Belfast and Furious

A slow morning in a guesthouse with lavender walls, nobody especially ready to leave. We packed at the pace of people who know the best part is now behind them.

The road out ran under a tunnel of old beech trees, the branches knitting together overhead into a kind of green cathedral.

After that it was the long gray road south — a bus stop, the occasional sheep, and eventually Belfast, well after dark.

Belfast seemed a little sleepy at first, so we napped, went out for Thai food, and then went looking for signs of life. We found a place called The Royal that looked shut from the street, but we pushed through the doors into disco lights and lounge music and a room where everybody already knew everybody else. It turned out to be the most local bar imaginable. They were all deeply impressed by my height, we made an improbable number of friends in a very short time, and it became, easily, our best night out of the trip.

Tomorrow we start pointing ourselves back toward Dublin.