Giant’s Causeway: Northern Ireland’s jewel

Day 7 of our Ireland Trip

On Day 7 of our Ireland family trip, I discovered something heartbreaking.

All those window boxes in Ireland, and there are no hummingbirds to enjoy them. That’s what we discovered in my daughter Sabrina’s bird book. There are no woodpeckers, either. As for other animals, there are no snakes or wolves, which could be considered a boon or bane.

Comparing Ireland to Northern Ireland

We’d been on the road since morn from my sister’s place in County Cavan. We were making our way to the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. After a little picnic break at a forest park, we got back on the road again.

Northern Ireland was a green country, too, though not as green as Ireland. Which was baffling since surely, in terms of geography, they weren’t that different, were they?

The roads were wider and one could actually pull over at the shoulders on the road. The forests were denser. Little yellow flowers dotted meadows. Just below our road, horses grazed. Very similar to Ireland, it has a rural feel in places.

Driving through Belfast

Two hours later, we reached Belfast, Northern Ireland’s capital.

Older buildings and faded signs contributed to a worn-down look. Cheerful ads promote “Supereasy Supermarket” with parking lots that were completely full we had to leave in a not-very-supereasy way. There were posters touting smiling models along the road where unsmiling people waited for buses.

We passed a couple with thinning hair, furrowed brows, a little stooped at the shoulders, weighed with years of worry; a man carrying two grocery bags; women in drab colors. There was a hard set in their mouth, a hungry look in their eyes. Rubbish littered the street. Tin roofs showed rust and discoloration.

I wasn’t sure what accounted for this Northern Ireland vibe, other than what my sister and her Irish husband told me about July 12. The Twelfth (also called Orangemen’s Day) is an Ulster Protestant celebration, historically marked by protests and violence.

They said to not go to Belfast then because of the potential for riots. Could all that political unrest and lack of stability contribute to a sense of malaise? To use an analogy, the main streets of Northern Ireland have that European window box and brightly painted facade but with a rougher street vibe.

We stopped at a grocery store and asked to use the toilets. A lady directed us to the back of the building, “up a hill”. Outside, when we clarified directions, another employee, an elderly man, said, “For the lot of you?” Then he took us into the store to use the employee bathrooms. He waited for us and was very kind. I decided that the unattractive “poor, tired, huddled” view I had of Northern Irish people was not accurate nor fair.

Especially when I finally laid eyes on Giant’s Causeway, along the northernmost coast of North Ireland.

Giant’s Causeway

The legend is, a giant named Finn McCool threw a path of rocks into the water between Scotland and Northern Ireland so he could challenge another giant on the opposite shore. As he came up to his foe, he realized the other giant was so much bigger. So he ran back home, where his wife disguised him as a baby. Thwarted, the other giant smashed down the causeway and left a rubble of paving stones. Yup, that Finn was quite the guy.

There are about 40,000 basalt stones at the tip of this one shore, black volcanic rock lapped up by the waves, and reddish lighter colored stones further up the dry hill. I wanted to believe in the legend; otherwise, it was hard to understand how this all came about. Again, my stereotype faltered. The visitor’s center was run by smart, friendly people who knew how to run a first-class tourist site.

A couple from Italy kindly took our family’s photo. “Grazie,” I thanked them in Italian. I’d been having fun practicing my rudimentary greetings in various languages.

I sat on a hill and looked below at this black, reddish stone formation, amazed at this marvel at the tip of a country I never thought I’d visit in my lifetime.

Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge

Afterward, we hiked on to the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge. The stop wasn’t so much about the rope bridge, which was quite a short crossing, but about the journey to and from the rope bridge.

A lot like life.

Along the way, we passed meadows of wildflowers.

Cliffs, blanketed with soft green Irish moss, dropped off to the emerald waters which swirled in eddies.

It’s been said that the rope bridge was a way for the fishermen to get to the rock where they could put out to sea. It’s a short bridge, and fairly sturdy unless your husband insists on jostling it.

But it was beyond that, the little outcropping cliff, that made me wish we had a lot more time to spend here. Under my seat, the ground was soft and springy; the sea an emerald jewel. The Irish moss glowed different shades of green on the cliffs. Seagulls soared above.

The Northern Irish have their troubles, but today, here, there was no sign of it. It was just calm and beauty, and they could have been the most blessed people in the world.

An Irish Pub

Eventually, we had to head back to my sister’s, stopping to sup at a traditional Irish pub called Scenic Inn.

We enjoyed good steaks and gammon (ham), while a cover of Janis Joplin’s “Take a little piece of my heart” played in the background. Most of the night the music was country. Based on the great interest in an upcoming Garth Brooks’ concert, Irish love American country music.

By 9:25 p.m. my husband and I drove the kids to meet my sister’s husband near Dublin. He was to take them back to Cavan while Drew and I would stay a night in Dublin then fly out to Paris for one (yes, one!) day tomorrow. A two-day-early romantic anniversary date to celebrate 22 years of marriage.

This is a 9-day series through Ireland. Here are Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5 and Day 6. Thank you for reading!

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