed trailer. He stopped to chat. I asked if the trailer was for a sheep. It was too small for a horse. Aye.  The mountains, they're all leased out, and the sheep know where they belong as if it were a mail address. Any stranger is ushered out. But sometimes the sheep will wander, then we've got to give them a lift. He said that if we turn left at the next sheep gate we'll come upon his flock, and we can say hello.  They like visitors, except those that bring dogs along. I assured him any dog we had we'd leave home, especially since we didn't have one. That pleased him. 

The sheep gates that block the trails have signs assuring one the trail goes on. Humans enter by a little turnstile, which we only realized after opening a gate or two. Hopefully no sheep got out.

The path rises. It rains a little, then stops.

Off to our left, another group takes another path, across the running stream. They had dogs. I guess they didn't want to disturb his flock. I asked a couple who were walking our path with a little toy pug if he was a sheep-dog in training. They just smiled. The boulders are tossed helter-skelter everywhere, like the debris of a giant's building project. Hard to figure out.

Sheep. He wanted me to take his picture with him looking all noble like this. 
His friends & relatives are out of the picture to the right.
I named them Sofia, Sonya, Ethel, Ricardo and Twinkle-dee. 

An Aicha. It was such a fun walk. Below she stands by the long stone walls to show how tall they are
--unlike Aicha, over 5 feet.. She's wearing a hat she bought from Mr. Ffrog at St. George's market.

And here we decided to turn back. We were hungry and our feet were ready. We never did see how the mountains sweep down to the sea, but I'm sure they do if the song says so. We headed to the parking lot, to look for the Mourne Manor, where there was more parking and food.

And there it was, with a lovely view. The food was diner food, but fine. And just as we were finishing, the sun came out for the first time that day.

I ran out to experience it. Or maybe this picture came from when I made Rock pull over. At any rate.  They say Ireland is green.  Here it is, October green.

A note about the grass.

Irish grass takes itself very seriously. It is proud to be grass, it is determined to be grass, it takes a great pleasure in being the profound essence of all that grass is meant to be. It does not want to be anything else. It is the greenest green that grass can be and stays that way. It wants you to know that there are few better things in this world than to be grass, and if you disagree, it's your loss. Green. Grass. Same thing.
 Just ask the Tella-tubbies.

And we made our way home, and on to the pub.

 https://youtu.be/xR4-zYE0jqQ
(the link to the song about the Mourne Mountains, in case you want to hear it. I was hoping they'd sing it in the pub, but they didn't.  The singers started out with "She'll be comin' round the mountain. . ." A hearty sing-along. Go figure.)

3) IRISH PUB

Aicha had said it was the highlight of her orientation -- to be in a pub with all the singing. There are many pubs, some massive, but her favorite is Five Points. "At Five Points you feel the people," she texted.

Indeed.  There was barely 8 feet in front of the little stage for the dancers to dance in, but I snatched a stool by a high bar ledge where people put their drinks while they chatted. Aicha sat  -- or kneeled -- or stood on the stool behind me so she could see the musicians and the dancers -- slender graceful couple whose feet went like lightening while their arms hung loose by their sides -- think riverdance -- and everyone loved them, and sometimes joined them. Rock bought a Guiness, so he could tell people what it tasted like in Ireland, and we all enjoyed the show.

Here's a ballad. It's not much to see because it was dark and crowded -- and the band was in the path between the front door and the wash room -- so not exactly concert accoustics. But I loved the song, and the voice of the singer. "And I miss him, my old dad." 

SUNDAY: A tour of  Belfast

Breakfast at coffee shop around corner from AirB&(cereal&toast).  
We loved this place, which had very very tasty croissants.

In Brooklyn we live in a neighborhood of townhouses. Seeing this we wondered if its architects were influenced by a neighborhood block like this one near our rooms.

4. ST. GEORGE'S MARKET 

-- a world of food and crafts. This is my only photo. Aicha insisted I buy a hat like hers from this lovely gentleman who did indeed take much interest in finding me just the right style. Did he crochet them himself? No. That was his wife's gift. He took on the task of selling them, which he did with much charm.
Hungry, we lined up for crepes. I was transfixed, watching the young man prepare them on the round skillets. I told him that he had the wonderful grace of a ballet dancer. He laughed. His partner, a lovely young woman, looked surprised. "That is what he is!"she said. Her accent was French. They both smiled to themselves. Even in the Irish crowds, at a day-job done with careful skill, their true artistry was seen.

5.. BELFAST TOWN HALL: illuminated windows of peace

Of course we wondered about Belfast, shadowed by the  "troubles" in the not-so-distant past.
I found it a place of tangible hope. If all the world's war-torn places could recover like this, consciously holding an ideal of tolerance and forbearance, we'll not only survive, but thrive.
I sensed, in our host, in taxi drivers, in stores, and passers-by, that people love their city, love the peace, love their progress.

I asked Aicha, who's been there for weeks, her own impression.
"It's complicated," she wrote. "There are less tensions socially and more tensions politically. Most people are very proud that there are no longer such fights, but neighborhoods and schools are still divided. Right now, the parliament is shut down because of tensions, but everyone thinks its stupid.
Most young people will tell me 'Oh I want us to move' but then will get into a very ardent discussion about why they think it's better for Northern Ireland to be part of Ireland or UK.
"South Belfast, where I live, is normally considered to be neutral. I do not feel a lot of tensions, but then I am an outsider. . . "

Ardent discussions . . .  wrestling with visions of the future, not with each other.  Inside the town hall, some visions are made tangible in glass, stained glass windows all created after the peace.

Dear Aicha under Queen Victoria by the Belfast Town Hall

This 2007 window says, "NOT AS CATHOLICS OR PROTESTENTS,
NOT AS NATIONALISTS OR UNIONISTS,
BUT AS BELFAST WORKERS, STANDING TOGETHER.

