Showing posts with label Portugal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Portugal. Show all posts

"How to Get to Heaven from Belfast": Dark secrets, twisting plots, hunky guys, bulges, and d*cks. And the Irish countryside




Belfast has the reputation of being cold, dark, and grim.  Its main tourist attractions are the Peace Wall,  dedicated to the memory of the Troubles, and a museum showcasing the Titanic.  Not many people's idea of a proper craic, innit?  

But it has a thriving LGBTQ community, with bars, bath houses, a community center, and a lot of guys into hookups.

I heard that How to Get to Heaven from Belfast (2026), on Netflix, is a must-see, and I liked Lisa McGee's previous series, Derry Girls, so here we go with Episode 1, "The Wake" (a party held after the funeral, usually with a viewing of the body).

Prologue:  Night, with a view of the city.  Three people with flashlights find their way to isolated cabin, where a teenage girl is sitting in a pit.

Scene 1: 20 Years later: In Belfast, the highly butch Dara explains why she hates her mother in a very tight closeup, so tight that it is painful to watch.  The camera pulls away, and she is telling all this to the server at a coffee shop!

Meanwhile, Soccer Mom Robyn is driving while her two bratty preteens squabble in the back seat. She finds them so annoying that she bangs her head repeatedly against the steering wheel until it's bloody -- no, just a fantasy.


In London, Saoirse (pronounced Sheer-Shah), a writer for a hit tv show about a woman solving murders, is at lunch with two women and a man, who tell her that she should write stories with no murders. "But the name of the show is Murder Code!"  She finds the suggestion ridiculous, and storms off, bringing the man with her.  She wanted to be a playwright, but now she's writing crap.  If the man is actually her boyfriend, heterosexual identity established at Minute 7.

All three get emails from the sister-in-law of their friend Greta: she has died.  They decide to go to her village in Donegal County, Ireland. for the wake.

Scene 2: Butch Dara packs and gives her sister instructions on how to take care of their super-cranky mother.  She is picked up by Soccer Mom Robyn.  They get all weepy when Greta's favorite song plays on the radio: "Hot in Herre" (2002) by Nelly, whose name is a homophobic slur but is not actually homophobic.

While writer Saoirse flies in from London, she looks at photos of the Dead Friend and her boyfriend on her phone.  Heterosexual identity established at minute 10.  The flight attendant morphs into the girl in the pit,  probably Greta, and asks "Can I tell you a secret?"  They must have killed the guy who kidnapped Greta and put her in the pit.


Scene 3:
The two friends pick up Writer Saoirse at the Belfast Airport, and criticize her outfit. They discuss why they want to go to the wake: to assuage their guilt over not contacting their friend for 20 years, and to get a break from their current crises (hating their Mom, kids, and job, respectively).  Then on through the scenic countryside to Donegal (100 miles from Belfast, but in another country). 

Back story: Writer Saiorse is getting married, but not to the guy she had lunch with.  Her fiance is Seb (Tom Basden).  The other two are pushing their way into being bridesmaids.




Scene 4: Uh-oh, at a gas station, they put petrol instead of diesel in the tank, so they stall a few miles from their destination, Knockdara (fictional).  The Recovery Service guy, Liam (Darragh Hand), makes a joke about Belfast people being violent and dangerous, which doesn't sit well with two of them.  He flirts with Writer Saoirse.

The car needs its whole fuel system replaced, so Liam tows them into town, and the flirting continues.

Turns out that he knew their dead friend, Greta!  Her husband, Owen, is his boss!  Well, it's a small town.






Scene 5:
The flamboyant desk clerk at the hotel (maybe Owen Mallon) also knew Greta, and explains how she died: fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck.

Instead of trying to walk the 2-3 miles to her house, he suggests they spend the night and set out the morning.  They could go to the 1990s-themed disco, "The Naughty Nineties."  It's so popular that teenagers bus in from Letterkenny (I didn't know that was a real place).

Scene 6: In the hotel room, Writer Saiorse checks Dead Friend Greta's Facebook page. It's been taken down.  This disturbs here.  

And Soccer Mom Robyn gets a phone call that consists of eerie static.

They all take showers (no lady parts).  We see a mysterious tattoo on their back, neck, and wrist.

Scene 7: At dinner, they discuss how "you can't go home again."  Time changes you.  The woman who died was not the girl they knew in high school; she was a stranger.

 Writer Saoirse goes outside to smoke and be depressed, and runs into Liam, now a member of the Garda.  He explains that he works for his uncle at the auto shop, and for their friend Greta's husband as a cop.  So, are you also the mayor and town veterinarian?  And the car is ready.

They gaze at each other for a long time.  I don't get it.  There were three women in the car.  How did he decide that he was only interested in Saoirse?  Is it recognizing your soul mate?  

He walks away, then returns to give her a slip of paper.  She thinks it's his phone number, but it's the bill for the car service, har har.

More after the break

Eight Halifax hunks, bulging Bluenoses, and naked New Brunswickers

 

I don't remember the last time I posted on a Canadian tv series, but there were a lot of naked guys from Nova Scotia and Newfoundland left over that have been sitting in my "to post" file for ages.  

