Whew! How much things can change in a matter of days... A mere five days ago I was sick with home-thoughts and eager to hop the plane back... now I'm giddy-sick with smiles, wondering about the coincidences and serendipidies life can bring.
Galway has been good to me. I hesitate to say 'I love this city!' because frankly, though I arrived on sunday afternoon, I haven't seen much of the city in the daylight hours. But nonetheless... the vibe here has me riding high! The difference between village-Drumshanbo and one-track minded musicians to a hodge-podge of small-city coastal folk from around the world, congregating and smiling and out for a good time... I'd forgotten how much I like intimate cities. It reminds me of home here. A good place to be for a homesick heart...
Travelling alone, I often have the fear of clamming up, turning in on myself, closing off and enjoying alone-time in the risk of cutting off potential connections with others. So far, that hasn't happened here, though today I'm looking forward to a bit of city-exploration with my own curious mind to keep me company. But ever since arriving it's been a nearly go-go-go with conversations and late nights and new people and familiar accents (oh america... never appreciated you so much until i went away...).
When I first arrived in Galway, I knew I was in a good place as I walked out of the bus station, an hour or two to kill before meeting up with my couchsurfing/hospitality club contact, and there, gleaming in the sunlight (!) before me was an inviting sprawl of grass, littered with frisbee players, jugglers, readers, writers, eaters, thinkers, and nappers... exhausted from a last late night of pubs and music in Drumshanbo, I decided to join up with the latter group and snuggled up next to my backpack for a sun-infused doze. When I awoke, my morale was restored, my spirits were high, and I sat smiling to myself, watching those around me weave a familiar story of college-town culture.
Soon enough Kris, my couchsurfing contact, showed up with a friend of his, both of them Polish transfers, and we walked back to his place where I was introduced to a party-ready group of Aussies with whom I was invited to pub-crawl that night. What the hell, my nap-resorted brain said, and after a quick shower on my part, we were off... for a night that didn't quite fit into my favorite-night-life culture, but wasn't bad either. They were quite the drinkers, passed around a joint in a lax hippy bar, and went through at least three pubs, the last of which had a live cover band that my traditional-music-ridden ears appreciated immensely. They were a nice bunch, and I heard some pretty top-notch stories about run-ins with girlfriends' fathers in compromising situations (like being found in a closet, etc.) as well as all the various things one of them had managed to throw up at the end of a heavy night of getting 'legless' (an entirely entact leaf, the outside plastic wrapping of a cigarette container... good lord!). But all in all, it wasn't my scene, and while I was invited by both Richi, the roommate, and Kris himself (who I really enjoyed talking with during the short conversation we had the next morning) to stay for the rest of my Galway days (they do a one-night policy to screen surfers and then invite them on if they pass the chill-person test), I'd already booked two nights in a central hostel and was feeling the need to run my own schedule and pick my own nightly activities.
The best decision. And really, an awesome hostel I've got going. Small, friendly, and filled with connections... I've found the courage to be friendly and chatty, and it's amazing how the key-question 'where ya from?' can open up someone who seems initially shy or closed off. And I managed to over-hear some key conversations within my first hour here, such that I learned that indeed, I am here during one of Galway's biggest festivals - Art's Week - and that there's countless theater, music, parades, and art showings going on every day, including the highly-acclaimed 'My Name is Rachel Corrie', the one-woman show about the 23-year old Olympia Washington girl who was bulldozed while trying to save a Palastinian home from being demolished by israeli troops. On a whim, I decided I'd spend my money here where it's worth it, and I went out and got myself a ticket for that night, as well as another for 'King Ubu' for tonight, a world-premier dark comedy that's supposed to be one of the best plays around and was nearly sold out when I went in.
