I am still in Belfast. There is more to this city than the Lazy wind. Things more pleasant and beautiful.
Charly’s coffee still keeps me warm. His advice on how to handle the lazy wind whistling through this scenic city like a madman is spot on. Cover your ears, grit your teeth and get on with life. The whole town does it so can you, he had said.
It is a Sunday, and I have a day to soak in this ancient city. It has a vibrant and colourful history. A history that is to be recalled more than the ugly narrative of the mindless violence that has marred Ireland’s image.
The Linenopolis
The first stop is the Linen Quarters. It is a short walk from the Hilton.
The Line Quarters is the symbol of the best thing that happened to Belfast. Around the 17th century, Belfast was becoming the center of flax cultivation to process it into Linen. By the late 19th century, Belfast had become the world’s largest linen manufacturer. The Industrial Revolution improved efficiencies, and the Linen business boomed. The economy boomed, and a large part of the population was involved in the linen industry, earning Belfast the nickname Linenopolis. The advent of synthetic fibers slowly but surely decimated the Linen industry, and the city had to look for other ways to keep itself going.
Belfast owes its grandeur and solidity to linen and the Linen Quarters, the hub of activity with large warehouses, which still stand. These magnificent brick buildings are today home to international businesses or award-winning restaurants, music venues and leisure activities.
The Grand Opera House, where performers like Charlie Chaplin have appeared, has been in operation since 1895. The Ulster Hall is another iconic theater. It was here in 1971 that Led Zeppelin first performed “Stairway to Heaven”, a song widely regarded as one of the greatest rock songs ever.
This part of the city serves as a reminder of the era when Belfast blossomed into a modern economy. Linen started the boom and passed the baton to businesses like shipbuilding. More will be said about it later. For now, we have to take another glimpse of times that modern society might want to revisit.
The grand old St George’s Market
Retracing steps from the Linen Quarter back towards the Logan at the corner where the Oxford Road cuts in stands the St George’s market. St George’s was the only place I had researched before I started for Belfast. It was intriguing to learn that a place that began as a local market in 1600 is still in operation. Four hundred years of active, thriving history is something that fascinates. The current building was built in 1890. A red brick Victorian-style building, St. George is the last surviving covered market of that era in Ireland.
Having seen the ebb and flow of time, the market too had it’s bad days. The citizens saved it, and the city opened a refurbished market in 1999. The restoration had not taken away the charm, and the locals had probably saved a memory of past generations.
The airy interiors lend themselves to an open market. It is a weekend market these days. Friday features a Variety Market, offering a wide range of items, from books and clothing to antiques and fresh produce. Saturday is the City Food & Garden Market, focused on Northern Irish foods, fresh seafood, vegetables, flowers, and handmade crafts.
Sunday brings a mix of everything with more local artists, live music and a relaxed weekend crowd. I had reached there on a Sunday. The charm of the market was unmistakable. As one walked around, it was a garden of aromas. Locals were selling fresh scones, and the warm smell of the baked dough lingered as a million types were laid out. Some stalls had hundreds of pickled items on display . The tangy pickled aroma drifted across the stalls.
There were a few tables, laid out neatly for people to enjoy a cup of coffee. It was nearing noon, while the weather outside continued to be grey and gloomy, the market was buzzing. Kids sitting at the tables with jelly on their faces as they dug into the scones were being entertained by small time magicians. The kids were smiling and chattering.
There was only one shop selling local fruit, as it was a Sunday. It is Saturday for fruits and vegetables, they tell me. I had to buy some fruit, but I only got some oranges, which were straight from the farm. They looked delicious.
A middle aged gentleman was managing the fruit and vegetable stall. He looked rugged and in the pink of health. Thinning eyebrows, creases around the eyes, but a scrawny build spoke of a life outdoors. I couldn’t resist the engaging smile and got into a conversation with him. The first thing I asked him was why he was here on a Sunday and not on a Friday, which I had heard was the day for vegetables and fruits.
My family is over there, he said as he nodded in the direction of the aisle that sold pickles and other stuff. We also sell pickles.
You see, it is not easy to be a farmer these days. Nothing is easy, no one helps. The inclement weather poses a risk; there is also no infrastructure to support farming. Life is not easy, so we have to preserve our produce, make jams, jellies, and more. Value-added is what it’s called in this modern world. But then, when you are small, the value you add is also small.
I was rocked back. I came from thousands of miles away, and nothing seemed to have changed. From the golden paddy fields and apple orchards of my country to the charming villages and spectacular pastures of Ireland, the story was all the same. In a mad rush for what is unknown, the world was ignoring the fact that food is the real fuel, not money.
I nodded to him in agreement and walked away—a few oranges in my pockets. The magician among the kids had just made an apple disappear into thin air. They smiled and clapped. The parents smiled as all parents do when their child laughs.
There was joy in the air as there had been for centuries in that market yard. Hope it stays that way.
And pray that the apple will show up soon. We need some food for thought after all.
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I am headed to the other part of Belfast, and its shipbuilding exploits. See you later at the birthplace of the Titanic…Stay tuned.
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Sudhir Bhattathiripad
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