The flight is delayed, and we land in Belfast a half hour later than scheduled. It is summer in this part of the world, and the sun is in the process of setting as we clamber aboard the airport-city bus transfer. Belfast, at first glance, is much like any other city, small and quiet, huddled in a valley underneath the greenly rolling hills of the Black Mountains.

Little islands off the coast; the winding pathway down to Carrick-a-rede bridge

The city lies in the province of Ulster and is the second largest city on the Isle of Eire. Belfast was founded by the Celts, who named the city after the sandbanks that formed around the mouth of the river Farset. The Vikings attacked, raided and settled all along the coast, bequeathing red hair and their knowledge of metal works and the beautiful designs now known as Celtic knots. The English, under Queen Elizabeth I, came a-conquering in the 16^th century and Plantation started in the 17^th century, sowing the first seeds of the violent sectarianism that would come to trouble Belfast in later years.  During the Industrial Revolution Belfast was the centre of the Irish linen industry, tobacco production, rope making and shipbuilding – the ill-fated RMS Titanic was constructed here.

There is no evidence of this turbulent history as Denise and I walk down Great Victoria Street from the bus station. Belfast is quiet, incredibly quiet, compared to London, on a Friday night. Our B&B is located near Queen’s University and the Hospital, in downtown Belfast and along the way we pass by a few bars and restaurants. For an unfamiliar city at night, Belfast feels safe and welcoming. We venture out for some naughty fast-food then hit the incredibly comfortable beds.

An early start the next morning awaits us. The day dawns alternately bright and cloudy, and we wait for our bus that will take us up to the coast of County Antrim in the cold, blinding wind. Northern Ireland is split into six counties – Antrim, Tyrone, Down, Armagh, Derry/Londonderry, and Fermanagh. Over twenty American presidents have some Irish ancestry, and the majority of these come from these six counties. We have booked a daytrip with Paddywagon Tours, an outfit that runs a hostel in both Dublin and Belfast, and a tour that starts from Dublin at 5am, to Belfast and then onwards to Carrickfergus and the Giants Causeway.

The ruins of Dunluce castle

As we journey up north, out of Belfast, the clouds clear and there is a bright, brilliant sunshine. Northern Ireland is as green and rolling as her fair southern sister, and I soak in the views as the bus plows up on the basalt plateau that is County Antrim. Our first stop is Carrick-a-rede rope bridge, located on the North Coast in a National Park. A short coastal pathway winds its way from the ticket booth to this precariously dangling suspension bridge, spanning a chasm almost 80 feet deep. Along the way are views of the cobalt blue waters of the Irish Sea, stark white limestone cliffs plunging precipitously into the ocean and verdant, emerald grassland dotted with black-and-white cows. The bridge itself was built by fishermen to check their salmon nets, strung out from the very edge of Carrick-a-rede island. Nearby, Sheep Island stands sentinel and on the very far horizon, on a clear day like we had, are the misty blue mountains of Scotland.

Sheep Island; grey slated white washed cottages on rolling green hills

The next stop is The Giant’s Causeway, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The fable is that Finn McCool, the Irish giant, built the Causeway to get across the sea to fight his Scottish nemesis, Bernandonner. However Finn fell asleep before he could cross over to Scotland and Bernandonner came looking for him instead. Finn’s wife, Oonaugh, put the sleeping Finn in his cradle just as Bernandonner reached Ireland and told the Scottish giant that the baby in the cradle was Finn’s son. On seeing the enormous baby and logically deducing that the father must be much bigger, Bernandonner ran back to Scotland, tearing up the Causeway as he went to prevent Finn from coming after him. There are similar formations across the water on the Scottish side.

 
The Giant's Causeway, Carrick-a-rede bridge 

The Causeway’s origins are a little more prosaic in reality. Formed by a molten lava flow millions of years ago, basalt rose from the chalk beds then cooled and cracked evenly, resulting in the tall hexagonal columns that make up the Causeway today. The tallest column is around 36 feet high, towering over the crashing waves of the sea.

Memorial to victims of Bloody Sunday; the Bogside of Derry; the loyalist section of Derry

Derry/Londonderry, or Stroke City, is where we first get our first real brush with Irish Sectarianism. Our guide talks us through the history of the Troubles and the current situation, of his own personal experiences living in the Bogside, known to the British Army as the IRA’s backyard, and of the struggles of ordinary people against the military. We get a balanced view, rounded out by our Dubliner bus driver, who tells us of the tit-for-tat measures employed by the IRA – militant violence met with civilian bombings, heavy handed governmental action against murders in the night. There are schisms in Derry/Londonderry still, the Protestant loyalists huddled in their own enclave, and the Catholic republicans on the other side of the wall. Old hurts run deep and the memory of Bloody Sunday resonate too strongly in these streets.

