I woke up early, left my big backpack at the hostel, and grabbed just my camera bag. As I walked toward the train station, the tall, beautiful spire of St. Patrick’s Cathedral rose above the quiet streets.

It was a calm, peaceful morning in Dublin — the city still waking up. I was still carrying the magic from the night before at Windmill Lane, and I was excited to experience Belfast.

As I walked toward the train station in the early morning light, I was astounded.

A man was already out sweeping the street clean — before the sun had even fully risen. The dedication and quiet pride in his work struck me. In that moment, I realized how seriously the Irish took keeping their city beautiful.

Behind him, the tall, elegant spire of St. Patrick’s Cathedral rose above the rooftops, watching over the waking city.

The city was calm and quiet.

As I walked toward the train station, the city felt almost empty. Shops were still closed, the streets were nearly deserted, and only a few early risers were out.

It was peaceful - a contrast of what I was about to see across the border in Belfast.

As I waited for the train to Belfast, the rising sun began to flood the platform with light.

The elegant iron arches of Dublin Connolly Station framed the golden sunrise perfectly, creating a peaceful and cinematic moment.

The air was cool and still. I stood there with my camera, and, capturing the light pouring through the old Victorian architecture, I felt a quiet excitement building inside me as I clicked the shutter.

As the train slowly pulled out of the station, I pressed my face to the window and watched the city slide past.

The view was raw and industrial — railway signals, rooftops, smokestacks, a grittier side of Dublin. The train picked up speed, and I felt a quiet mix of excitement and nervousness building in my chest.

As the train picked up speed and left Dublin behind, I sat by the window watching the industrial landscape roll past — railway signals, rooftops, and factory chimneys silhouetted against the morning sky.

I slipped on my headphones and put on The Joshua Tree. The music that had carried me through so many dark nights back home was now the perfect companion for this real-life journey north.

The peaceful streets of Dublin were behind me. Ahead lay Belfast — and a completely different world.

As the train continued north out of Dublin, the landscape opened up and I spotted something on the horizon.

This is Poolbeg Power Station — one of Dublin’s most famous and recognizable landmarks. Construction began in 1965, with the first chimney completed in 1971 and its twin in 1977. At over 207 meters tall, these iconic red-and-white chimneys became a defining feature of Dublin’s skyline for decades.

The train slowly passed through this gritty, working part of the city, and I remember thinking how different this felt from the beautiful, historic Dublin I had just left behind.

The peaceful morning was now fully behind me. The real journey was beginning.

As the train moved through the Irish countryside, something caught my eye.

The window had become a mirror. Reflected in the glass was the quiet, thoughtful face of the man sitting in the seat ahead of me — completely unaware he was being seen.

I loved these accidental moments. The way light, glass, and timing could create something so intimate and beautiful without anyone knowing. It felt like a secret little gift from the journey itself.

I gently raised my camera and captured it, feeling grateful for the quiet magic that kept appearing along the way.

This was completely new to me.

On the way to Belfast, the train had a small rolling snack cart that came through the carriage selling tea, coffee, sandwiches, and snacks. I had never experienced anything like this before — buying food and drinks while rolling through the Irish countryside.

I sat in my seat for a moment, a little unsure of the process, watching the attendant behind the cart. It felt both exotic and strangely normal at the same time.

This young man was about my age — 22 or so — working the rolling snack cart on the train to Belfast.

I stood there watching him and thought: What an interesting job this must be. Rolling through the Irish countryside every day, meeting travelers from all over, serving tea and sandwiches while the landscape changed outside the window.

We had absolutely nothing like this in Nebraska. No commuter trains. No breakfast on trains. All we had were freight trains. This felt exotic and wonderful to me.

I loved capturing this quiet moment of someone just doing their job — and wondering what stories he might have collected from all the miles he traveled.

The train slowed and pulled into Belfast Central Station.

Opened in 1976, this was a relatively new and modern station for its time, built on the site of the old Belfast Central Railway line that dated back to the 1870s. With its distinctive iron and glass roof and elegant Victorian-style architecture, it served as the main gateway into Northern Ireland.

As I looked out the window at the platform, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. I had finally arrived in Belfast — the city I had heard so much about on the news back home.

Stepping outside Belfast Central Station, I was completely fascinated when I spotted this phone booth.

It wasn’t just functional — it was a Mercury Communications booth with an elegant, sculptural design featuring curved glass and a graceful metal frame. In 1994, it felt incredibly modern and artistic.

I stood there staring at it for a moment, struck by how different this was from anything I had seen before. It was one of those small details that made the trip feel so alive and full of surprises.

I couldn’t resist taking a photo. Even the smallest things were blowing my mind.

Just down the street, I spotted a more traditional phone booth — the kind you actually step inside of.

