Friday 29 October 2010

Stormont




A couple miles from my house sits Stormont, the home of the Northern Ireland Assembly.  Although Great Britain retains certain governmental powers (such as taxation and foreign policy), Northern Ireland manages issues such as health, education, and agriculture.  Stormont, built in 1932, is the place where the Northern Irish government gathers to make its decisions.

Every morning, the bus takes me past the Stormont estate.  It can take you by surprise if you’re not expecting it.  The streets of brick houses and shops suddenly give way to a press of green trees bound by a wrought-iron fence.  And almost as quickly as the fence appears, it broadens and grows into a massive gate with clean-cut stones, ponderous lanterns, and heavy iron doors.  The road leading from the gate to Stormont is a mile long, bordered by two straight strips of sidewalk and lines of thick-trunked trees.  Even from the gate, you can see the grand building of Stormont presiding over its estate, over both politicians and dog-walkers.  It is dramatic and regal—a parliamentary Pemberley, almost. 

I love walking here, especially now that the leaves are beginning to turn.




Looking down from Stormont
Another view of Belfast from Stormont

Some Differences


Sometimes, living day-to-day in Northern Ireland lulls me into a false sense of security—since I can read and speak the language, I find myself assuming that communication will be effortless.  But then someone will look at me strangely after I say something, or one of the kids in the afterschool program will ask me a question full of words that I’ve never heard before (and trust me, I’ve learned the hard way that guessing doesn’t work well—it’s much better to ask them to repeat themselves).  Maybe if I were more prepared for these little differences, they wouldn’t surprise me so much.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad surprise—but it’s a surprise all the same. 

Here are some of the differences that I’ve had fun observing and, at times, putting into practice (with varying degrees of success):

Providing transportation is giving someone “a lift”—never “a ride.”

When eating, your fork is held in one hand and your knife in the other.  You turn your fork over and use your knife to pile food on top of it (your bite might consist of mashed potatoes and peas, for instance, or French fries—chips—and coleslaw).  If you’re thinking that this takes a fair amount of balance and skill, you’re right.  If you’re thinking that I probably haven’t gotten the hang of it yet, then you’re right again. 

You might describe a timid person by saying, “She wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”

You might describe a crazy person by saying, “He’s mad as a bag of spiders.”

Scundered: embarrassed, awkward, uncomfortable

A vacuum is a “hoover.”  This can also be a verb, as in, “I’ve just hoovered the stairs.”

When someone offers you juice, they’re likely talking about squash—not the vegetable, but a sort of liquid concentrate fruit drink.  You make it by pouring a small amount into a jug and adding water.  You end up with a vaguely fruity, vaguely sugary, vaguely carbonated drink.

Chasies: the game of tag

Pumpkin Spice does not exist as a Starbucks syrup here.  This is the only difference that I have not had fun observing.

Wick: rubbish; can be used as an adjective or exclamation 

In years past, trick-or-treaters have been given money more often than sweets.  However, it now seems that sweets are more in demand.  Also, Halloween fireworks are a big pretty big deal. 

How's the form?  It's another way of saying how are you?

More table etiquette: when I went out for lunch the other day, everyone at the table set aside the top half of their hamburger bun and proceeded to eat the rest of their burger with a knife and fork.  The leftover piece of bun was later eaten with knife and fork, as were the chips (French fries).  Now, perhaps this is also done in polite American society, but I have to admit that it was a first for me. :)

On the Train to Bangor


I’ve always enjoyed a bit of spontaneity.

Alright, maybe “always” is a stretch.  I usually like spontaneity, especially when I’m expecting it.  And last weekend, Jo and Miriam and I enjoyed a bit of well-planned spontaneity. 

We had decided that Saturday would be an excellent time for a day-trip, so we showed up at the Belfast Central Train Station with open minds, an Ireland for Dummies guide book, and no particular destination in mind.  After some awkward squinting at train timetables and covert glances at guide books, we decided to ask the man behind the ticket counter for suggestions.  In ten minutes, we found ourselves on the train headed for the nearby town of Bangor (pronounced bang-ger).  As you can see, it turned out to be quite a success:

Walking along the pier in Bangor.  We told ourselves that
the rain and wind just gave the place some extra flavor.

I may or may not have gotten splashed.  More than once.

Apparently, there is a park nearby with boats shaped like swans.
I thought that it might not be the right day to set sail in a swan.
Bangor Castle, finished in 1852.  The word "castle"
might be a bit of a stretch...but I mean that in the best
possible way.
View of Bangor from the castle.
Part of the castle grounds.
Inside the castle, Jo and Miriam were vastly entertained by
a movie on the history of Bangor as a holiday hotspot.
Bangor Abbey.  Although most of this present structure
was built in the mid-19th century, there has been an abbey
on this site since A.D. 558
The abbey may have been founded by St. Comgall, but
it still has the creepiest cemetery I've ever seen.  With all
the overturned and cracked gravestones, it was like there
had been a small resurrection of the dead.
Successfully spontaneous.