The temperature was now minus 3, and the landscape – while aesthetically enchanting – was proving ever more treacherous to travel over. Main roads had generally been gritted, yet to reach them and embark on our week long loop around Ireland (well, the top two thirds of it at least), we had no choice but to slide our way down one of County Down’s many ice furnished Drumlins.
Venturing out in the bite of a sub-zero day in late December isn’t all about chilled bones or explosive clouds of frost emanating from one’s mouth. Given clear enough weather, it can also be strangely invigorating and supremely photogenic. Belfast particularly was as attractive as I’d seen it. The Lagan was like a water colour painting, alive with contrasting hues and volatile patterns.
While more and more people neglect the religious intendment of Christmas, my own meaning continues to develop. Every year I talk further about the importance of having loved ones around at this time. 2009 proved no different. I recalled Christmas’s as a child, when all I’d acknowledge or base my happiness on was the appearence of every present on my list come the 25th.
I’ve ridden the Belfast Eye, made frantic dashes from one shop to the next, eaten shortbread in the shape of a Christmas tree, ventured out on ice laden roads and watched as snowstorms brought Europe to a stop. I’ve passed buskers and brass bands, sampled the Continental market, and had relief wash over me as I conquered the high street and left with what I came for.
It’s only November, but the Christmas rush has already begun. Countrywide, civilians are using their weekends to plough the high street and uncover that perfect gift. Jumping on the train to Lisburn, I guess you could say we were no different – although Christmas shopping wasn’t the primary aim. Rather, it was a spontaneous jaunt intended purely for the humble joy of the journey.