N. IRELAND'S COMMERCE AND BOUNTY

A 1999 window memorialiaing the potato famine

A 2005 window celebrating peace.

Main caption in the Belfast recent history exhibit.
"Belfast,after thirty years of darkness,
turned its face towards the light again."

WOMAN WORKERS UNITE! 

And for fun, and for getting a feel of wearing the robes and sitting in the seat of responsibility, robes, chair and backdrop are provided.  Here is Aicha as Lord Mayor. Rock kept encouraging her to say, "Off with their heads!"She kept protesting, "A mayor, Grandpa, not a tyrant." He wouldn't relent. "Say, 'Off with his head!" She rolled her eyes.

6. DOWNTOWN BELFAST

with business streets very much like any large American city. But we were very taken with this elegant outdoor/indoor mall, with a glass elevator leading to a view of the whole city, including their own leaning clock tower, the Albert Memorial Clock, built on mud, but restored and surviving thanks to a 2002 restoration. 

Hard to photograph, with all the intersecting structure, but I find any elevated view is, well, an elevated view. Here, a city and the sea beyond. 

Everyone needs perspective.

The Apple store, where we left Aicha getting her new iphone up and working. 

Important, as it's our link to her till December.

We gave her hugs and drove off to the little Belfast airport where we walked out to the tarmac and up the stairs to the plane to London.

Now that we're home. . .

There was no question, when we heard that Aicha was studying in Belfast for a semester, that we would go to give her cheer and support, even in the midst of a UNICEF campaign, with schools calling and volunteers needing guidance.  That's just what grandparents do, right?


Rock had never been to the British Isles before. I had been twice, briefly whizzing through London both times, and once decades ago, on a well-planned week's tour of Yorkshire and Scotland with my brother and friend.

Our trip would be well planned, too:
1. See Aicha.

Aicha, thriving in her independence and discoveries of a people and school and country she loves.

Long talks with Granpa on a walk towards the Mourne Mountains. She wanted to go here, and even though it meant renting a car, and braving the challenges of driving on the left hand side of the road. Our marriage survived, if not the left wheels of the rental car.

and her school,

Queens University, Belfast, home of over 19,000 scholars, a half mile walk from the secure and lovely
modern dorms where the foreign students have their rooms.

and Belfast, the city she now loves,

and the countryside of Ireland.

On the way back from the mountains, the sun shown bright on the green hills. We barely missed landing in the living room of the house on the left, but we never got close to a car coming at us.

2. We would come to see art.

A dutch scene of the 1600's at the National Galleries.

A David Smith at the Tate, inspired by huddled families
in the underground during the blitz.

A Degas at the National Galleries,
a masterpiece of a figure suspended in space

3. Take in some theater,

Rock viewing the rabble from our prime seats at the open air Globe, the reproduction of Shakespeare's original theater on the Themes. We're with the aristocracy (notice the free paper sun-hats given out) in the bleachers, waiting for King Lear.to begin. The 5-pound tickets went to the rabble is on the floor between us and the stage. They had to stand the whole time.
It was worth every shilling, every blessed moment.

4. Visit a dear old friend and his family.

Franko Peel, who we've known since he was a little boy living with his family,
John and Jenny Peel and his brothers David and Tim next door to us in Chicago.
 John sadly passed on in 2015. Franko and Vicki live in his home,
now going through a welcome renovation. 

Wise-eyed 8 month old Arlo.

Sweet Evie, now 2,
full of adventure.

5. See the sites.

Approaching the house of Parlaiment.

Trafalgar Square where Nelson surveys the city from a perch higher than any other statue we saw -- and they are profuse. Thanks for winning the battle of waterloo, which saved the English from Napoleon's rule.  The National Galleries are to the right. We had amazing weather the whole time.

The closest we ever got to the London Bridge, on a serene and lovely boat ride down the Thames.

Approaching St Paul's Cathedral from the bridge. It has a massive, tangible presence that no photo can capture.

6. (On my list!) Explore a park or two, 

St. James Park, just a walk from Trafalgar Square.
All my fatigue vanished the minute I stepped in here.

I think this is St James, too, the front lawn of Buckingham Palace. Never did get to the palace.
This was enough.

6b: And its denesens:

An especial friend of mine.
Though camera shy he felt sure I had something to offer him.
He climbed a fence, waste-high to me to inquire.
He didn't take no for an answer. 
When I walked on he scampered around and climbed up my jeans.
I just laughed. He leapt off and looked for another candidate.

All I could think of was Beatrix Potter.

The park is filled with exotic birds who consider themselves aristocracy.
They really like to show off.

7. And I always wanted to know what riding on a double-decker bus in London is like, haven't you?

Here's a view careening around Picadilly Square:

 But the trip was so much more. We received a gracious invitation to visit these new friends near Richmond, which opened up an opportunity to see a masterful collection of outsider art.

Jonathan and Barbara Acton-Bond (and Lily) in their lovely home on the Thames. When we came wild birds fed on fields of muddy banks. When we left at night, the  river was lapping the walkway. So much more to say and show about this visit.

It wasn't long. Nine days, give or take for travel.  That's it.

We knew it would be good. 
We didn't expect it to be wondrous. 
It was utterly wondrous in every way.

More blogs will follow to fill in the gaps for all the days and the discoveries. 
Please come back and mind the gaps.  Till then . . .
All our love,
d. & r







[Forgive me. The thought of keeping a blog during the trip went out the window the minute I realized I hadn't brought the card-reader for the camera. Rock still had to spend hours on the computer to keep up with UNICEF emails.  Besides, Brits walk, and walk, and walk, and walk. I hit the pillow like a brick at the end of every day. Hope this will do.]