"Driving" - Belfast to Derry

Joan and I are taking turns and mom either deserves sainthood or an oscar, because other than the occasional, "Whoa Nelly," or "My, that looks like quite a turn coming up," there is little other commentary coming from the back seat.

I think we both have our pluses and minus.  Listening to the Pouges definitely seems to encourage Joan to drive faster. And we did become intimately acquainted 

with a hedge row once when a lorry was

 bearing down on a single lane road, but I think that was a good thing. I tend to hug more to the center line (danger: oncoming traffic), while Joan tends to hug more to the curb (danger: a somewhat lopsided but entertaining few moments while we proceed down the road with two wheels up on the curb).  I think I proved my worth today in making quick U-ies mid "single carriageway" when we were headed in the wrong direction or needed to back track to pet donkeys in roadside fields.

We've only had one run-in with the law, and we initiated it, so I don't think it counts.  Belfast city center is a bit like downtown DC on the weekends; everything that thrives on the government is shut down on Sundays.  We had a rough time finding a place to have breakfast. For one because we didn't wake up until 10:30 -

 we got hit with Europe's "spring forward" and lost yet another hour of sleep, and also stayed 

up too late encouraging mom to watch all of "School of Rock" on RTE 1.  So not only did we miss mass, but free breakfast as well (I'll leave it to the reader to determine which is the bigger sin, but mom says it is OK to miss church when you're on vacation.) 

The overnight guy at the Park Inn hotel's reception desk was thrown when I asked about eating.

Me: Know any place we can get brunch?

Guy:

Me: Brunch.  Or lunch.  Or breakfast.

Guy: (looking at a distant spot on the

 horizon): Uh...breakfast....

Me: Yeah.  Something to eat.

Guy: To eat....maybe Wetherspoons? Just around the corner.

Me: Wetherspoons?  You mean the place that was all over the news yesterday?

Guy: 

Me: Because there was a riot there over the Poland-Northern Ireland football match and 

the police had to close down the block?

Guy: (Staring at spot on the horizon): 

Animated Shift 

Relief Guy with Bleached Hair Who Breezes on the Scene: Yes.  She is right. Weatherspoons. Riot. Chairs through windows. Police everywhere. OMG. No. Go to Ormeau Street. Fabulous cafes.  A-dor-a-ble. Get an Ulster Fry. Go right, then left, then right again. Avoid the blood pudding.

Joan drove. We were lost after the first "right then left, "  but spotted two police officers leaning into a

 window of a 

car next to the upcoming stop light.  "I'll ask them." 

As we slowed to a stop I noticed these were not the benign looking billy club weilding, funny hat wearing Gardia of the south, but fully kitted-out northern officers with bullet proof vests and guns. And they seemed to be giving the once over to a girl behind the wheel. Maybe we shouldn't bother the nice men after all. But we were stuck at a stop light, and I couldn't get my window back up, and the red haired fellow was already eyeballing me over his shoulder while his partner dealt with the driver.  

In my best "I really don't mean to bother you" whisper I leaned toward him and said, "Sorry, sorry - Ormeau Street?"

He looked at me once, then back to his partner, and then leaned in towards me and whispered, "Don't ye think ye better be putting on yer seat belt there first?"

While I scrambled to get my seat belt on the light changed and I only got a glimpse of him laughing to himself as we pulled away. We never did find Ormeau street and the Ulster Fry.