"Where do you want to go?"
A year ago, I was sat in my hostel room in Belfast with Zana and Urska, two Slovenian girls with whom I'd traveled to Northern Ireland. Spread out between us was a map of the city. In no time, we'd made a list of places we wanted to see: the Titanic shipyard, Belfast Castle, Napoleon's Nose. That plan left us with one more day to fill, which coincidentally was Easter Sunday. With no other suggestions being brought to the table, I saw my chance and took it.
"There's only one place I want to add to the list," I said. "I want to see the art on the Peace Wall."


The idea had been planted in my head about ten months earlier. As I was sitting on the porch of my "apartment" in Wadi Rum, Jordan, an old man from the group I was traveling with came up to me to ask me about street art. He'd seen me jump ship on an excursion to some biblical site in Bethlehem so I could go to the West Bank Barrier. In hindsight, he regretted not joining me. I told him about my experiences and when he saw my face light up when talking about the intersection of art, history and politics, he told me I should go see Belfast's peace walls someday. I made a mental note of the location and promised him I'd go. My promise was sincere, but I thought of it as something for the distant future. Within a year, however, I found myself in Belfast with the old man's words ringing in my ears.


Granted, Easter 2019 was not the best of times for three to slightly naive university students to visit Nothern Ireland. Lyra McKee was murdered the day before we arrived. We received more than one text from worried parents, asking us about the situation and urging us to keep our eyes open, to stay safe. We were all a little tense when we read about what was going on not too far from us. But Belfast seemed calm and safe, so after a visit to St. George's Market, we went to the Peace Wall.


The easiest way to visit the Peace Wall that has capital letters and a listing on Trip Advisor is by booking a tour. You'll be picked up in a cab and a private tour guide will tell you all about the walls and their history. Us being broke students, we did not book such a tour. We decided to walk instead. It'd take us only half an hour to get there, the sun was shining, and we were oblivious to most of the city's recent history, so walking seemed like a great idea. But soon we found ourselves away from all main roads, in the middle of a residential area where tourists were a rare sight in the streets full of Irish flags. Some vague echo of a historical fact began to wriggle in the back of my mind. It took on the form of U2's song Sunday Bloody Sunday. That's when I realized we were visiting Belfast on days that had more than just a little bit of history attached to them.


I had mixed feelings when I saw the gate. At first, I just felt excited because it opened my eyes to the art I'd been blind to just moments earlier. Almost immediately after that, I felt awful for not fully understanding the history of the place I was visiting. These feelings kept fighting each other as Zana, Urska and I walked along the wall and interpreted some of the pieces. Like the West Bank Barrier, but to a lesser extent, this wall can be read as a newspaper. I lost all sense of time. The marker in my backpack called my name, so I took it out and found a blank spot on the wall. There, between the names of countless others, I wrote the message I'd taken to heart after my visit to the Palestinian Territories: "Make hummus, not walls".


When I left the Peace Wall behind, I was still plagued by mixed feelings. That situation hasn't changed much since then. I have a love-hate relationship with this type of walls, but I can't just not visit them. They prove that something beautiful can come out of a horrible situation, in the form of art. Nonetheless, walls like the Peace Wall in Belfast and the West Bank Barrier in Israel are scars on the face of humanity. They might be effective, but inhumane. Yet still I'll keep visiting them. There's a lot we can learn from ugly solutions, and maybe one day we'll sort our problems out without separating communities with walls. Make hummus, not walls.

Dear Belfast,

I don't think you recognized me last April, when I arrived on a bus from Dublin. I didn't recognize you either. After all, it had been 11 years since our first meeting, and back then my parents and I left you before I realized where I was. So we barely met in 2008, and I've changed a lot since then, so I don't blame you for not recognizing me. We had to start over from scratch. And it's been my pleasure.

