northern ireland, not ireland

I wont try to cover the whirl wind of last days at the Big Build.

The last night / one day in Belfast. I took a train to Bangor (pronounced BangHer, Ha.) to wander along the water and get some country views. I figued a tour of Belfast could best be accomplished in a few pubs, I was right. Lindsey and I met up with 2 of her work friends and as we walked to our third pub, one commented we were entering a Catholic chunk of the city, they were Protestant. The pub was perfect with five musicians hunched in a circle in the corner enjoying thier own music as much as the rest of the bar. Two fiddles, 1 guitar, a tin whistle, and a drum. Lidnsey's friends commented 10 years ago they never would have been caught in this bar, I asked if they felt uncomfortable, they said no. But, as the night wore on and the bar thinned out we chatted with the bar tender and the few other drinkers and Lindsey's one friend changed her name on introduction to what she claimed was a less Protestant name than her own.

It was a night of music, whiskey, and a glimpse into a culture and historically segregated past.

NOW: home in vermont, slightly chilled, and with fire in the atumn woods.