When I arrived in Belfast in November, the temperature had just dropped. It was a couple of degrees above freezing when I took my first walk through the city. I was wearing my thickest winter jacket, the one I normally wear on snowy walks in my home region of Bavaria, as well as a scarf, hat and gloves.
Bare legs in the freezing cold
And while the cold chilled me to the bone, I noticed men, especially young men, wearing big puffer jackets with shorts, their calves bare.
At first, I thought they must be going to or coming from the gym. But I kept seeing bare-legged teenagers on family outings, as well as men in their 20s or 30s on romantic strolls with their girlfriends or with their mates. Was the reason for the shorts maybe cold-resistant, Nordic genes?
I plunged down an online rabbit hole and learnt that I wasn’t the first visitor to ask this question. On Reddit, I read that the habit might be less driven by a desire to demonstrate toughness or masculinity, another of my assumptions, and more a question of comfort. Shorts don’t restrict the lower legs and take less time to dry if they get wet. Over lunch, my colleagues explained to me another reason: Fashion. Shorts are in style. Not just to show off leg tattoos.
Pub culture
Last Christmas, a small pub in Northern Ireland made it into the German press. In an advert, an elderly man was seen leaning on a stick, laying down flowers in the cemetery, then walking in the street, apparently looking lost, until he found companionship in Charlie’s Bar in Enniskillen. The German audience was touched. Throughout Ireland, pubs seem to be places that bring people of all generations together.
In Germany, there are separate places for young and older people. Bars that promise young people a fun night out and more traditional inns where families eat and older men play cards. Here, pubs still seem to be communal living rooms where neighbours of different ages meet to chat after work, eat and drink together, watch the football match, play pool or darts. When the nearest pub is just around the corner, it seems much harder to feel lonely.
‘Pet’ names
When a bus driver selling me a ticket to Belfast, called me ‘luv’, I was irritated. After all, I had never met the man before. Calling a woman ‘love’ in public could come across as less a sign of affection than an insult in Germany. If my boyfriend called me it, I would be pleasantly surprised and a bit amused. If my father called me ‘love’ I would roll my eyes at him, but with any other person outside close family and friends I would ask them not to patronise me.
In my first week in Belfast, I was called ‘love’, ‘darling’, ‘dear’ and ‘pet’ by ticket inspectors, shopkeepers, and people I stood in the way of because I kept standing on the wrong side of the escalator. To my surprise, I realised that it did not bother me at all. Especially when it came from older people, “love” felt like a warm and approachable change from the often indifferent interactions I know from Berlin. As a foreigner, new to the city and the country, I felt like I wasn’t just disappearing into anonymity.
Bring your own drink
When I was waiting for a friend in a restaurant in a town close to Belfast, a waitress asked me if I had brought wine. At first, I thought I had misunderstood her, but in fact the restaurant had a ‘bring your own bottle’ policy as it is not licensed to sell alcohol. When I looked around, I noticed that other guests had brought their own wine and beer in shopping bags. The waitress chilled the bottles for them and poured them into nice wine glasses. My green tea was tasty, but I wouldn’t have minded a cool – and cheap – cider either.
Street Art
The streets of Belfast are like huge public canvases for impressive art. I’m often late because I can’t walk past the brightly coloured, photorealistic or surreal wall paintings without pausing in awe. I knew that Belfast had a unique tradition of political murals. But unlike the paintings on the Berlin Wall, which depict a protest against the division between east and west, the murals in Belfast mostly flicker across German TV screens to illustrate the Troubles. The street art around the Cathedral Quarter shows visitors a different story: that of a trendy, diverse and creative city.
Going out
In Germany, especially in Berlin where I live, a night out does not start before 11 pm. If the weather is good, friends like to meet up for a beer on the pavement before then. There is an anglicised term for this phenomenon: ‘cornern’ means socialising and drinking on a street corner.
In Berlin, a night is unlimited, so there is no need to rush drinking. The dress code is generally a little more relaxed, with women partying in trainers and jeans. Usually, there are no bouncers in front of bars. However, if you want to go to one of the famous techno clubs, you may have to queue for a long time to get in, and it might be helpful to wear black. Public transport runs all night, but the nights often last until breakfast, and in Berlin, some parties don’t really start until then. That’s the big advantage in Northern Ireland: you’re back in bed much earlier.
Miriam Dahlinger is a policy editor at Süddeutsche Zeitung Dossier. She is a fellow of the International Journalists Programme (IJP) and on placement at the Irish News.
