The Crown and Fibber Magee

The Crown turned out to be a good restaurant but no music. We ate a hearty meal of local sausage on a potato/leek mash and then headed out onto the street. We were across from the Europa Hotel, once known as the most-bombed hotel in Europe. Once a favorite target of the IRA, it was now just an odd looking piece of intimidating architecture - part grand columned entry topped by a non-descript utilitarian tower which housed the rooms.

As it turned out we only had to go around the corner from the Crown when we heard music, the distinctive fiddle, pipe, with bodhran rhythm that belongs in traditional Irish songs. Fibber Magee's is an institution in Belfast and we were lucky enough to get there during the after-work music, when the crowd was local and very likely to get up and dance, men and women both displaying the kind of light footwork that was so much like Riverdance we knew we were not in in America anymore.

The men were friendly, one tall football player kind of a guy gave Arlene a hug and then moved on, two others, as different in size as Oliver and Hardy, tried to strike up a conversation but we made only enough polite nods to tide us over until we were able to grab a couple of empty seats at a table by the musicians. Everyone crowded into everyone else, and sang along with gusto as the musicians reeled from "Galway Girl" to U2 favorites, and the men and women who danced, danced with everyone else. Alcohol here is cheap, a reminder that pubs are a way of life for people of all ages. We drank cider from big glasses, and watched in amazement as everyone joyfully danced their version of an Irish jig, always with a great sense of humor.

We stayed thru to the second band, amazing players of whistle, guitar, mandolin, fiddle, and bagpipes. The crowd pressed in and we all took videos (mine will come later). This crowd was from all over the world, and we stayed until the band finished at midnight. Neither Arlene nor I were anxious to get back to the hotel as there had been a mix-up and we were forced to share a double bed until they could free up a twin room on Sunday. Despite fears of snoring and catching each other's cold, we managed to roll ourselves up in our respective comforters and sleep with most of our limbs hanging off opposite sides of the bed.

Belfast has come alive since the Peace - it is so recent that there is still a sense of palpable relief in the air. The soldiers are gone, checkpoints, and fear replaced by crowds that stay out on the streets until the wee hours of the morning. You can't change 500 years of division overnight, as the cabbie who picked me up today at the Belfast Public Records office told me. The gated walls between Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods are still there, most are open during the day but close at night when darkness and drink don't mix with the boys who are still looking for a fight. And new buildings are sprouting in the red sandstone landscape - a city with virtually no highrises.
"Why spend monae when they'll just try ta take it down?" was the answer. Bombed cities do not flourish.

The Titanic Experience is one of many new bright spots for the tourists who are beginning to come to Belfast. Since opening three weeks ago it's been sold out.

More tomorrow on our day there.

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