This one had a beautiful etched figure of Mercury blowing his trumpet on the glass door. It was a Mercury Communications phone booth, a more classic design compared to the sleek sculptural one I had just seen earlier.

I loved how the phone company was mixing art into traditional spaces. It was yet another small detail that made Belfast feel so vibrant and full of surprises.

I came across these two guys playing on the street and stopped to listen.

One played lead guitar while the other sang and played rhythm. Their open guitar case was on the ground, collecting coins from people walking by. They were really entertaining — great voices, good energy, and clearly having fun together.

I stood there for a while, smiling and tapping my foot. This felt like a breath of fresh air. Music like this had a way of cutting through everything.

In the middle of a busy Belfast street stands the entrance to a set of underground public toilets.

These subterranean facilities were a common Victorian solution in densely built-up cities across the UK and Ireland. With limited space above ground, local authorities built public conveniences beneath the road surface, accessed by stairs and lit by glass bricks in the pavement.

The ornate black railing and clear “Toilets” sign mark one of many such installations that exist in Belfast. In the background rises the grand dome of Belfast City Hall.

These underground public conveniences were part of a major 19th-century push to improve public health and sanitation in rapidly growing cities.

Here is the entrance to another set of underground public toilets.

Built beneath the road to save valuable space above ground, these subterranean facilities were a common Victorian solution in many British and Irish cities. In 1994, when this photo was taken, most were still in use.

However, by the early 2000s, most had been shut down due to high maintenance costs, vandalism, and changing public habits. Today, almost all of them have been sealed, filled in, or left to deteriorate.

This bright white Citybus stood out on the streets of Belfast with its bold message and playful cartoon characters celebrating a smoke-free life.

In 1994, seeing a bus like this was still somewhat unusual. Smoking was deeply ingrained in Northern Irish culture, and public health campaigns were just beginning to gain momentum. The cheerful illustrations made the serious message feel approachable rather than preachy.

It was a small but visible sign that attitudes were slowly starting to shift, and not just in politics.

I enjoyed seeing the calm of this young mother as she stopped to watch the pigeons in front of Belfast City Hall. She sat quietly on the bench, holding her child, stroller parked next to them, while pigeons flew around.

It was a peaceful little moment in the middle of the busy city — simple, unhurried, and full of quiet tenderness.

The grand architecture of City Hall stood behind them, creating a beautiful contrast between this current moment of daily life in the city and its historic grandeur.

On a busy street in Belfast, a young family walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk — a mother and father with their two small children.

Just a few feet away, a large armored vehicle rolled down the road, a common sight in Northern Ireland during that time. The contrast was striking: everyday family life continuing right alongside the visible presence of the British Army and the lingering tension of The Troubles.

This image captures something very real about Belfast in 1994 — how ordinary people went about their daily lives, raising their children and running errands, even as the city still carried the heavy weight of conflict.

A British soldier in full camouflage uniform and beret stood watch outside a secure entrance in central Belfast, brandishing a large rifle.

Just moments after seeing the armored vehicle on the street, I came across this soldier positioned outside what appeared to be a courthouse or government building. His presence was calm but unmistakable — a clear reminder that, even with the recent ceasefire, the military still maintained a visible role in the city.

I remember feeling a strange mix of tension and normalcy. Life was continuing all around him — cars drove by, people walked past — yet here he stood, fully armed, part of the everyday landscape of Belfast in 1994.

This British soldier stood guard in front of a courthouse that had been damaged by the IRA.

The scars of The Troubles were still very visible in Belfast in September 1994 — just days after the IRA announced a ceasefire. I was nervous but determined. I walked right up to this soldier, told him I was a young American traveling through Belfast with my camera, and asked if I could take his portrait. To my surprise, he agreed. In the few moments I visited with him, I asked him what he was doing there. I remember feeling calmer when he said he was there to protect people.

Looking back, I’m still amazed at the boldness of that 22-year-old kid from Nebraska — standing face-to-face with an armed soldier in the middle of a city still healing from decades of conflict.

This single image captures the tension and the fragile hope of that moment better than any other.

Along the banks of the River Lagan in Belfast, a line of barbed wire stretched across the top of a concrete wall.

In 1994, this stretch of the river was still very industrial, lined with warehouses, shipyards, and working port facilities. The barbed wire may have simply been there to protect the parking area below, but it also felt like a quiet symbol of the division that still lingered in the city, even after the recent ceasefire.

In the background, construction cranes rose against the sky — early signs of the major redevelopment that would eventually transform this area into what is now known as the Titanic Quarter.

It was a powerful image of a city caught between its difficult past and its uncertain but hopeful future.

I approached a second soldier, this time with much calmer nerves and more confidence.

