Watching tennis is never fun. Unless of course you are watching it with a hundred others on a manicured lawn amongst trash in Belfast’s Town Hall. The main gatherers in the park were goth and punk teens who seemed unsure what to do with so much downtime in the summer, a feeling I can relate to from Senior Projects and early summer days.
I was with a group of fellow hostelites who wanted to see Belfast’s acclaimed “Blue Fish.” A couple of them had already seen it and were leading the way when we came across this beautiful fish graffiti. We then stopped and convinced Neringa that we had walked over a mile to see this beautiful spray painted being and that years of history were behind this blue cavelike drawing. When we finally arrived at the Blue Fish about a half a mile later, I was only less impressed by Brussels’s Mannequin Pis. Nevertheless, we did our duty as a tourist and took many photos with the fish, on top of the fish, and posing as the fish.
The next day I drove with my new-found friends along the Northern Coast of Ireland towards Giant’s Causeway. Thousands of tourists are bussed in to see the remarkable World Heritage site that was created by cooling lava. Each hexagonal stone is so exact I assumed there was an architect for it; only after a couple of snickers was I informed it was natural. It is a site so astounding my old nanny’s daughter named her son after one of the giants in the legend. Definitely, one of my favorite parts of Ireland; I only wish there were less tourists who agreed.