Derry by bike: a new way to tour Northern Ireland's second city

“This is our destination — a double-decker bus,” says guide Steven Casey. It’s not what you might expect on a Foodie City Cycle, as my tour of Derry with local slow adventure specialist Far and Wild is billed. But there it is — a grey and orange bus with the name ‘Decky’ on its display. It’s parked by the river alongside a kitchen in a converted shipping container. Steven’s smiling. “We’ll get a tasty wee snack,” he says.

We’re at Pyke ‘n’ Pommes, a street food set-up by the River Foyle that has become a Derry institution — there’s also a bricks-and-mortar edition on Strand Road. Chalkboard menus run thick with burgers made from local Wagyu beef, but Steven knows what he wants. Dismounting from the bike, he makes a beeline to the counter and orders us a couple of deep-fried squid tacos. We take our seats on the upper deck of the bus, and lunch is delivered in brown paper bags. “Just get stuck into it,” he says with a smile.

Visitors often associate Derry with two things — Northern Ireland’s Troubles and the city’s 400-year-old city walls (it’s known as the Walled City). It’s pulled off a successful stint as UK Capital of Culture in 2013, fostered an exciting new food and drink scene and grown a Halloween festival full of costumes, fireworks and carnival atmosphere into one of the largest in Europe. It’s added boutique hotels like the Shipquay and Bishop’s Gate, and its iconic Peace Bridge links previously divided nationalist and unionist communities across the River Foyle. But still, from a distance, it’s hard to see past the stereotypes. “We’re sort of away in the corner here,” as Steven puts it.

So I sought out a fresh approach. A two-hour cycle with a few snacks along the way felt like a new window onto Derry, and this taco confirms it. From our perch on board Decky, I can see upriver towards the Peace Bridge and downriver along the wood-fringed Foyle estuary. Walkers and cyclists pass along the docks where Steven’s grandfather once worked. “Come summer now, this place is hiving,” he tells me.

Far and Wild’s slow adventures also include kayaking, SUP and rollerblading tours of the city. They’re not typical tours. Our Foodie Cycle includes just two or three pit stops for tastings, for example — but travelling by bike means we can cover a lot of ground, and there’s a mix of detailed observations and disarmingly casual chats along the way. As we pedal around, Steven keeps bumping into people he knows. “Derry ones love chattin’,” he tells me, with a big smile on his face. “They’ll bend the ear off ya.”

Next stop are those city walls. Built as defences during the 1600s, the stout structures are remarkably intact, and you can walk a mile around them with views over the streets within and the river and neighbourhoods without. We pump our calves to cycle the steep, uphill bits, pausing at different points — by cannons dating back to the 1689 siege of Derry by King James II’s forces, and views over the restored Guildhall.

We cover more recent political history, too — cycling past the site of the Bloody Sunday massacre of 1972 and through the Bogside, a nationalist community famous for its murals and painted slogan: ‘You are now entering free Derry’.

But there are many other sides of the city. Above Orchard Street, we hop off the bikes to photograph an entirely different mural. It’s not political. It doesn’t carry a slogan. It shows four girls (and one guy) in school uniform, smiling and pouting on the side of Badger’s Bar. Derry Girls, Lisa McGee’s comedy, is beloved here — a symbol of a changing place that captures the city’s language, sense of humour and complicated relationship with its recent history with a laser-sharp eye.

Another stop is Ebrington Square, a former military barracks and parade ground today being transformed into a new city quarter. “This area used to be all blocked off,” Steven tells me. “As a kid, I remember seeing the helicopters overhead.” Now, a four-star hotel is springing up, and some walkways are so new my Google Maps doesn’t recognise them. It feels like Derry is making up for lost time. 

My final stop with Steven comes at the Cottage Craft Gallery and Coffee Shop, a thatched oasis squirrelled away in a craft courtyard inside the city walls. Here, we tuck into raspberry and white chocolate scones served with jam and whipped cream. Among the paintings and crafts on the walls and shelves, I spot a sign hailing the scones as award-winners. They’re made in “a special wee kitchen”, a staff member says, pointing it out, along with bags of Neill’s soda flour on the shelves. And what’s the secret ingredient, I wonder?

“It’s heart,” she says laughing, palm on chest. You might say the same for Derry, a city whose surprising food and cultural scenes are growing in sophistication, but which still feels as small and warm as a hug.