Shankill and Falls road; murals on the Catholic side of the Peace Wall

Back in Belfast, we book a black cab tour. Our driver is a red-faced, florid (Republican, I think, though we didn’t ask) Irishman with a lilting accent, less hard and more rounded than Dubliners. He takes us to the murals along Falls and Shankills road, and tells us story after story of murder, intrigue, and political travesty. The names and fates of these common people are woven into the streets of Belfast, and I think their stories should continue to be told, lest we forget. Children, fathers, wives, these all, victims of British snipers, IRA gunmen, civilian-thrown petrol bombs – an eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind!

 
The facade of the Crown Saloon

Belfast is a safe, laidback city, welcoming of tourists and easy to navigate. Prices here are cheap still, a world away from the inflation of Dublin or London. We pass the Europa Hotel, bombed 36 times during the Troubles, and known as the most bombed hotel anywhere in the world. We walk past Belfast Town Hall, where an environmental sculpture exhibition is currently being held. We have dinner at the Crown Saloon, the Most Beautiful Bar in the World. It is a splendidly Victorian pub with delicate painted glass, old-fashioned carved wooden ceilings and intricate mosaic floors. The façade is a riot of vibrant Italianate tiles, held up by false Corinthian columns. It is cosy and comfortable, and it feels like it belongs to a world that ceased to exist 30 years ago.

 
Protestant murals; wire over houses backing onto the Peace Wall

In fact, a lot of Belfast has that aura, reminiscent of the 1970s, with only a few spots starting to show a more modern development. People talk about the Celtic tiger that is Dublin with more than a little wistfulness, but perhaps it is better for Belfast to catch up more slowly. Where is Dublin now? Caught up in the great Credit Crunch of 2008, the housing market there has collapsed and the inflow of foreign investment has halted. Better for Belfast to regain strength slowly rather than on false idols – this dignified, quiet city has seen enough troubles to last lifetimes.

I would be by the sea somewhere, somewhere warm and suitably far flung. Somewhere wild and a little untamed, away from the world and all worldly worries. If wishes were horses mine would be a grey Arabian stallion with a fine head and a high stepping gait. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride and the world would be entirely too topsy-turvy to make any sense of.

Time has a trick of flying by like lightning just when you want it to stop. Time crawls when you least want it to, it slows right down to a murderous trickle designed to test your patience. If wishes were horses, time would stop and rewind back a week and stay forever there, which would be pleasing but after awhile, I think, a little too boring at least for me.

Lunching at La Fromagerie with the happy family

My bestie, her husband and their Tyrone was in town recently and it was amazing hanging out with them all as usual. Some friendships need no maintenance - they are as fresh and close as ever without the intricacies of the everyday. We went to eat at a Pakistani restaurant called Tayyabs, which serves up amazing lamb chops and spice-laden karahis. I also brought Jeff there last week and he, of course, loved it.

A spread of amazing food at Tayyabs

Another bank holiday weekend - the first one since I moved to London when I didn't leave the UK. Insane, but true. It was a pleasure to just have three days off and not do anything, have no plane to catch, no hotels to check into. It was also lovely and sunny and hot - a weird sort of sensation for Londoners - so we hopped a train to Brighton, London-by-the-Sea, where the beaches are rocky but the soft serve ice-creams as delicious as they should be.

Last weekend the girls strapped on their dancing shoes and we all traipsed past the red velvet ropes to party at Kitts. Sadly, no Prince Harry in sight (word on the street is that he goes midweek nights) but there were crazy people-watching to be done and some good songs cutting it loose on the floor. I love warm weather because it gives me an excuse to dust off the the shorts and short(er) skirts and acres of bare, honeyed skin that haven't been aired all winter!

The whole crew out at Kitts

There is a gorgeous, Dickensian pub along Narrow Street called The Grapes. Charles Dickens used to frequent it, and the walls are dark wood panelled, with a tiny deck over the Thames, and narrow stairs leading up to the restaurant, famous for its fresh fish. Jeff wishes we'd discovered it sooner, but what's done cannot be undone. What's definite is that we'll be haunting the narrow confines of The Grapes a lot more over the next few months. It's cosier than the Narrows, with a more eclectic, settled-in feel. Less civilised, if you will. My kind of place.