I can't really explain what happened when I finally saw you again after all those years. It felt a little like stepping into a nice bubble bath: warm, welcoming, safe. I know those are words most people probably don't associate with you, Belfast, but that's how I felt. I was not quite at home, but something told me that if I wanted to, I could make you my home. It felt right to hear the local accent, to pay with pounds, to have long talks with complete strangers. And having a decent phone signal for the first time in five days also helped a lot. But I have to admit I still had my doubts about you when Žana, Urška and I walked from the city center to our hostel on Donegall Road. The many Indian restaurants got shabbier and the amount of random trash bags on the sidewalks increased. I had flashbacks to a motel/drug shack in Sacramento, but our YHA hostel here looked fine. Even alone at night did I feel more or less safe in this part of town. Not that I spent much time there. My Slovenian travel buddies and I had so many things we wanted to do in the three days we spent with you.


The first place we visited was the Titanic museum and shipyard. That's where I slowly started to fall in love. It reminded me a bit of home, of Rotterdam, of the rivers and the shipyard that are key players in my hometown's history. Belfast, you're a lot like Rotterdam, but friendlier and more beautiful. As I sat on a bench overlooking the water, I felt so light and happy despite everything I had going on back home at the time. Napoleon's Nose called my name through the hazy sky. Night fell. Belfast, you enchanted me when your lights came on. I tried to capture the beauty of your bridges on camera, but simply couldn't. I was high on life and light and an inkling of love for a city I barely knew.

If I'd visited you on my own, I would've gone back to the hostel that night. But I wasn't alone. I was with two awesome girls who wanted to go to Kelly's Cellars, the oldest pub in town, and they convinced me to tag along. I went outside my comfort zone, but in a place like Belfast, it seemed the only right thing to do. I found £5,- on the sidewalk, which I spent on beer. Getting to the bar was nerve-wracking, but I had friends by my side and the crowd wasn't half as intimidating as the pub-goers back home. We took our beers outside, found a nice bench to sit on and enjoyed the night, which was surprisingly warm for April. It was a good night, a night I won't forget anytime soon. Especially because Belfast, you made me trip over a curb, and I looked completely drunk when I wasn't. Nothing personal Belfast, but that was not okay.


The next day my friends and I got to see you in all your glory from the top of Napoleon's Nose. It was windy and the air was hazy once again, but we sat there for ages, pointing out places we'd been the previous day and mumbling that "Titanic didn't sink, no, it didn't". I felt like I'd taken a step back from life, like you'd given me a time-out. I needed it. I was confused at the time, scared, hurt, tired. But Belfast, you gave me a bit of a breather. Life moved on so close to me, while I watched from a safe distance on the tip of Napoleon's Nose. I never expected a city to bring me back in touch with nature and myself, but you did exactly that on that April day.

At the end of the day, I crashed onto my bed, exhausted and not exactly happy. A call from home had me crying, as it told me I might not come home in time to say goodbye to my grandma. I tried to get myself on an earlier flight home, but couldn't afford it. I was ridden with guilt, even though my granddad and parents had all encouraged me to go on this trip. I consider myself lucky that I found you in that difficult time, Belfast. I could laugh through my tears because of everything the city offered me on Easter Sunday. Žana and Urška took me to George's Market, which was full of life that day. The Markthal in Rotterdam has nothing on that place. George's Market was a place full of happiness, music and good food. We treated ourselves to donuts and pancakes while listening to live folk music. It was great.


We spent the afternoon walking in search of street art through streets of yours which were full of Irish flags. We saw a different side of you that day, a side that looked intimidating at first, but turned out to be just as interesting and full of stories as every other part of you, Belfast. I wasn't simply having a crush anymore, I was truly in love. People were friendly and open to our questions, even though the topic was sensitive and the timing awkward with it being Easter Sunday. Your people won me over, Belfast.

By the time our wee legs couldn't carry us anymore, we only had three hours left before we'd go back to Dublin. We stumbled to a supermarket, got some snacks, then went to the botanical gardens, where we literally fell asleep on the grass just five meters from the gate. It was sad, funny and great at the same time. After our much-needed nap, we took a walk and watched people enjoy the sunshine and have a great time together in the botanical garden. On our way back to the city center, we passed the university. I dared to imagine studying there for a semester. The three lonely coins in my pocket reminded me of the sad truth: I can't afford that. At that moment in time, three days with you was the best I could do, my dear Belfast. I wish I could've extended my stay, I wish I could've been there without all the worries I had on my mind. Now, almost a year later, I wish I could come back to you, Belfast. Because I now recognize my feelings for what they were.


