SATURDAY, JULY 27
This time, we made it to the ferry, arriving early at the dock.
The ferry took eight hours, and it rained most of the way. Chloe kept saying, “It’s like a flight.” Though she agreed with me that it was better. The air isn’t stale on ferries. There is considerably more space to move around, and we lucked out and found a cloth bench with an electrical outlet and a table where we parked ourselves. Only problem was that the particular lounge we selected was right next to the children’s area, and unattended children buzzing around us.
Belfast was under a grey pallor when we arrived and drove to our new neighborhood, passing block after block of dreary dark, red brick row houses. On the ferry we had seem large families with many young children who looked as if they struggled financially. The parents seemed haggard, their clothes simple and worn. Their children were largely ignored, and took care of each other. As we rode on the bus, we wondered about the people in Belfast. Was there much poverty? Did it make a difference if they were Catholic or a Protestant?
