A weekend of Guinness...

The peace wall in west Belfast

Carl's been waving around his Irish passport for so long now, I thought it high time he actually visited the place which earned him that precious little book. We've been to Dublin, but Carl's grandfather was actually a Belfast boy, born and bred. So, for Carl's birthday, we grabbed some cheap flights and headed to Northern Ireland for a few pints of the black liquid, some craic and, not surprisingly, a pretty interesting history lesson.

Carl and Waz enjoy the first of many pints of Guinness

Couldn't have picked a better weekend for it, actually. On the Friday night, we emerged from our first pub, the Crown Liquor Saloon, to find the streets filled with men dressed in uniform marching through the city streets. An old Irish man with no teeth told us that the parade was in commemoration of the Battle of the Somme, where the British Army suffered its largest loss at the hands of the Germans during the first world war. Sixty per cent of all officers involved in the first day of the battle were killed. There were 60,000 casualties in total. Twenty thousand of these men died.

Quite a few people had turned out to watch the parade. Even the groups of kids under-age drinking themselves into a stupor had stopped to pay homage to those who'd lost their lives. The only problem is the battle didn't take place in May. By all accounts, it ran from July - November 1916. So, unless I am missing something, that little old toothless man had NO idea about the purpose of the parade. If anyone wants to enlighten us, go right ahead.

The next day we went on a black cab tour, which is the only way to really get to grips with the 'troubles' in northern Ireland (you quickly realise that half of what you hear on the news is bollocks). Our cab driver, Pat, was a staunch catholic. He never said this outright, but he didn't have to. Old Pat was a 'falls road' cabbie, during the height of the 'troubles, when buses were taken off the roads (because "they kept getting hijacked"). Back then, he stuck to the catholic areas of west belfast. These days he'll "travel anywhere as long as the meter is on".

Our tour began in the protestant neighbourhood of west Belfast. In an empty parking lot, wooden crates were being stockpiled for the annual July bonfire which commemorates William of Orange's victory over the Catholic King James II at the Battle of the Boyne. Two months to go till the event and the parking lot is already piled high.

Pat drives us into a suburb, which on the surface looks like any other in Belfast. Look a little closer, however, and you see the flags of St George and the Union Jack hanging from the windows, doors and gates of the houses. Step around the corner and you see that many are adorned with protestant murals. Some mark a key battle or a fallen comrade. Others can only be described as propaganda. In one particularly menacing mural, the gun of a soldier looks like it follows you around. Freaky.

From here, Pat drives us to the 'peace line' that stretches between the Catholic and Protestant areas of west Belfast. The bottom section of the wall is made of concrete blocks that have been painted white. On top of this is metal sheeting painted green. In some places, there is also a metal grill to try to prevent missiles from being thrown over the wall. We stop on the protestant, Shankill Road, side of the wall and read the messages of peace that now grafitti it. Pat gives us some chalk and we leave our own message.

Em leaves a message on the peace wall

The catholic suburb on the other side of the wall is one that Pat knows well. We pass through a set of gates and stop at a memorial. There's a helicopter flying overhead. The sound reminds Pat of some of the tactics used by the British troops - at funerals or republican gatherings, the British helicopters would hover above the crowd so that speeches couldn't be heard, or at night they would shine their spotlights into people's living rooms.

The Irish flag at the memorial - look closely and you'll see the helicopter in the sky

We drive to Falls Road in the heart of catholic west Belfast and stop in front of the offices of Sinn Fein. Cars drive past, horns beeping, drivers wave their fists in the air. We look up and see a mural of Bobby Sands MP and suddenly we realise the significance of this particular weekend in the history of Northern Ireland.

Bobby Sands died on May 5th 1981. He was one of ten members of the IRA who staged a hunger strike in prison in protest of their prison classification. They wanted to be recognised as prisoners of war, or political prisoners, not common criminals. Bobby Sands was the first to die, after 66 days without food or water. The others followed soon after. According to Pat, the protest marked the beginning of Sinn Fein's 'armalite and ballot war'.

That afternoon we walked down Ormeau Road to the area in which Carl's grandfather grew up, stopping along the way for a pint with some crazy locals at Hatfield House pub. They weren't too fond of the English, that much was clear. But come the next ashes series, there'll be a pub full of Irish cheering us Aussie's on to victory!

The next day, in need of fresh air, we headed off to explore the northen irish coast that we'd heard so much about. And we weren't disappointed. Everything they say about the coast of Ireland is true, at least in these parts anyway. Rolling hills, green fields, rugged rocky coast - all the cliches are warranted - but what we didn't expect to see was the beautiful torquoise sea, which looked extremely inviting (despite the fact that it was windy and cold, and the water was probably freezing).

We headed along the coast, stopping at Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, which is suspended across a 24m deep and 18m wide chasm, separating the north coast mainland from Carrick Island. Originally, it was erected to allow fisherman access to Carrick Island, a spot favoured by salmon. Now its a there for the tourists ... although its not for the feint-hearted.

A little further north is the Giant's Causeway. I won't attempt to explain something I don't undertand so I'll quote from the brochure: "The Giant's Causeway, renowned for its polygonal columns of layered basalt, is the only World Heritage Site in Northern Ireland. Resulting from a volcanic eruption 60 million years ago, this is the focal point of a designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty". They're right, of course. It is pretty bloody cool. And, in a very un-British way, it's free, you get to climb all over it, and there's a great pub nearby where you can re-charge with a hearty steak and guiness pie and a pint. No wonder everyone (bar the English) love the Irish.

Check out the rest of our photos here. And just in case we got any of the information wrong, or you want to know more about the conflict in Northern Ireland, here are some key dates in the history of Northern Ireland.