I'm not going to promise that I'll see you again soon. I promised that to Edinburgh in 2017 and that is a promise I haven't been able to keep. I don't want the same to happen with us. So let me just say this: I loved our time together, and I hope we'll see each other again. I really do.

Hills are for climbing. All of my friends know I can't resist a hill when it starts calling my name, whether it's Arthur's Seat in Scotland or an illegal viewpoint in Jordan. Hills need to be climbed, especially if they have a funny name. So Napoleon's Nose in Belfast was exactly the kind of hill I wanted to climb once I'd learned of its existence. It was a sunny day in April, I'd just arrived in Northern Ireland with two Slovenian travel buddies and anything seemed possible. Urška, Žana and I made a shortlist of things we wanted to do in our three days in Belfast, with Napoleon's Nose firmly in second place after the Titanic shipyard. We decided to climb the hill on our second day in the city, because we'd need a full day to get to Cavehill Country Park. Besides, the Titanic shipyard was easier to reach in the limited time we had left before sunset on our first day. But the hill loomed over me as I walked around the shipyard late in the afternoon. It called out my name, and I literally felt butterflies in my stomach as I looked up at it and said: "Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will be up there."

But getting "up there" turned out to be a lot more challenging than any of us could've guessed. Waking up the next morning brought a nasty surprise: My legs hurt. A lot. I shouldn't have been surprised though, I'd walked miles upon miles the previous day. "Me wee legs!" I complained as I got out of bed. Urška and Žana laughed. We'd seen signs saying 'Rest yer wee legs' at the Titanic shipyard and found them hilarious. Now, the phrase came in handy as well. "Me poor wee legs..."
As we got up and had breakfast, we poured over a map of Belfast. Napoleon's Nose was clearly indicated on it, close to Belfast Castle. We decided to pay a visit to the castle while we were at it. The big question, however, was: How are we even going to get there? The map was no help at all, as it didn't show any public transport options. Google surprisingly left us hanging, until I tried to get directions on Google Maps. Again, we were met with slightly unhelpful information, because there would supposedly be only one bus an hour. We felt like that couldn't be true for a city like Belfast, so I scoured my digital map until I found a bus stop somewhat close to Napoleon's Nose. I threw the stop's name into Google and found out that we needed to catch Metroline 1. Since I was the one who'd figured this out, Urška and Žana put me in charge of getting us there. I put on a brave face, but was dying a little on the inside.


"I didn't even know Belfast had a metro system," I said as we left the hostel. "Have you guys seen any stations?"
Urška and Žana shook their heads. We were confused. Could we have been so blind? We were almost at the city center already when I mentioned again that I still hadn't seen any underground stations. That's when a beautiful doubledecker drove past us, with Metro 7 on it. That's when we realized our metro was supposed to be a bus...

After the initial embarrassment had faded, we started looking for our bus stop. It was supposed to be somewhere around the city hall, but again, we couldn't find it. We ended up asking a bus driver for help, who pointed us in the right direction. When we finally found our bus, pardon, metro, we couldn't believe it. Urška insisted on double-checking, so Žana asked the bus driver if we'd get close to Belfast Castle if we got on his bus. He immediately knew we were helpless little tourists, so he promised to give us a shout when our stop would come up. Never before had I felt so much love for an absolute stranger. With sighs of relief and a chorus of "Oh, me wee legs" we sank down in our seats. Then, the unimaginable happened. Just before the bus was supposed to leave, our hero/driver packed his stuff, ended his shift and left us with his coworker.


You could hear a pin drop in the silence that enveloped me and my Slovenian friends.
"Does he know we're here?" Urška asked in a half-whisper. "Does he know the other guy promised to give us a sign?"
"I have no idea..."
"You know the name of the stop, right, Envy?"
I pulled my phone out. Luckily, I hadn't closed the tab with the guesstimate of our route yet. As the bus left the city hall area behind, I counted the stops on my screen and estimated how long it'd take for us to get there. We could relax for at least 10 stops, it seemed, but Urška was tangibly nervous. So was I.
"Is it far from here?"
"Yeah, like seven stops."
"Around here?"
"Getting very close..."
"BELFAST CASTLE," came a shout from the front of the bus.
Miracles do exist. And so do kind bus drivers. As it turned out, my estimate was two stops off, meaning we would've been close to Napoleon's Nose the way the bird flies, while having to walk back for a long time before reaching the entrance to Cavehill Country Park. Now, we just had to follow the brown signs. Before we knew it, we were at the entrance of the park, looking at signs warning us about the dangers of cows. We'd made it. Now the adventure we'd come for could begin.

