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A day of breakfasts, queues & questionable digestifs
The Breakfast That Ate Lunch
Holidaymakers are not supposed to start early. It goes against the natural laws of lounging. Yet there we were, bleary-eyed at 8:15 in the lobby, proving that determination (or hunger) can override jet lag. A short stroll brought us to Tasty Options — a deli with a menu so vast it could double as bedtime reading. Most of us went for the Full Irish, which is less a “breakfast” and more a declaration of intent to skip lunch. Spoiler: it worked.
The Queue of Doom at Sixt
Next up: the glamorous world of car hire. We had been warned it would be busy at Sixt. Busy, it turned out, meant “an hour of your life you’ll never get back.” By the time we reached the desk, I half expected to be asked for proof of survival skills as well as a driving license. At last, keys in hand, mirrors adjusted, we were off on our two-hour journey to Belfast, North Ireland’s buzzing capital.
The Joy of Parking (Yes, Really)
Our apartment came with the holy grail of city living: secure parking. A&S were billeted elsewhere, so we did the only sensible thing and agreed to meet at a pub. Guinness was the drink of choice, and — sacrilege though it sounds — we all agreed it tasted better here than in Dublin.
Murals, Miles, and Murmurs of Thirst
Fueled by stout and historical curiosity, we set off on a long walk westward. Falls Road and Shankill Road: two names that carry the weight of history, politics, and enough murals to give Banksy an inferiority complex.
After several miles, parched and heroic, we staggered into The John Hewitt Pub for gin & tonics. Because nothing says “cultural immersion” quite like swapping stout for spirits.
Duck, Zen, and the Art of Dinner Maintenance
Dinner was at Zen, a Chinese restaurant that made us forget our noble plan of “eating local.” Crispy duck with spicy sauce? Yes please. At that point, I’d have happily joined the duck in crispy retirement.
The Great Digestif Hunt
The night was still young, and so were our digestive needs. Muriel’s offered cocktails and loud music — the kind of loud that suggests the DJ is settling a personal score with your eardrums. We fled and found sanctuary at Bootleggers, where sitting outside and people-watching turned into our unofficial evening entertainment.
The Final Nightcap
The finale? A dignified stumble home, capped by finishing the bottle of red wine that had been silently waiting for us. Over 10km of walking, a history lesson in mural form, a Full Irish, Guinness, gin, duck, and digestifs. In short: a balanced diet.
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