I think it showed. This soldier seemed completely at ease and struck a strong, natural pose for the camera. He stood tall, rifle in hand, looking directly at me with quiet pride. He told me he was genuinely happy to be there — proud to be defending and protecting his city so that people like me could walk around and experience it safely.

This photograph turned out much better than the first one, compositionally. The leading lines, the elegant building he was protecting, his relaxed body language, the expression on his face, the exposure, and the overall angles all came together beautifully.

I was really proud of myself for having the courage to approach him that day. My camera truly felt like a superpower — it gave me permission to step into situations I normally wouldn’t have. When I got home three months later and developed these negatives, I was ecstatic to see what I had captured. And now, thirty-two years later, I’m still filled with gratitude and pride seeing how well these images have held up through the years.

As I walked down the street in Belfast, this large moving truck caught my eye.

The name “Nixons Removals” was painted in big, bold letters on it. Being American, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony. It had been exactly twenty years since President Richard Nixon resigned in disgrace in August 1974. And here was his name, advertising a moving company specializing in handling pianos and antiques.

It was one of those strange, funny little moments that only an American would probably notice or find amusing.

This photograph was taken from a narrow side street in the heart of Belfast, looking toward the unmistakable green dome and clock tower of Belfast City Hall.

Even from a distance, the grand Victorian building dominated the skyline. I had been walking for a while by this point, and every now and then I would catch another glimpse of it between the buildings. It felt like a fixed point in the middle of a city that was still very much on edge.

I remember pausing here for a moment, framing the shot with the modern building on the left and the older brick structures on the right. The row of black metal bollards (those short posts in the street that keep cars from driving onto the sidewalk) along with the beautiful old-fashioned street lamps helped guide the eye straight toward the dome in the distance.

I came across this lively street market while walking through the city. Vendors had set up tables right on the sidewalk with crates of fresh apples, bunches of flowers in buckets, and other produce for sale. People were stopping to browse, chat with the vendors, and do their daily shopping.

Behind the stalls, clothing shops advertised “Ladies & Gents” and “Childrens & Baby,” with racks of clothes spilling out onto the pavement. It was a colorful, busy scene — completely ordinary, and that’s what made it stand out to me.

I stopped and watched as this couple leaned over the buckets, gently touching and selecting flowers from the stall.

Bunches of fresh blooms stood lined up along the edge of the sidewalk — a bright, colorful contrast to the gray buildings and the serious atmosphere I had felt earlier in the day.

This close-up shows just how fresh everything was. Big, crisp heads of cauliflower were piled high, next to bundles of carrots still wearing their green tops, and a wooden crate overflowing with onions.

It was clear these had come straight from someone’s farm that morning. The quality and abundance felt honest and real.

This wide view shows the city of Belfast stretching out toward the hills that frame it. The most prominent rise in the distance is Cave Hill, a volcanic hill that has overlooked the city for thousands of years. On clear days you can sometimes see all the way to Scotland from up there.

In the foreground, a large parking area was packed with cars — a reminder that even in 1994, with all the tension in the air, people were still going about their daily lives, working, shopping, and moving through the city.

I remember standing here for a while, taking in the contrast between the busy, built-up streets and the ancient, quiet hills behind them. It felt like Belfast was caught between two worlds — one of history and division, and another of timeless natural beauty that had been here long before any of it.

This was the last photograph I took in the city before heading back to the train station.

I had been walking behind this group of four — three teenagers and a younger boy — who looked like they might be brothers or friends heading somewhere together. I was just about to take a picture of them walking away when the fellow on the right suddenly turned and looked straight back at me.

It was a quick, unplanned moment. I clicked the shutter .

After a day full of seeing soldiers and armored personnel carriers, this simple, ordinary scene of people just going about their lives felt like the right note to end on. I put my camera away and made my way to Central Station. It was time to leave Belfast behind.

Safely back on the train and settled into my seat, I took a deep breath of relief and satisfaction. The day had been full — talking to soldiers on the street, getting free drinks from kind strangers at The Morning Star pub, wandering through the lively street market, and experiencing that strange mix of tension and everyday life.

As the train sat at the platform, I looked out the window and saw this scene: a traveler asking for directions, and a train station employee stopping to help. He pointed the man in the correct direction with a friendly gesture.

It felt like the perfect final image of the day.

Despite everything I had felt walking the streets of Belfast — the guarded atmosphere, the visible military presence — every single person I actually interacted with had been kind, helpful, and generous with their time. This small moment summed it all up. Belfast, for me, was a city full of good, decent people trying to live their lives.

As the train departed Belfast Central Station and headed south to Dublin, I looked out through the chain-link fence and took one final picture of the city.

The old clock tower and long industrial buildings stood quietly in the distance, with the hills rising silently behind them.