Alternative Ulster

Contrary to the cliches, Belfast is a forward-looking city with a welcoming and fun-filled atmosphere. But as any returning native knows, if you want to fit in, you don't want to go acting fancy

THERE'S an expression in Belfast, one that you use to describe someone who's not really getting into the craic. It describes the loner, the antisocial shy guy, or the unwelcome addition to a heavy night out. "See that boy over there in the corner?" you ask, sardonic half-smile spreading across your face. "The one with his face in a pint of Harp? He's a bit of a Jim Corr."

It's typical of the Belfast approach to life, this earthing of Ireland's celebrities and stars, this demystification of the glamour and pizzazz of showbusiness. Jim Corr has done nothing wrong - he's just an ordinary lad in a band with three media-friendly sisters and extraordinary success, but that alone is enough to damn him up North, to get him accused of ideas above his station. They're kind to tourists here, but the legendary Irish welcome doesn't always stretch to Belfast's own.

I spent the first 19 years of my life in the suburbs of Belfast; nearly two decades lived entirely - to use a British media cliche - under the shadow of the Troubles. Certainly I remember murals and painted flagstones, police vans, dangerous rumours about black taxi cabs, but I also remember having fun at night, going into town to drink and dance, bonding with strangers in the queue outside a club.

I experienced one bomb scare in that time. Yet when I got to Scotland, I realised that the only impression of Ulster that Britain had been given was one of hatred, murder and bigotry, of people sealing themselves in their homes, too scared to go out, too terrified to leave. People in Northern Ireland, it seemed, didn't have a life.

Yet everyone who leaves yearns to go back. I have always loved coming home, to the craic and the humour and, yes, the life. Belfast is constantly re-inventing itself - and each absence seems to spawn a host of pavement cafes and live poetry nights, cosmopolitan bars and Michelin-starred restaurants. The once decrepit docks are now home to arts venues and the dazzling Waterfront Hall, the gasworks a community garden; the nightlife becomes more varied and exciting with the opening of each new club. These are all admirable ventures, improving the city at every step, but they are not, essentially, what identify this urban space as Belfast. Belfast is set apart from every other capital city because of its anti-Jim Corr complex; its insistence on maintaining a grip on reality and refusing to get caught up in social pretensions that might swallow the city's heart.

Belfast, as any visitor will tell you, has a big, open, welcoming heart of gold. Despite the age-old issues, the city centre is alive with locals and tourists, soaking up the sunshine and spilling, slightly tipsy, onto the streets. Some of them totter from the chic new establishments that crowd Botanic Avenue and the area around the university, but for many of these people, it's the worn spots which embody its charm.

It's 6.30am on a Friday when I begin my re-exploration, a time when sunbeams reflect off red-brick terraces, causing shop fronts and churches to relax into a comforting pink glow. Most of the city sleeps, but just across from the millennial glitz of the Laganside developments and the Waterfront Hall, a whole microcosm is conducting important affairs.

This is St George's Market, the largest indoor market in Ireland, built in 1896 and renovated three years ago to the tune of #2.3 million. The Victorian exterior seems unassuming and mundane, but it houses an infinite array of stalls and wares. A glass ceiling floods local peddlers in the curious morning light, and as I walk among the stalls, listening to stall-holders catch up on gossip and banter, shouting across the hall, I am lulled into a dream world.

Surrounded by laughter and bathed in sun, it does not seem strange to buy two thick scones of treacle soda bread from the lady on my left, a chipped porcelain vase from the gentleman beside her, and a pair of loose, second-hand tights, from a tastefully arranged display near the centre.

Round the corner from St George's lies the hub of the old city, home to several of Belfast's finest pubs. High Street is the area's main artery, from which numerous alleys and entries run off: small cobbled lanes which house a lone shop or pub, lost in time, and untouched by modern ways.

The Morning Star, in Pottinger's Entry, sports large windows and a circular bar, surrounded by ageless, hairless men, in dapper suits and polished shoes, sipping endless pints of Guinness. The black stuff is available in every bar, and any visitor needs to sample not only a pint, but a pub crawl's worth of alcohol to get a true taste of Belfast life.

I choose to reacquaint myself with larger measures and smoke- filled rooms in the Crown, the city's most famous pub, now owned by the National Trust. The bar dates from the 19th century, and even one drink inside this gas-lit space with its stained glass will set you back in time. I arrive early, since the Crown offers the eager and initiated a unique and wonderful reward: snugs. These leather-seated cubicles, seating maybe eight close friends, are separated from the main bar by richly carved wooden doors. They are intimate, cosy and altogether special, and as we smugly convene in our superior seating, blathering over local oysters and pints of beer, the occasional hopeful head pops over the door, hoping in vain that there might be just one space. Not a chance. Talk of other pubs soon subsides. It's just a little too comfortable in here.

The next morning brings heavy heads and bleary eyes, and a need for some fresh air. For an industrial capital city, Belfast is a remarkably green place. Community paths and gardens abound throughout the centre, and the grounds of the City Hall serve as a lunching and lounging spot for city workers and layabout youth.

We chose to leave the centre, though, and head two miles north of the city, to Belfast Castle and the country park woodland of Cave Hill. This 750-acre park dominates the urban skyline for miles around, the hill itself stretching 1182 feet above sea level. The Castle is a fairly unimpressive affair, all conference rooms, plush carpeting, pomp and circumstance, but the grounds and gardens are calm and serene. I become seduced by the lazy composure of the central fountain, and have to be dragged away to climb one of the less taxing uphill pathways of the estate. The views are well worth the climb. County Antrim and County Down stretch far beneath you, Belfast's docks look like Lego figures, and the Mourne Mountains rise, solid and sure, in the distance.

Later on, tired and somewhat hazy, we head back into town for another popular Belfast pastime: the local pub quiz. It's certainly an experience: points, pints and scampi fries are awarded for bad jokes, good jokes, stealing punchlines, stupid answers and generally being rude. Three hours later we're drunk, humiliated, and stony broke. We're also very amused. I have bonded with people I will never see again, sworn allegiance and eternal love to names I'll soon forget, and remembered why I love coming back. Belfast provokes emotion; this city is intense.

Of course, it's often a negative fervour, displayed through small- mindedness, bigotry and hate. Yet despite all this, those who visit, and those who temporarily return, find themselves emotional in a different, much more positive way. Belfast will love you if love her back, but you have to take her as she is. There's nothing she hates more than a wilful outsider, someone who's a bit Jim Corr How to get there l Go will be flying from Glasgow to Belfast twice a day from May 4. Return flights from #30 (special introductory offer) to #110.

l SeaCat sails three times a day between Troon and Belfast. Summer fares for one car plus driver start at #115 return. Special offers are often available. For reservations call 08705 523 523 or log on to: www.seacat.co.uk Where to stayDuke's Hotel, 65-67 University Street, Belfast, 02890 236 666. A beautiful, central new hotel in an old building near the university.

Where to eatDeane's, 38 Howard Street, Belfast, 02890 560 000. A friendly restaurant, which has been awarded a Taste of Ulster badge and three AA rosettes.

Copyright 2001
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