We'll start with a  New Brunswicker from St. Johns,   





Ginger violinist from Antigonish, on the Celtic coast of Nova Scotia


Antigonish selfie











Celtic church 







A statue of footballer Cristiano Ronaldo that fans have been rubbing "for luck."  It's in Portugal, so why did I post it in a collection of Canadian photos?  

Um...have you seen the bulge?







A bluenose is a Nova Scotian, like this guy aroused by a refrigerator in Halifax

More after the break

Portugal: Braga beefcake, Porto penises, a gay couple, and a duke

 


When I visited Switzerland for the Nazarene World Youth Conference in high school, I met two guys from Portugal.  We didn't stay in contact, but I've visited Portugal three times since, and met (or seen) more hot/hung Portuguese guys.

An actor in Porto




Selfie










Arab guy from Porto











Closeup







Braga castle










Hot workman with wheelbarrow outside the art museum.

More hunks after the break





Showering with Portuguese boys at a church conference in Switzerland

 


When I was sixteen years old, I was selected to join 500 Nazarene teenagers from around the world in Fiesch, Switzerland for our World Youth Conference

It was like Nazarene summer camp, with daily sermons, Bible studies, jump quizzes, and seminars on soul-winning, except we had afternoons and one full day off for field trips and sightseeing  We could go out on our own, but:
1. Don't talk to the locals.
2. Don't set foot in any Catholic church.
3. Be back by 7:00.

But every good Nazarene knows how to bend the rules.

"I'm sure the rules don't apply if we're going to save souls," my friend Annette, a delegate from Idaho, exclaimed.  "We're in a country full of Catholic and Reformed Church sinners.  Wouldn't it be great if we could plant the seeds of a mighty revival and win Switzerland for the Lord?"

Overbrimming with the "Faith in God can move a mighty mountain" and "If you ask anything in My Name, that will I do" mantras,  we decided to go soulwinning in the Belly of the Beast, the most evil, depraved site imaginable, a Catholic church!

But not in Fiesch -- we figured that would be well-traveled territory.  On our free day, we packed several copies of the Gute Nachricht Bibel, a English-German phrase book, some snacks, and a change of clothes, and took the train 2 hours south to Zermatt a famous tourist town at the base of the Matterhorn. Our guidebook led us to the St. Mauritius Church, which dates from 1285.  We marched inside to bring the Gospel to the idolators.

It was a Thursday morning at 10:00 am.  It was empty.

Disappointed, we stood around outside, waiting for a Catholic to come by so we could start a soul-winning conversation.

Soon two cute black-haired teenagers came by, wearing backpacks.  One was tall and slim, the other more compact and muscular, but they looked so alike that they must have been brothers.

Well, cute boys are as good as Catholics.  Annette, who had taken first year German, started the ball rolling: "Entschuldigen, aber sie hören,die gut Nachricht dein Jesus Christ?"  (A bad attempt to say "Have you heard the Good News of Jesus Christ?".)

They stopped, grinning, and consulted in a language I didn't understand.  "Keine Deutsch," the taller one said.

"English?" I asked.  "Francais?"

"Oh, Americanos!" the short, compact one exclaimed.  "Michael Jackson. Beat it...beat it...beat it..."  He gyrated his hips


They were 17-year old Joao (the tall one) and 15-year old Lucio (the compact, muscular one).  But we didn't get much more from their effusive conversation in their unknown language. Later I discovered that it was Portuguese -- I was taking advanced Spanish, but I didn't understand more than a word here and there.

We ended up strolling down Schluhmattstrasse with them, Annette and Joao in the front, me and a grinning Lucio  in the rear.

Lucio kept grinning at me and talking nonstop in incomprehensible Portuguese, interspliced with fragmentary English: ("You Chicago?  Al Capone big gun, yes?").

It was great fun getting so much attention from a cute guy with a compact, muscular frame.  I wouldn't figure "it" out for another year, but still, I kept wondering what he looked like naked.  Was he cut or uncut?  Was he hung?

Somehow we ended up waiting 20 minutes to get on a gondola weaving its way up the mountainside.

A gondola is a small car suspended by a cable as it sways 1000 feet above the ground.

I was terrified!  I clung to Lucio, who wrapped a muscular arm around me and grinned.  I felt his hard chest beneath my hand, smelled his cologne, and couldn't help fondling a bit.  He hugged me tighter.  "No afraid, yes?  I....I...uh...save."


But we had only reached Furi, the first cable car station.  There were three more to reach the top!  No way!  Instead we stopped at a restaurant for fried eggs, sausage, a kind of hard cheese, and hot chocolate, and conversation about "Rambo!  He very muscle, yes?  You like?"

Annette tried to explain that as Christians, we didn't go to movies, but they didn't understand.

Then there was nothing to do but ski down, walk down, or take the gondola.  In the flat Midwest, we don't learn to ski, and there was no way I was getting on that gondola again!

More Nazarene Youth Conference after the break