Belfast — Béal Feirste, "river mouth of the sandbanks" — has completely transformed and become one of my absolute favorite UK/Ireland calls, scoring 4.8–5.0 stars lately. What moves me most isn't just the modern city's vibrancy, but how palpably you can still feel the layers of history beneath your feet.

When I stand at the cruise terminal and look across the water, I try to picture what this place was in 1610: a tiny settlement, barely a village. Through the 17th century's Plantation of Ulster, it grew slowly, then faster. By the 1700s, Belfast had become the "Linen Capital of the World" — I imagine the whir of looms, the smell of flax, the determination that would define this place. The numbers still stagger me: from 25,000 people in 1808 to 385,000 by 1911. A city that willed itself into industrial greatness.

And then, 1861: Harland and Wolff. Within decades, this shipyard became the world's number one shipbuilder — not just in size, but in ambition. By the early 1900s, Belfast led the entire world in rope making, linen, and tobacco production. This wasn't a city that did things halfway.

My perfect day starts at the Titanic Belfast museum — the best museum I've ever visited, and I don't say that lightly. It's interactive, deeply emotional, and the shipyard ride is staggering. But what breaks my heart open is knowing the dates. March 31, 1909: the keel was laid. 1911: she was launched — 882 feet 6 inches long, 46,328 tonnes, the largest moving object ever built by human hands. And April 2, 1912: over 100,000 people lined Belfast Dock to see her off. One hundred thousand. The entire city came to say goodbye to the ship they'd built with their hands, their sweat, their pride.

Of the 2,240 passengers and crew aboard, more than 1,500 lost their lives. I think about those families in Belfast who watched her sail away — builders, riveters, designers — and how they must have felt when the news came. The museum doesn't shy away from this. It holds the grief and the glory together, and somehow that's what makes it so powerful.

After Titanic Belfast, I always do a black taxi political mural tour through the cathedral quarter — fascinating, balanced, and deeply human. The Crumlin Road Gaol, St. Anne's Cathedral, the stunning Victorian architecture — every corner whispers stories of resilience. Day trips to the Giant's Causeway and Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge are easy and mind-blowing (those hexagonal basalt columns feel like they belong to myth, not geology).

But what keeps bringing me back is the people. Belfast folks are warm, funny, fiercely proud, and they've earned every bit of that pride. The city feels vibrant and hopeful — not in a way that forgets the past, but in a way that honors it by building something better.