On my way to Rachel Corrie, the connections began to flood in. On the corner, holding my 'Galway Arts Week' brochure, a friendly face with an American accent asked me if I was heading to the black box theater as well. 'Yes, but i can't say I know exactly where I'm going' 'No worries, two heads better than one right?' Turns out we were just minutes away and nearly the first ones there (irish time IS a bit slower...), so we had ample opportunity to chat. Turns out she's flagstaff, arizona born and raised, but has been living in San Diego up until she decided to travel Europe for six months. However, she's called the Aran islands home for the last two months after -- synchronicities begin -- she'd stayed at the Claddagh hostel, the very one I'm in, and was invited by the boss to work at his other hostel out on the Aran islands. Yesterday was her first time off the island in two months, and she was over specifically for the play.
So here I am with a fellow californian (for the most part) who can tell me anything I want to know about the island I'll be visiting at the end of this week, and who's about to see an American-based play that would affect us in quite a different way than the two other friends of hers who joined us later, one kiwi, the other english(?).
The play painted the picture of a life I knew all too well... a young independent minded dreamer and activist from the northwest, trying to do her part to get involved after living in the same town all her life and feeling like there was more in the world to see and do. It was a life I hadn't seen up close in the past seven months of europe culture, and it was both warming and ripping to be reminded of home, reminded of the life I would return to, and then watch this life develop into death at the age of 23. By the end of the play Dee (the arizona californian) and I were tear-streaked while those around us were walking out with raised eyebrows, critiquing the play, complimenting the actress, talking distantly about the conflict. It really reminded me then how life experience can play into how one is affected by a piece of literature, a show, etc. A old-aged irish man could never feel the same as I did watching that play, just like I could never muster up as much empathy watching a show on the potato famine, simply due to connection with the characters.
In any case, post-play Dee and I walked back the hostel (she was staying there while over in the city) and I invited her to partake in my to-be-created stirfry (finally, a public kitchen! And spotless to boot!) before we would head out to a BBQ of some friends of hers from the hostel working days. Even though I'd promised myself a mellow night, the vibe felt right and I was excited to give galway's night scene another chance with a new group of people. Another wise choice.
Instead of being surrounded by a bunch of heavy drinkers keen on talking about all the past drinking memories while creating new ones, I found myself in another american-heavy international bunch with people who, while also gulping back beers, were interesting to talk to and humourous in a way I could get into. I spent a good while joking around with Dee and a guy from Kentucky, who's Road-island suppressed southern accent (due to school) had me thinking he was irish for the first 5 minutes of conversation (you can tell I've not been used to american accents in a while...). Somehow the conversation, while getting a little more drunken, also turned a bit more philosophical...
we got on the subject of religion, and I ended up talking with a fairly liqoured-up new yorker about her catholic upbringing and the faith she's created for herself from that, and believing in jesus versus god, and the good and bad behind organized religion. Then the focus switched to a relatively sober australian who'd been raised Mormon but left the church around 16, followed soon after by his parents... we had a very interesting talk about all that, and I found myself pouring out philosophizings that have been shut up in the back of my mind for weeks, thanks to language barriers limiting the amount of deep conversation that can take place.
I spoke french for a brief bit with a heavily-accented Provence fellow, and then chatted with the BBQs host, a big, smiling New Zealand kiwi who joked about my light-weight status and the fact that I was talkative and feeling the alcohol's affect after a mere two ciders. He was in no way annoying about it, however, like the night before's group who targetted me - in a joking matter - as a weak american, ordering half pints of cider each time instead of full pints of double-alcohol beer.
Eventually, the Australian, who currently works at Claddagh hostel, was getting ready to leave and accompany the stumbling new yorker home, and I decided to join up for the walk, seeing as how Dee and Kentucky were having some 'deep conversation' in the backyard... before I left her, though, she said I should feel free to cancel my hostel booking for the Aran islands and come out and stay with her, as she'll be moving into her own place come tomorrow.
Sweet!
And so, galway's been treating me quite well, bringing out a happy social side of me, eager for friendly conversation at a deeper level than I've been getting. And today I get to explore the town with arts festival brochure in hand, hitting up gallerys, exhibits, and potentially free concerts all over the easily walkable town!