I am still writing and the writing is going well. After the private commission ended I was worried that the articles I wrote on-spec wouldn't sell, but the majority of them have actually gone to other buyers. I think it's a numbers game, and the more I write, the higher the chances of selling. I am actually looking forward to some time off from work to just sit tiptapping on the laptop while at the Finger Lakes in New York, come August.

Down to the seaside we go! L-r: The Royal Pavillion, chilling on a deckchair,
jellied eels, anyone? And lastly our lunch menu.

A few weekends ago some girlfriends and I headed to The Berkeley for high tea. Pret a Portea here costs about £35 per head and its only claim to fame is the cutesy, brightly coloured little cakes and pastries that are inspired by the latest fashion of the season. Unfortunately, however, the service here was atrocious. Go elsewhere for better value high tea. If interested in the details, I've encapsulated the entire negative experience in a review.

Pret a Portea at the Berkeley Hotel

I'm looking forward to: Belfast, in a fortnight; Jo coming back to London; sending off my visa to be renewed (okay I'm not really looking forward to that but I'm trying to psych myself up!); tripping around the UK with my family next month; Cornwall in July and finally, chowing down on a long list of must-eat food in NYC (pancakes at IHOP, soul food in Harlem, cheesecake slices, seafood at the Oyster Bar, 24/7 Korean downtown, chocolate at Serendipity, hotdogs from Papaya Express, KFC - yes, seriously! No one does fried chicken better than the US of A); followed by a blissful week outdoors in a lakeside cottage, sitting in the sun, barbequeing fresh seafood, heading out on the jetski and boat, drinking Moet by a full moon and starlight - my heart is looking forward very muchly to New York right now.

If wishes were horses, that's where, I think, I would want to be in this moment.

Smokin' on the dancefloor, Kitts

I'll admit that I'm exhausted. Who wouldn't be, with my schedule?

This week especially has been rather full-on. It's hard finding enough hours in the day to accomplish everything I've set out to do. Too many projects, social events, work commitments. I have a stack of reading material to work through - mostly magazines. There's still a tower of books on my bedside table, but there usually always is, which seems to eye me reproachfully every night I collapse into bed without touching a single one of them.

Luckily I had such a lovely relaxing weekend in Copenhagen (thanks to Lauren!), else I'm not sure how I would have been able to cope with this week's mad whirl of work, writing, classes, running, etc. Post to follow when I have a bit more time and energy to write one up.

There's still a massive rush every time I sell an article. The buzz is addictive. I'm aiming for writing two a week at least, but it's not easy to find the focus to write well, especially after a gruelling day of my "real" job. It's nice having an outlet for creativity, and also self affirming to be able to actually produce something commercial enough that others would pay money for. Baby steps, I tell myself, as I file away interesting material that might or might not form the basis of a prospective piece.

Wouldn't life be grand if it wasn't quite so much hard work?

Buzzy, vibrant, gritty, grown up – Berlin is all of these and much more besides. A polarised, dissected, ravaged city, Berlin has seen her fair share of recent 20^th century history and still she rises, still she stands.

I have wanted to visit Berlin for a long while, and managed to score a deal with Expedia for a three night stay in a 4 star hotel and flights for under £400 over Easter. I land in the evening, and catch the bus into the city, getting in just in time for a glorious sunset behind the glass domed Reichstag and Germany’s defining monument – the Brandenburg Tor.

My hotel, and the ghostly facade of Anhalter Bahnhof, the only surviving part of the railway

My hotel, the Möevenpick, is situated by an old, bombed out façade of the Anhalter Bahnof, long ago Berlin’s foremost train station. The Gateway to the South, the railway terminus brought in guests and visitors from Prague, Vienna, Rome, Naples and Athens.

It’s a beautiful weekend while I am there, and after a sleep in I head out to join Sandeman’s free walking tour. This is a brilliant little outfit. It started off as guides offering free walking tours because they wanted everyone to see the city, not just the tourists who could pay. You tip your guide whatever amount you can afford at the end. They also have special tours which you pay for like Berlin by bike, the Third Reich tours and Red Berlin, which focuses on the communist highlights of the city. Sandeman does free walking tours in London, Edinburgh, Dublin, Amsterdam, Berlin, Munich, Hamburg, Paris, Madrid, Jerusalem, and is branching out to Prague, Brussels, and Tel Aviv in the near future.

