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Was it bomb number 25 or 26 that came hidden in the window-company van, alongside fresh panes of glass meant to replace windows blown out by the previous blast? Which morning was it when a hijacked truck carrying 1,000 pounds of explosives pulled up outside and unleashed an explosion that injured 13 people? There are just so many incidents to remember: Bombs delivered by furniture trucks. Dynamite fastened to the rooftop water tank. Firebombs tossed into the ladies' toilets.

No one's sure of the exact tally -- the staff stopped counting after 30 -- but only the Holiday Inn in Sarajevo can rival the four-star hotel on Belfast's Great Victoria Street for the unenviable title of "world's most bombed hotel." Yet today the Europa, the belle of Belfast City and an enduring symbol of Northern Ireland's resilience regarding terrorism, stands tall and proud, a stronger and more robust business because of -- and not in spite of -- Northern Ireland's "troubles," says John Toner, Europa's general manager. Under his leadership, occupancy rates are up, staff turnover is down, and such recent arrivals in Belfast as the Hilton and Ramada are making few inroads into the Europa's market share.

On the surface, the Europa is a respectable but unremarkable 240-bed hotel. But during the conflict's darkest days in the 1970s and 1980s, it emerged as a powerful icon, representing war, destruction, survival, and fortitude -- a monument to all that was right and wrong in Northern Ireland. Even in the new peace-processed Belfast, it remains a landmark, a place where tourists and natives alike get their bearings.

When Grand Metropolitan Hotels first opened the doors of the Europa in July 1971, Belfast was a small, dreary town sorely in need of some glamour. The futuristic, 12-story Europa was a hotel in wide-screen technicolor. It offered bathrooms en suite (a first for hotels in Northern Ireland) and a top-floor nightclub. Bringing a level of luxury that the city hadn't previously known, it was either a flavor of the future or an evil eyesore, depending on whom you spoke with.

To the Irish Republican Army, it was, quite simply, a target. Attacking the high-profile Europa would attract worldwide attention by striking a blow at British capitalism. The first bomb exploded within a month of the hotel's opening; it destroyed the restaurant and kitchens. Another 20 explosions would follow in the next four years. Security walls were erected around and over the entrance. Guests were frisked; their luggage was searched. The tourist trade evaporated, leaving no one but the hard-core, battle-hardened business customers.

And so came the journalists. Because it remained Belfast's only world-class hotel, the Europa became home to all the hacks covering the conflict. The IRA's easy target became the perfect target. With every attack, the press got its story and the terrorists got publicity. Visiting journalists found that they could sound authoritative and well-informed without leaving their bar stool in the Europa.

Mercifully, remarkably, no one was ever killed by a bomb at the Europa. "Security is in the bones of the people who work here," says Toner, "and we've always had a good record of getting people out fast." The relentless wave of attacks would have destroyed any other business, but the Europa's staff, as well as its clients, seemed to draw courage from each attack -- and the hotel stubbornly refused to close. Its first manager, Harpur Brown, issued neckties to commemorate each bomb. Guests offered to stay in sealed-window rooms at "hardboard" rates. "Some of our regular guests would simply ask us to vacuum the floor and pull the curtains," says Toner. And the staff remained resolutely loyal.