From Belfast to Derry

We left Belfast on Easter Monday, but not before a descent into the Crumlin Road Gaol. This place is a masterclass in Victorian psychological architecture; it’s where the cold, industrial power of the Empire was built into the very limestone to crush the spirit of rebellion. Walking those halls, you feel the mechanical precision of 19th-century "order." It’s a visceral reminder that freedom isn't an abstract concept—it’s something people fought for against a very heavy, very tangible stone reality.

​The escape from the city led us north, avoiding the brutal efficiency of the motorways. We chose the coastal routes, where the roads are narrow enough to demand actual driving skills. Despite the tight bends, the local drivers are remarkably rational. It seems the lack of high-density urban rot and overpopulation-induced stress—so prevalent in Central Europe—results in a more civilized road culture. Here, the landscape dictates the pace, not the ego.

​The scenery is a relentless saturation of green. Rolling hills and an endless population of sheep set against a deep Atlantic blue that doesn't need a filter. There’s a rugged honesty to this part of the world; it’s beautiful... However, due to the very rainy, capricious, quite cold and unpredictable weather, Ireland is not a place I would retire to after retirement.

​By evening, we reached the City Hotel in the center of Derry. The following day was a tactical foot-patrol through the city’s history. From the Guildhall to the 17th-century walls, the Victorian architecture serves as a backdrop to a place that has been the frontline of a freedom struggle for centuries. You can see it in the stones and feel it in the atmosphere: Derry is a city that remembers exactly what it cost to stay standing. No popcorn-stand history here—just the weight of the past.Read more