 
The juxtaposition of Stalin's TV tower and the domes of Berlin's Cathedral

Founded in the 13^th century, on the river Spree, the city had opened its doors to the Lutheran movement, Jews, Huguenots, the bubonic plague, and the Thirty Years War by the 15^th century. However Berlin did not gain prominence until the Prussian Empire made the city its capital. Between kings, French invasions and the Industrial Revolution, Berlin gained grand royal palaces, Humboldt University, a State Opera House and a cathedral.

World War I left the city starving. The defunct Prussian Empire collapsed, giving way to the heady, decadent days of the Weimar Republic which birthed, among other things, a sophisticated and innovative culture in Berlin. The Roaring Twenties had their heyday in this city. Dada, jazz, swing and hedonism ruled.

The Reichstag, seat of Germany's parliament

After the Great Depression, Berlin was the battleground for a number of political parties, amongst which was the Nazi party. Hitler seized the reins on the spurious claim that the German nation was under threat, and emergency powers were granted to him by Germany’s president. He was now Fuhrer. Anti-Jewish actions started immediately, culminating in the Night of Broken Glass, or Kristallnacht. This would be the precursor to Hitler’s Final Solution, but the world didn’t know it at the time. Stores, businesses and houses were smashed and ransacked, and all firearms belonging to Jews were confiscated. Synagogues burned and about 30,000 Jewish men were arrested to taken to Dachau, Buchenwald, Sachsenhausen. The names of these concentration camps are an awful, familiar roll call.

The Jews who could, fled. The pogroms of Kristallnacht sparked a massive emigration of Jewish Germans, all the way to South America and China. Their story is captured in the tortured, disorienting Jewish Museum, a metaphor in itself. Three axes make up the museum – The Axis of Exile, the Axis of the Holocaust and the Axis of Continuity. There are no windows, instead black gashes in a steel clad façade provide strips of sunlight. The architecture is stunning, and more importantly, thought provoking.

Inside the Holocaust Memorial; Pariser Platz with the Brandenburg Gate

As the Third Reich gained momentum, World War II Was soon began in earnest. Hitler’s Final Solution – Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen – started an inexorable, awful extermination of the Jews. The 6 million victims of the Holocaust are commemorated in the Holocaust Memorial. Approximately 2,700 blocks of grey, somber stone stand, lean and tower over an undulating plot of land, near the Brandenburg Gate. The sculpture is interactive; sound is different in the midst of the stones, the light is shadowed and people appear and disappear from view as you navigate through it.

The Jewish Museum - outside and inside

At the turning of the tide, war came to Berlin. Allied and Soviet forces were racing to enter Berlin first. The Russians came first, inflicting war crimes on Berlin’s civilians. Hitler shot himself, and his mistress Eva Braun in a bunker underneath his Chancellery. This is now a parking lot, and his body burned to bits and scattered to the four winds, so that neo-Nazis have no shrine to worship at.

Graffiti at the East Side Gallery, the Berlin Wall 

Germany was divided into four zones – The Allieds each took a third, and the USSR the Eastern half. Berlin, firmly in East Germany, was further divided into four sectors. The Cold War began and Berlin found itself at the forefront of it. As East and West relations deteriorated, the Soviets began the Berlin Blockage, blocking all land access to West Berlin. I can just imagine Stalin sitting in Moscow chuckling to himself and thinking “I’ll have West Berlin on a platter in two weeks!” The city was surrounded by a sea of red, with thirty five days of food and forty five days of coal left.

The Americans and English responded with the Berlin Airlift (France was occupied with her own flight shenanigans in IndoChina, enough said) – 4,000 tons of food a day, and sometimes sweets and candy for the children. These planes were nicknamed Raisin Bombers. A USAF pilot attached chocolate bars and other goodies to handkerchief parachutes to the children waiting below. When asked how they could recognise his aircraft, he said that he would wiggle his wings. At the peak of the Airlift more than 1,500 flights were made, 4,500 tons of cargo were shifted a day and one plane reached West Berlin every thirty seconds.

Humiliated, the Soviets lifted the blockade in May, 1949. The US Air Force delivered 1.7 million tonnes, and the British RAF 541, 937 tonnes. Together, 92 million miles were flown, roughly the distance the earth is to the sun. 71 American and English pilots died, mainly due to plane crashes.

