Call me crazy, but I’ve always loved Belfast. Even when it was grim, scary and unlovable, I loved Belfast. It doubtless helped that when I came to know it, I was courting a local girl. I loved it because she loved it and, well, I loved it even after she chucked me.
The people, the bars, the craic – gosh, the very air – invariably get under my skin. I’ve always felt at home in the city’s embrace. And now that Belfast is no longer grim, scary and unlovable – and long since my Colleen came to love another and long since I came to love another too – I love Belfast even more.
The craic is just as hilarious as that in Cork, Dublin or Galway. And today it’s even more so thanks to a swank and a pride (and a peace) that was absent before. And Belfast is a doddle to get to, just 50 minutes from Gatwick, Heathrow or Luton and no faffing around with passports or immigration. Within five minutes of landing, you’re in a cab heading to town, with Belfast City airport just ten minutes from the centre and Belfast International airport 30 minutes.
Last time I was in town, I stayed at the Malmaison Hotel which wasn’t bad. This time I bunked down at the Grand Central Hotel, which was a heck of a lot better. In fact, it’s a fabulous spot, sparklingly modern (it opened 2018) and as fine as anything similar in London, Madrid, Rome or Vienna.
Bang opposite the Ulster Hall in what they call the Linen Quarter, it’s round the corner from Belfast City Hall (which, floodlit, is as grand as any such building in Europe) and my room on the 22nd floor had sweeping views of the surrounding green hills, the docks with their vast yellow Harland and Wolff cranes and, in the distance, the sea, upon which RMS Titanic famously, fatally, steamed forth.
What I like to do in Belfast is to drink, and one can approach this mission in two ways: by heading to the inimitable old farts’ pubs and drowning oneself in the world’s best Guinness (yes, better even than in Dublin; for some reason the journey north improves it), watching greyhound racing on the telly, hearing tall tales from the locals and – with luck – catching some impromptu Irish music; or by frequenting the deeply trendy, constantly evolving cocktail bars for which Belfast is fast building a global reputation. If feeling reckless, one can do both. And so it was, dear reader, that I managed to get utterly, totally, happily smashed on a recent weekend.
I’d ostensibly come to town for BBC Radio 3’s free afternoon concert at the aforementioned Ulster Hall, featuring the Ulster Orchestra under Sinéad Hayes playing Mendelssohn’s ‘Fair Melusine’ overture and Beethoven’s sublime 4th symphony (my favourite). Having landed mid-morning with a raging thirst, I’d made straight for the Morning Star in Pottinger’s Entry, one of those little twittens (as we call them in Sussex) that run between the High Street and Ann Street. A pint of Guinness and a plate of oysters in this hallowed locals’ spot were followed by ditto in Kelly’s Cellars and a swift half pint in the fabled Crown before the concert. I was nicely teed up.
What I like to do in Belfast is to drink, and one can approach this mission in two ways
Unfortunately, my thoughts (and thirst) moved whiskey-wards post-concert, and I couldn’t resist visiting J&J McConnell’s brand spanking new distillery in the former Crumlin Road Gaol for a tour and tasting. It was downhill thereafter. A sharpener at Orisha was followed by supper at Berts Jazz Bar and drinks in Margot (brand new and fab), the Merchant Hotel cocktail bar (beautiful room and first-rate mixology), and the multi-award-winning, ooh-I-think-I’m-going-to-be-happy-here Rattlebag. I left my brolly in one bar (it was actually Grand Central’s brolly and they won’t miss it), my wallet in another (they tracked me down, bless them) and my dignity in a third (least said).
Next day got off to a rather slow start but I forced myself on to the excellent hop-on-and-off city bus tour and took in the sights, most notably Titanic Belfast, an engrossing, harrowingly detailed museum built on the very slipway where the mighty ship was launched in 1911. More than nine million people have visited since it opened in 2012, and Titanic Belfast is generally credited as having turned the city’s fortunes around.
I visited the new Titanic Distillery in the pump house, yards from the dry dock in which Titanic had its propellors fitted, and enjoyed a restorative whiskey ’n’ apple cocktail and a couple of shots. I continued my recovery with fine, creamy Guinness at Kelly’s and a lunch of whole roast sea bream and a bottle of Hugel Alsace riesling at neighbouring Mourne Seafood Bar.
The rest of the bus tour, a stroll, some shopping and a snooze and I was ready for dinner at the Seahorse Restaurant in my hotel, featuring farm-to-fork Irish cooking at its best. A final digestif in Observatory on the top floor and I reflected on a mission very happily accomplished.
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