For better or worse, we have become A Thing in Belfast. “The cruise ship people,” they call us. Or sometimes, just “the ship people.” The ship repair yard does not have a street number, so when I first arrived in Belfast, taxi drivers struggled to find it. Now it’s more like: “Are you’se one of them ship people? I know where that is…”
The hotel receptionists always seem to know what’s going on with us: “I hear sea trials are coming up for y’all this week? We’re got our fingers crossed for you!” When I board the public bus I frequently use, the driver asks for a status update. Everyone seems to have a friend of a friend who works at the shipyard, eager to pass along the latest rumor about how ship repair is progressing. (Some turn out to be true, others not so much.)
We’ve been a rich source of material for the local Comedy Club circuit.
Now that we’ve caught the mayor’s eye, who knows where this will lead. Perhaps one of the pubs will name a sandwich after us? Or better yet, erect a statue at the shipyard in our honor, gazing longingly out to sea…
This is a birthday card my sister Eva gave me many years ago, that I’ve always been intrigued by.
Little did she know, that it would be a portrait of me several decades later.
Except for the frilly skirt. I don’t have any of those. The hat, I can borrow from a hat-loving couple on board. (Thanking you in advance, Melody and John!)
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