Right place, wrong part of town..

I started to get the sneaking suspicion on Saturday that, perhaps, I wasn't in the safest of neighborhoods, when the faces started.

Expressionless faces, cautiously peeking past their flowered kitchen curtains at the yawning foreigner ambling up and down their neighborhood sidewalks. No one spoke. No one offered a wave. Just suspicious, staring faces.

Then, of course, there was the grafitti.

On the sides of buildings, messages of loyalist solidarity, spelled out in bright red, white, and blue, promised to "never surrender." UVF and UDA left their call letters on every flat surface.

Even more telling, the only sounds as I poked around the town - quite abandoned at 7 a.m. - were the flapping of the Union Jacks on every corner.

Perhaps, I realized, this was a bad idea.

By the end of the day, however, it turned out to be a very good one.

I went to my first Habitat for Humanity build on Saturday, in a place called Ballysillan in Northwest Belfast. It was sheer effort just to get there.

Since I had to be in Belfast so early, Ben and I headed east on Friday night for Bishop's fish and chips with Geoff (for the upteenth time) and a night on the town. Anticipating our arrival, Geoff had pumped the previous Belfast Mitchell scholar for information about the best pubs in town so we headed to White's Tavern, Belfast's oldest pub. It was smaller than expected -- probably just a bar and about 12 tables - and there was an odd Elvis crooner at the back of the room. These facts aside, it turned out to be fantastic. So fantastic, in fact, that I barely noticed when Ben knocked over a pint of beer and it landed in my lap. (It was perhaps more ale than ambiance which saved him from my wrath.)

The nice thing about hitting up White's instead of the typical college places around Queen's was that it required a nice walk through town, past some of Belfast's most important landmarks, like the city hall and The Gap. One of these days, I might actually attempt to see Belfast in the daylight.

Giddy with Harp's and oblivious to the stickiness of my jeans, we headed back toward Queen's to hit another famous drinking hole -- The Bot. Less famous for its history than the fact that it's a must-see on the college scene. (All of my friends at Magee recommended it.) It was massive -- two floors, cavernous bar, high ceilings -- and packed to the door. Despite having to shove, e-mail, and bat my eyelashes to even make it to the bar, I did get to witness some fine bar floor snogging (no one I knew but impressive, nonetheless) and I did wind up with some chips and curry at the end. All in all, a fabulously fun evening.

And, as one might imagine, such a fabulously fun and late evening rarely spells fabulousness or fun when the sun comes up again.

I sprang from bed, er, floor at 7 a.m. to walk downtown to pick up a taxi to go to Ballysillan. As I approached the bus station (taxi rendezvous point), I seriously considered just hopping a bus to Derry and sleeping away the morning in my own bed. I still felt a bit wobbly and doubted I could stave off a headache as the day went on. Plus, I had no clue where I was really going. And, should I really be constructing houses in that sort of condition?

Still, I made a commitment. And I do, genuinely, want to work with Habitat.

So, I handed my map to the taxi driver and headed for Ballysillan where I arrived a bit too early and went on the aforementioned gallavant around town.

By the time I made it back to the worksite, the rest of the volunteers were starting to assemble. There were three other volunteers -- all women, all from Belfast. Three site supervisors -- all men, all hilarious, one American. And the rest of the workers were families still trying to put in their sweat equity hours. Some from the other site, some from Ballysillan. (Other than an allude to "two communities coming together" in the prayer, I really saw nothing out of the ordinary with the two communities working on site. Everyone mingled well. No one snubbed anyone else. Everyone joked and worked easily together. Of course, perhaps that was the extraordinary part.)

Everyone was quite friendly to begin with and most had obviously worked together before. We went through safety training and a brief introduction and then split to take on our tasks. I couldn't help but worry about how I'd measure up on the site. I've done Habitat before but never in a developed country. I can mix concrete, water, and rocks with the best of them and slap mezcla between blocks like a pro, but dry wall? Seriously.

No need to worry, however. Everyone was more than happy to help. I spent much of the day working alongside Dolores and Tom puttting drywall in a bedroom. Dolores is a young mother and a student in Belfast, studying to be a midwife. She and her husband will be moving into Liogenel (the other site) next year. She bellowed at even the most insignificant things on the worksite which made me giggle nonstop. Tom is an American, jovial and round, like a Santa Claus with a toolbelt and salt and pepper beard. He coordinates the volunteers for Habitat.

Already, I could see, from his example, the type of volunteer I definitely did not want to be.

Me: So, we hang the dry wall vertically?
Tom: Well, yes. I mean, we would save much more time if we just did it horizontal. That's how I do it at home. But they don't seem to understand that here. They waste so much time and so many materials.

[Heavy sigh.]

Tom: But, I do it the way they want.

Later...

Dolores: I think we're running out of nails. Should I see if there are more in the shed?
Tom: Oh, there aren't. There never is. We always have plenty of volunteers and never enough supplies. Why don't they think about it beforehand? If it were me, I would order more nails. You'll always need nails. You don't ever need tape measurers.

Even later....

Tom: Jesus, these corners aren't straight. They don't build anything straight here.

Granted, he's been doing this longer than me but still.

Overall, I was impressed with my handiwork. I helped nail and hang drywall on four walls and then helped clean up the site for the contracted workers to come in on Tuesday. There were just a few minor mistakes (How was I to know that "slip" meant Dumpster and not front yard? And, seriously, someone should have explained that the cat was part of the worksite before they let me just toss it out the door.).

At the end of the day, I was a bit tired, quite hungover, but convinced I'd be back. The people weren't overly chatty but everyone seemed nice enough and I hope it will just be a matter of time and persistance before I win them over with my Southern charm.

By the time I made it back to Derry, however, I was ready to collapse. Ever the trooper, I jumped in the shower and headed out for dinner and a movie with the flatmates. Our Irish roommate Hailey just got engaged so we wanted to treat her and her fiancee to dinner. The food was grand but afterward we went to see the movie "Serenity." (Obviously my choices were vetoed.)

If it's any indication as to the merit of the flick, Kerry whipped out her cell phone in the middle to send a frenzied text to her boyfriend, Kurt, now en route to see the same movie in the States.

Text: SUCKS. DON'T DO IT.

Sucks, however, might have been too strong. Sure, the storyline was weak. Yes, the acting was bad. OK, the scenes and dialogue were a bit contrived and stereotypical.

But, how can you hate a movie when, at a point of sheer desperation, the flight captain turned to the crew and said, "There's only one thing we can do..... [dramatic pause]... we're calling MR. UNIVERSE."

I laughed more at the movie's flaws than its scripted jokes but chalked it up to a fun evening nonetheless. When we got back to the flat, I rehashed my early morning walk with my roommates.

Hailey: Wait a second, where did you say you were?
Me: Eh, West Belfast.
Hailey: Christ! What part?
Me: Um, Ballysillan.
Hailey and fiancee Noel: @?£%$@£!