East Berliners staged a revolution, halted only with tanks sent from Moscow. The Soviet occupied East government started to build the Berlin Wall to stop the massive numbers of East Berliners fleeing into the West. The Wall went up after midnight on August 13, 1961. Citizens of both East and West Berlin were stunned and confused. Free travel was curtailed. You could pass through from East to West through strictly controlled checkpoints. The Death Strip, on the Eastern side of the wall was mined with explosives, patrolled by guards with dogs and control towers overlooked the sandy no-mans-land. Almost 5,000 people tried to escape through the Wall – their brave attempts via car hood, car boot, suitcase, scuba dives, stolen identities, forged passports and speaker boxes are documented at the Charlie Checkpoint Museum. Most died, shot by guards or had their home dug tunnels collapse on them.

The replica of Checkpoint Charlie; bright lights and high rises at Potsdamer Platz

The world reacted with horror. International pressure and internal revolts pushed the Eastern government to allow travel again. The Iron Curtain weakened in Hungary. A surprise political gaffe on live television precipitated the fall of the Berlin Wall. On November 9, 1989, border guards allowed crowds from East Berlin over into the West. Crowds gathered for a wild celebration at the Brandenburg Gate. Not much of the wall remains now – I took a walk to see the East Side Gallery, where bright, light hearted graffiti adorn a 1.3 km stretch of Wall.

The story of Berlin is rich and varied, marked with wars and plagues, unbelievable hardship, incredible courage, and filled with inspiration. Now a centre for all that is hip and cool, the city throbs with techno music, the latest DJs, and avant-garde designers. There is a laidback but nevertheless cutting edge vibe to Berlin, an exciting thrill of possibility, like anything could happen.

Lewis, my "free" tour guide getting fired up as he tells us the story of how the Berlin Wall came down; standing on the Wall in my black buckled shoes.

After all that the city and her people have been through, all the fire and death and revolution and 28 years of a Wall that cut through buildings, main streets and over underground metro lines – Berlin is reunited and reborn. There are about 170 museums in Berlin and on my last day I head to the Pergamon and the Altes museum. The former houses three amazing treasures from antiquity – the Greek Pergamon Altar, the Roman Miletus gates and the Babylonian Ishtar gates. Amazing, incredible, wondrous – a must see. The Altes museum is currently the home to the Egyptian Museum, abiding place of the most beautiful ancient queen in the Nile – Nefertiti. 3,300 years old and still gorgeous.

There is so much to see in Berlin, from the futuristic high rises of Potsdamer Platz, the brutal spike of Stalin’s TV tower, the grand Communist era ‘palaces’ of Karl-Marx-Allee, the circus of Checkpoint Charlie (a reproduction – the original was torn down not long after the Wall came down. The name comes from the phonetic alphabet; Alpha, Bravo, Charlie).

In the Lustgartens

In Berlin, there is history everywhere, even underneath your feet. Our guide pointed out the double row brick line that marks the Berlin Wall, and the infamous tripping stones, which commemorate the Jewish victims of the city. Each stone, or plaque, is set in the ground in front of the house where the man or woman lived, and details their name, date of exile, camp and date of death.

Berlin is an extremely walkable city, and after we have been taken through Parisier Platz, Branbenburg Gate, past the Reichstag – Germany’s seat of parliament, Checkpoint Charlie, Gendermarkt with its two almost-identical churches, the plaza where over 2,000 books were burnt during the Nazi era, past evocative monuments to soldiers, victims, women and children… after all of that I find myself completely immersed in Berlin, and not a little admiring of the city’s resilience and spirit.

Symbol of Berlin - the Brandenberg Tor at dusk.  

Tips for visiting Berlin:

• If you intend on using the public transport a lot, get a three day City Tour or Berlin Welcome Card. These give you small discounts at certain attractions like the Jewish Museum and Checkpoint Charlie Museum, as well as hassle-free access to all S and U bahns and buses.
• A Museum Day card will save you a ton of money. These operate in sectors e.g. Museuminsel gives you access to all the museums on Museum Island. They are valid for a day and are a culture buffs’ dream ticket to the world class exhibits available in Berlin.
• In the tourist places everyone speaks English, but a “guten tag” and “danke” are appreciated. Other words: “bitte” means please, and “die reichnung” means the bill please.
• Expect service to be slow and in some places a little surly. It’s not personal, it’s just Berlin. Sit back and have another (excellent) beer and chill out.

Chilling out on the grass in front of the Altes Museum