Art and Hearts in Belfast

As my Belfast-bound bus pulled out of the Derry Ulsterbus depot, I felt sad to leave the city and people I had just been honored to meet. But I was soon filled with awe when I saw the incredible view of the River Foyle widening between the surrounding hills, and renewed with excitement for the next stage of my travels. I stopped at the Giant's Causeway on my way to Belfast, so it was late afternoon when I arrived. After a week in Donegal and a few days in Derry, Belfast appeared through the bus window like a booming metropolis. 

I began my explorations at the Botanical Gardens and the area around Queen's University. The neighborhood was full of energy and color, and it could have been the East Village (though a lot more peaceful!). I spent the rest of the afternoon soaking up the atmosphere, from the noodle bars, thrift shops, and funky cafés along Botanic Avenue to the greying Victorian architecture in the city center. Everything was evocative and my heart was full of feeling. I listened to gulls crying as they pierced their way through the steel grey sky. Teenagers kicked past the closed up shops. Every now and then I'd stumble upon a pub spilling its customers out onto the pavement, crowded joyously against the rain-damp picnic tables and under the strings of white lights.

The next day, I headed out on a more organized exploration to West Belfast. I wanted to see the neighborhood around the Falls Road that's now billed as the Gaeltacht Quarter - a center for Irish language and culture. When I was growing up, of course, the Falls Road was a different sort of center for sectarian violence. I felt curious and hopeful - and a little nervous - as I set off.

To get to the Falls Road from my hostel, I crossed Sandy Row and meandered down a loyalist section of Donegall Road. I hadn't known that my route was going to take me that way, but I'm glad it did. My time in Derry inspired me to take a hard look at my own attitudes and efforts to build peace - starting with my own heart - and walking through a loyalist neighborhood in Belfast gave me the chance to put some action in my contemplation. When I studied abroad in England, Union Jacks were just a part of the local color, but I found that I had a totally different reaction to them in Northern Ireland; they felt unwelcoming and confrontational. As I continued past the flags and murals at Sandy Row and under the bunting of Donegall Road, however, I started to get a sense of the community who lived there. Homes were tidy, with pots of flowers out on steps and windowsills. As I passed a grandmotherly lady who was sweeping in front of home, she looked up and smiled gently at me. I returned her smile warmly. It seems so small, but it felt so big.

 

I navigated the roundabout over the Westlink highway, looping around a big modern sculpture representing a new sunrise over Belfast wetlands. After that I was in the republican neighborhood. It was leafy with old trees. I turned left on the Falls Road and saw, right away, an Irish-language sign for a hairstylist, and I saw plenty more of those signs all along the road. The road was also dotted with cultural markers, pointing out landmarks and history. I stopped at an interesting sculpture and popped into a mill-turned-art market. I also paid a visit to the breathtaking Clonard Monastery. As I paused in the door of the monastery on my way back out to the street, I heard the organist piping away behind me and watched a worker repainting the doorway trim. I looked out at the blue-grey sky fraught with clouds and sound and felt that same heart-full pulsing that I had on first arriving in Belfast.

The main attraction, for me, was the Cultúrlann (Culture Place), a center for language classes, events, and the arts. I couldn't have missed it - it stands out proudly along the road, brightly colored bunting stretching from its peaked roof. I perused the bookshop, checked out an art exhibit (and recognized a painting of Glencolumbkille, the village where we stayed in Donegal!), ordered a cup of tea in Irish, and sat in the bustling café. I was happy to see how busy the Cultúrlann was. 

After visiting the Cultúrlann and the Clonard Monastery, I bopped back into the city center. I made a point of visiting the Church of Ireland cathedral with an open heart and discovered a gorgeous, poignant tapestry in memory of the victims of the Titanic, which was built in Belfast. Then I visited The Mac, a new art gallery; it was small but fun. Afterwards I decided to relax in a coffee shop for awhile; alas, the first one I came to was California-themed! But I did discover a Northern Ireland mainstay, the "Fifteen" cake. I have never tasted anything quite like it and I can predict I'll be making it myself soon. Upon researching it, I discovered that it is apparently more of a Protestant tradition - it is just like me to let my unquenchable sweet tooth and love for food lead me into opening my heart a bit more!

Overall, I was impressed with the Gaeltacht Quarter and I felt that my hopeful outlook was rewarded. A lot of shops had signs in Irish, and I'm not sure how much Irish the people in the shops actually speak or if the signage is a gimmick. Still, I saw it as part of an effort to reinvent the neighborhood in positive terms, emphasizing the cultural, artistic, and literary gifts that the Gaeltacht Quarter has to offer the community of Belfast and Northern Ireland.

As did the rest of my stay in Northern Ireland, however, my visit to the Gaeltacht Quarter raised a few uncomfortable questions. When I embrace my Irish heritage at home in the States, I believe that I'm celebrating those cultural, artistic, and literary gifts. I see my celebration as something positive and welcoming - I'm happy to share what I'm learning and loving with others, and just as happy to learn about and celebrate others' backgrounds. When I was in Northern Ireland, however, I felt at times that there was a more biting edge to embracing my heritage. In the Gaeltacht Quarter, does being Irish mean not being British? And is not being British what's important about expressing pride in being Irish? That nuance felt a bit uncomfortable to me. 

I thought about the Ulster Scots Agency that was developed as a counterpart to the Foras na Gaeilge (Irish language agency) during the peace process. Would I find their cultural center just as interesting? In my opinion, their presence is important to the cultural landscape of Northern Ireland, but  I know that not everyone agrees, and I recognize that my perspective as an outsider and an American is different from that of the locals. I thought again about my Dutch ancestors, centuries ago, settling in Mohawk territory in New York. As an exercise in perspective, I asked myself if and how I would support efforts to promote both Dutch and Mohawk culture now.

As I return home, I don't have any answers to these questions, which have been percolating over the past year. But I do return more committed to genuinely listening to and understanding others, to living a life of invitation and fellowship, and to believing that reconciliation begins in my heart - and excited about the power of the art and creativity to bring new things to life!