The park was quiet and pretty. We walked down an asphalt path in the direction of Napoleon's Nose. Not having seen any signs indicating the start of a trail, we thought we'd find it soon enough if we continued in that direction. And while the path was still level, I decided to drop a bombshell.
"Guys."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not sure I'm gonna make it. I tore a muscle in my leg just a few weeks ago and I'm not used to climbing hills. The place I'm from is as flat as a pancake. Our highest mountain is like 250 meters or something. So... yeah... Me wee legs might not make it."
Urška and Žana were a little shocked, more about the flatness of the Netherlands than my torn calf though. They'd spent most of their lives in the Alps, so my country seemed like a fever dream to them. Talking about mountains, we reached Belfast Castle. And although we basically hadn't done anything yet, we decided it was a perfect place to take a break.


The castle was beautiful. Not the type of castle I expected to find in the UK, more like a manor, but beautiful anyway. We wandered around the cat-themed garden looking for all the depictions of cats. We found a poem on a plaque, statues and bushes shaped like cats. Mosaics and more. The only cat we didn't find was the real-life castle cat. After resting our wee legs in the sun for a while, claiming to just be waiting for the castle cat to come visit us, we decided it was time to tackle the trail.

Right outside the castle's premises, we found a big sign with a map of the area and all the hiking trails. We had two options for the loop we wanted to make: start on an intermediate trail that would gradually bring us to the top of the hill, or a difficult and steep trail that would bring us to Napoleon's Nose right away. Us being us, and me being impatient, we chose the latter. At first, this seemed like a great idea. We headed straight into the woods. The path wasn't too steep here, but I wished I wasn't wearing sneakers nonetheless. The further we got, the more rocks, stones and tree roots we had to scramble over. And then... things escalated. Vertical climbing, that's what walking up the path suddenly felt like. My lack of hiking experience in recent years caught up with me. I was struggling, and so were Žana and Urška. As soon as we got out of the woods and found some rocks to sit on, we took a break. "Me wee legs!" was all that was said for a while.


When we felt like our wee legs could carry us again, I checked my phone to see if we still had far to go. We weren't even at the halfway mark... So slowly, we continued hiking. After a while, we spotted one of the three caves that give Cavehill its name. For some undoubtedly genius but as of yet unknown reason, I decided to climb up to this cave. Its entrance was maybe 2.5 meters above us, so I should be able to make it, I thought. But when I was almost there, with my feet one a tiny ledge and my fingertips holding on to minuscule outcrops, I looked down and triggered my vertigo. Pathetic, I know. With a little help from my friends, I got down safely, only to then see a little boy climb up to the cave in ten seconds. At least he told me what the cave looked like on the inside. Urška, Žana and I quickly moved on as if nothing embarrassing had ever happened.

For a while, we simply walked. We talked about the plants we saw along the way, about our degree courses and families. Žana went ahead at some point. Me wee legs couldn't keep up with her. Urška and I followed at our own pace, all the while talking about whatever came to mind. For the first time, I voiced my thoughts about my family. It felt liberating, speaking those words into the crisp air of early April. But as we got closer to the top of the hill, more and more of the words we said came down to "me wee legs!".


When I felt like I'd hit my max, the path became level again. Napoleon's Nose is best described as an outcrop of Cavehill, so we opened the fence next to the signs warning us to be careful and crossed a small passage to join the many other hikers on the tip of Napoleon's Nose. We found Žana near the edge and sat down next to her with a moan of "Me poor, tired, wee legs!". We just sat there in silence, looking out over the city we were exploring together. It was chilly, windy and a little hazy. Maybe it was just smog. It didn't matter. It was all perfect to me. Life came to a standstill on top of Napoleon's Nose, and I... I felt like I could finally breathe again for the first time in a long time.

