As a part of staying at Paddy’s Palace Hostel in Belfast, if you stay for two nights you get the option of going on a free Paddywagon tour up to the Giant’s Causeway, the Carrick Rope Bridge and Derry. Naturally, as a lover of free things, I was on board.
In addition to a day being driven around, I was really looking forward to a history lesson. When I first mentioned going to Northern Ireland to the boys back at the house, Mr. G shivered a bit and said something to the extent of “oh, well I’m not coming with you anymore then.” Turns out there is still quite a bit of animosity between the North and the South and him stepping out into Belfast with his thick Galway accent might cause trouble. I was instantly intrigued, as I love drama, and wanted to know everything I could about why everyone is fighting (and naturally, the Libra in me, try and fix it myself). 
Our first trip was to Carrick A Rede, a supposedly “scary” rope bridge that links the mainland with a small tidal island used for fishing. I had heard from 3 different people that it was a must see stop and not for those with a fear of heights. I’m not sure what kind of drugs those three people were on, but this bridge was completely retarded. It’s not high off the ground, it’s not even really a rope bridge, it’s not the original, there is no pool of sharks with laser beams waiting to chomp your left foot off if you fall off the bridge and the island is about the size of a basketball court. Seriously? Seriously. B Lee and I were not impressed in the slightest and we cringed when we arrived at the bridge knowing that we had just paid €8 to hike 10 minutes uphill. The only thing of value that came of the side trip was an INCREDIBLY embarrassing picture of me jumping on the bridge resembling one of those troll dolls with bright pink hair we used to collect when we were teenagers. Hopefully Brian deleted it off his camera before Emily had a chance to take it and e-mail it to all of my potential future boyfriends.
Anyway. After the bridge we drove for another 20 or so minutes to the Giant’s Causeway which is a sort of geological wonder of the world where these large black stones formed in perfect pentagons. B Lee was hell bent on getting his picture taken in the exact place where Led Zeppelin took their album cover picture. Brian wanted to ask 
nearby women and children to take off their clothes so we could replicate it exactly, but I told him that I’m not friends with pedophiles and since he values my friendship so much (and my ability to drive him to Dublin) he didn’t. It was pretty windy and the causeway was one of those things that is only cool for about 20 minutes – especially since I left my camera in Scotland (good move, Hesser) – so we went in the little touristy restaurant and got a bowl of stew and a beer.
Now is where my interest peaked. The drive from Giant’s Causeway to Derry/Londonderry was about an hour and we got a thorough history lesson from our tour guide who had a really dry sense of humor that no one else on the bus seemed to get aside from Brian and myself. We heard about how recently the last bombing was in Belfast (2002) and the significance of the paintings on the sidewalks (if the town you’re driving through has it’s sidewalks painted red and blue, it means they are supporters of being a part of the UK and not the Republic of Ireland and if the sidewalks are painted Orange and Green it means the town supports the Republic). We heard all about Bloody Sunday which I will not recount because you are perfectly capable of clicking the link and reading the Wikipedia article yourself. 
Originally, the town we were in was called Derry, but when England took control, they renamed it Londonderry. All over Derry, you see signs that say Londonderry and the “London” has either been painted over, scratched off or vandalized in some other way. There are remnants everywhere of conflict. There are some old derelict buildings, but mostly it’s graffiti. Graffiti everywhere supporting either side of the cause. We came to an area known as Bogside which is where a bunch of artists painted murals on walls of some of the horrific scenes of Bloody Sunday and just the conflict in general – including the sign that says “Now Entering Free Derry.”
Rather than go shopping or go to a museum (the two suggestions of our tour guide while we were in Derry after our little history lesson walking tour) we decided that our time was better spend in a pub watching the Ireland v. Wales 6 Nations Rugby match and drinking a pint. So that’s exactly what we did. Brian had his traditional Guinness and Jameson shot (I told him he doesn’t have to do a shot EVERY time he orders a beer, but it’s B Lee and he insisted that it’s necessary) and I had a cider. I felt bad for a small moment that we weren’t doing something more traditionally touristy, but then I quickly reminded myself that the reason I came to Ireland in the first place was to soak up the culture, this part of the culture, not to spend day after day in museum or on cheesy (I mean, incredibly entertaining and informative) bus tours.
So I finished my cider, and ordered another.