It was a rainy morning in Dublin. I asked the driver if you just drive straight through or if there is a stop at the border of Northern Ireland. He said “no stop, but who knows once that Brexit shit goes through. Your man over there is a prick.” Referring to Boris Johnson. Good to know. After an uneventful drive to Belfast, we arrived at Sailors Grave Tattoo Studio. Great vibe walking in - clean, spacious, professional, art hanging all around. He never introduced himself, so he’ll simply be known as the artist. Amanda and the artist sat down to discuss her intentions and wishes. He left, and returned with a tablet. Then left again, and returned with sketches. She loved them. Then the artist left again to set up the station. Then he brought her to the chair. I just sat in the corner. I couldn’t tell if he was an introvert or if he was pissed I wasn’t going to be a customer. This wasn’t about me though. Credit to me for recognizing that. After she finished, I had a look, and it’s pretty cool for sure. I bought a tee shirt to contribute a little bit. After we paid, he said “sorted.” Probably have to work that in to my dealings with people.
There was an hour left on the meter, so we walked to find lunch. We went to Made in Belfast - a trendy looking spot. She ordered the steak sandwich and I ordered the Peruvian chicken sandwich. As I sat there, I thought about how badass and sexy my wife is - dressed in all black jeans and tank top with guns blazing, fresh ink, red meat sandwich. I felt like when we left she could stuff me in her handbag. We quickly got the bill and paid, so we could run to the car before our time expired. Parking tickets over here are very expensive. Actually, far too punitive, in my opinion. I know from experience. We got a 50 euro ticket in Bath. The meter wasn’t agreeing with us, so Amanda said “I don’t care, I’ll just pay it.
When we were back in the car, Amanda took a quick look over her cover her shoulder, then from a parking space, busts a u turn on a main road, then cuts across 4 lanes of traffic. I was like daaaaamn this bitch don’t give a fuck about shit. I just kept quiet and eyes forward as we made our way to the bed and breakfast to drop our bags off.
We booked a Black Cab Tour that picked us up at the B&B twenty minutes later. We were lucky to get the only one available on what was turning out to be a busy Friday afternoon.
We viewed and heard about the murals, the peace wall, and the Troubles. We passed Sinn Fein headquarters (political wing of the IRA) and Protestant strongholds and gravesites. Amanda did have one interesting realization today. She said this thing between the Irish and English is real. I’m not sure how fake she thought the animosity was before today. I mean I did refuse to name any more of our cats after British monarchs. Henry was named just before I entered the picture. We signed the peace wall, like the tourists we were, in washable markers.
He dropped us in the main area of the city centre. We strolled around, then stopped at a café. I sat outside with Diet Coke and water people watching while Amanda roamed around in search of shampoo. I was supposed to be searching for a place to eat dinner, but I was occupied with other things, and neglected to do so. Someone has to tell our story. Have to take time when it’s available.
As we relaxed, Amanda found a floating restaurant called The Barge. I was onboard with that plan. The Barge specializes in boxys. I had never had a boxy. A boxy is basically a potato crepe, and theirs was filled with cod and salmon. There was also a vegetarian one, but we both had the fish boxy. What a brilliant food adventure. Best boxy I’ve ever had. I suppose the worst also.
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| Boxys |
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| Game of Thrones stained glass window |
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| Belfast Mona Lisa - the gun barrels follow you |
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