The HMS Titanic was built in Belfast. It's one of those facts that float around somewhere in my head, on the edge of oblivion. I don't remember learning it, but it's there when I need it. It popped right back up when I was poring over a city map of Belfast with Urška and Žana, two Slovenian girls I'd met through a mutual friend. We quite frankly had no idea about the things we could do in Belfast, but a visit to the dry dock where the Titanic was built shot right to the top of our to-do list. We planned to go there immediately. Immediately after a much-needed nap, that is.

Early in the afternoon, we left our hostel on Donegall Road and set out for the shipyard. It looked like the other end of the world on our map, but the best way to get to know a city is on foot, so we walked. The weather was nice, and so was the company I was in. Much sooner than we'd expected, we were at the riverfront. We only had to follow it to the north. After a few detours into cute stores, we arrived at our destination. I'm not gonna lie, it was definitely a tourist trap. But it also was very awesome, a place where you could feel history, as it were. Even for someone who hasn't seen the movie, *cough* me *cough*, it was a great place to spend some time.

Urška, Žana and I had our obligatory photo shoot at the Titanic sign. We laughed about a bench with the sign "Rest yer wee legs!" next to it. We went to the gift shop, then finally walked out onto the former dock. That's when Urška spoke a few words I'll never forget: "Titanic didn't sink though!"
"What? You serious?" I asked.
"It's a conspiracy theory," she admitted. Then she warned me she wouldn't shut up about it is I asked her to tell more. But I was in the mood to put the proverbial tinfoil hat on.
"Tell me the theory."

Legend has it that the White Star Line, owner of both the Titanic and its sister ship the Olympic, was in a bit of financial trouble. It had launched the Olympic in 1911 and within a few months, the ship had crashed twice. Its second collision damaged the ship badly, and the repairs would cost the company a lot of money. The amount of money and the extent of the damage is up for debate; Some say the ship was basically ready for the scrapyard after its second collision. And the White Star Line wouldn't be able to save it from that faith with the little money it had.
Luckily, the company still had the Titanic, which looked just like the Olympic. A plan was made: the Olympic and Titanic would switch places. When the Olympic-disguised-as-Titanic would inevitably meet its end, the White Star would cash out the insurance money and keep the Titanic-disguised-as-Olympic in operation. A win-win. Except for the people who would die, of course.
The whole plan worked. The two ships weren't exactly identical, but came close enough. They were built on the same dry dock, were moored side by side. Apparently, all that had to be done to make the ships switch places was swapping a few nameplates and plaques; A few minor differences between the ships were fixed, like the number of portholes. There were rumours about the insurance fraud among the crew though, and a lot of the paperwork didn't check out while important persons canceled their voyage at the very last moment. These were all alleged signs of the White Star deliberately swapping its ships. Nonetheless, the Titanic left Southampton in April 1912, and the rest is history.


By the time Urška was done with her story, the sun was already starting to set. The Titanic conspiracy theory had me smiling because of its ridiculousness, despite the sadness of the story as a whole. I didn't care if the theory could possibly be true, it just added an extra dimension to our visit. Even though it wasn't a happy place, we were having a lot of fun. Urška and Žana marveled at the height of the ship, which was indicated by huge iron pillars, while I dramatically complained about the smell of fish by asking them if they could smell the decaying corpses of the sea dwellers. A broken scooter brought us hours of fun. We ended our day on a bench overlooking the water. We'd bought cheese sandwiches, which we ate while going over the events of our first day in Belfast. We came back to the conspiracy theory again and again. I admit it's a plausible one. And as night fell over Northern Ireland, I was glad to have heard about it in the city where it all allegedly took place.

Months later, I read an article debunking all arguments Urška had made. It didn't matter anymore by that time. All it reminded me of was storytelling in a former shipyard, cheese sandwiches and new friends. It reminded me of those days in Belfast, when every mention of the Titanic was followed by the three of us saying: "Titanic didn't sink though!"
"No, Titanic didn't sink."
"It was Olympic."