Thursday 15 November 2001

Mark and Anthony were here! The two darlings set out on their Grand World Tour just a couple of days after I left for N. Ireland, and having been through Czechoslavakia,, Austria, France, Spain, some Greek Islands, bits of England and Scotland, thought that all that had been far too too boring for words hence a slight detour to Belfast to see me, me, just me, was required.

 I really, honestly, truly, haven't been homesick, but I have had bouts of people-sickness (I know that sounds oh-so-wrong, but can't think of a better description at this time) which I guess counts as kinda the same thing. So it was lovely beyond words (ha!) to see the boys. My first Aussie visitors.

They looked great, though I think they were feeling a trifle tired out and frazzled from all the travelling and living out of backpacks. Their itinerary has been packed to say the least, and they've had a few "rest days" where they stayed in the one place and racked out, but most of the last few months have been spent on the move. So I think they really appreciated visiting us, being in a nice comfy home not a hostel, being able to catch up on washing, and email at leisure as opposed to hyperventilating at exorbitantly priced internet cafes.

Also of course, to see me, me, me. To see where I've moved to and my new life. To get to know Sam (Mark had met him very briefly way back in May when I took Sam to visit The Abattoir to show him off; and The Ring, in as ostentatious and obnoxious nyah-nyah manner as possible). And to see a teensy bit of Belfast and N. Ireland too of course.

First off, they got on well with Sam, and he got on well with them, and the boys thought we were really really great together. They noted that I had mellowed perhpas a little, but was otherwise just the same me. Oh and that I had a little, not accent, but trace of something in my speech, a lilt perhaps, a distinctly Irish way of arranging my words sometimes, and that I pronounced my R's (at the end of words, which Australians don't; they say errah not erroR, fathah not fatheR etc).

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On Wednesday we did the Antrim Coast Trip, the same one I did May 2000. We even had the same bus driver! It is a brilliant tour, going up the (glorious) Antrim Coast, taking in some of the Glens, the Giants Causeway, the Carrick-a-Rede Bridge, Dunluce Castle, and finishing off (wheee!) at Bushmills Distillery.

It was a grand day for it; sunny, not much wind, a bit cold true, but overall very pleasant. The Carrick-a-Rede bridge had been taken down for the winter, hardly surprising as it is a very narrow suspension bridge between the mainland and a teensy weensy rock outcrop, with a ninety foot drop to crashy waves and rocks. Only two-four people are allowed to set foot on and cross the bridge at the same time. 

I had actually crossed it last year, an amazing feat for someone who (a) is terrified to immobility of heights and (b) is ditto about suspension bridges. I was far too frightened to enjoy the experience/view/whatever, but was glad to have done it, just to be able to say "I did that". Mind you I was even gladder to be back on the main cliff and be able to take surprisingly good photographs of the cliffs back south. 

The Giants Causeway was its usual breathtaking self; the boys were happy to clamber all over and take photos (on their digital camera, lucky wee swine), do some camcording, and posisbly debate the origins of the GC. Geologists suggest the impressive geometric structures are a result of volcanic activity, something or other, blah blah; while folk legend states more believable that the giant Finn MacCool had (a) a Big stone-throwing fight with a Scottish giant across the way or (b) had a girlfriend over in Scotland and visited her by way of laying a path through the sea. Given both the amorous and aggressive tendencies of the NIrish, and County Antrim folk in particular, both scenarios are likely.

I found a nice tall hexagon to sit on and contemplate the view and generally meditate on the weirdness and curiously circular nature of Life. If, eighteen months ago, someone had told cynical bitchy hopeless me that I would leave Australia to live in N. Ireland and Belfast of all places, and be in a glorious relationship with a truly wonderful man, and be getting married to that man ... well I would have asked them politely where the groovy mushrooms were. 

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The Bushmills tour was superb of course. I was a big Scottish single malt afficiando before my first trip to Ireland; I got converted pretty damn quick. Although I enjoy the other Irish brands, Bushmills is my favourite, and of the three types produced (standard, the Black Bush, and the 10 year old) I go for the Black Bush every time. Wowza. Anyway, The Distillery is the oldest *licenced* distillery, getting its licence in 1608, though monks were doing their magic with barley, yeast and water several hundred years before that. Bushmills Whiskey is unlike both American and Scotch whiskies in that it is distilled three times; American is distilled only once which is why it tastes like paint-stripper, and Scotch is distilled twice. 

At the end of the tour every person on the tour gets a tot of their choice, or a hot toddy if they wimp out on taking the stuff straight (Mark had a hot toddy because he's not a big fan of spirits and found it yummy indeed, Anthony had some Black Bush and was also much impressed. Ha, more converts). The guide also asked for four volunteers, two male two female, to conduct a "taste test". I got picked, nothing to do with jumping up and down going memememememe of course. So I got to taste various grades of American, Scotch and Irish whiskies, rate them, then get a good-sized tot of my favourite. Although the BB is still my favourite, I couldn't resist trying the Bushmills 12 Year Old, which is only sold on the premises. And mmmm yes it was good shtuff. 

The boys, Sam and I had thought of heading out that night to The Crown and Robinsons, but since the bus (sorry, coach) got back into town later than we had figured on, and all of us were wrecked (Sam from a long rough day at work, though) we decided to just stay in so the boys could get a relatively early night, their plane leaving at 0600 or something, ugh. So I cooked a yummy dinner (another thing the boys were pleased with on their visit; extra-good home cooked meals, rather than the msg laden stuff eg, cup a soups and two minute noodles they've been consuming most of the trip).

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I got up to see them off in the very early morning, and yes it was very sad but oh, so good to have visitors. I can't wait for January/February to see my Sooz, Ernest and Isabel, and Charles ... oh and to get married too but that's kind of incidental, uh huh.

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