And what's in store next? Well... for fear of getting into another long-winded story... I'll be heading to Doolin tomorrow afternoon as a base for exploring the cliffs of moher and other picturesque areas in the stark limestone landscape of ireland's western Burren, just an hour or so south of here. And then... an irish fellow by the name of Andrew just might be joining up with me for the aran islands trip...
So... who's this Andrew fellow? Frankly, I can't tell you much... I met him my last night in Drumshanbo, after an entire week of commisserating with Sara over the lack of musicians and such in our age bracket. Skipping out on the last Ceiligh to give my tired legs a rest, and excited for a night devoted to music sessions, I joined Sara on a pub crawl and we managed to find a session with a good deal of 20/30-somethings playing, two of which seemed torn between their instruments and coming over to talk with us... however, another smiling type walked in and posted up next to us, and somehow he and Sara began to talk. He was friendly, in Drumshanbo just for the weekend to catch some sessions and work his vocal muscles -- he sings traditional Sean Nos style irish tunes and ballads. After talking for some time, he headed off to a boat BBQ with some friends, which we were sadly invited to AFTER we'd filled up on lukewarm veggie soup at a near-by pub (Sara and I had been skeeming all week to get ourselves invited out to hot meal... so we were kicking ourselves when we finally got the invite our last night there but were too full of bad food to even think about joining up). Andrew gave us his cell number, though, and told us to text if we found a good session, promising to do likewise.
An hour down the line, sara and I stumbled into a brilliant singing session, with probably one of the most gorgeous irish woman -- voice and all -- I'd ever seen/heard in my time here singing some traditional slow ballads with the accompaniment of a guitar and bazooki (like a large mandolin, no idea how to actually spell the word). After reels and jigs all week, the familiar sound of one of my favorite instruments (guitar), melded with this seemless, soulful voice nearly brought tears to my eyes and smiles bubbling up from my core. I texted our newly-met singer to let him know we found him a venue, and 15 minutes down the line he came running in, still chewing the last of his BBQ, but ready to bust out a song. He did a wee bit too much busting, however, and kind of over-powered the session... i'd like to think it was because he enjoys singing so much and not that he's the cocky type, but Sara and I were kind of exchanging glances.
The session dwindled down, however, and Andrew and I began to talk. He told me he's in a masters program for rural planning and development, he leads kids on nature hikes, and he's a photographer by hobby... *bing!* and right there, he found common interests and we began to talk away, no longer skimming the surface of 'where ya from?'s and 'why're you here?'s. Somehow, we got into his love of history, and, seeing as I'd just read up about irish history for 30 short pages in Sara's lonely planet: Ireland book that afternoon, I asked him to fill me in. The history lesson turned to mythology, and I sat, listening intently, as he wove the tale of the mythical irish warrior who's stories paint their own version of irish ancient history. By this time Sara had wandered off to another bar, and I was intent to drain Andrew's brain, trying to soak up his history lessons and also steer him away from domineering the singing scene.
We moved on to a new pub, and ancient sort, filled with musicians who were still at it at 1 am, despite many of them's being up till seven the night before, riding the wave of a crescendoing session past curfew and a rule-inforcing robocop trying to send all the musicians home. We sat next to a special little man, with approximately three teeth, a thick accent, and a great reperatoire of songs with enough passion behind them to disguise his wavering voice. Andrew egged him on and we had a time of it, though some of the musicians were miffed that there was singing cutting in on their reels and jigs.
Anyhoo (god, I really do always end up with a long story, don't I?), Andrew ended up offering me a ride back to the hostel, which my tired eyes accepted before my brain even considered the potential implications of such an offer. We got down to the hostel, still talking about singing, his family background (4th in the line of up nine kids, 8 of which are brothers... whew!!!), irish history, etc. The car was parked. And then came that awkward time of, do I hop out and say goodnight and call it at that, or did we somehow make a connection tonight of a flirtatious sort, and is this goodbye going to be slightly more involved?
He gave me a hug goodbye, said he really enjoyed our conversations, and then said c'mere, give me a kiss. I leaned in, gave him a quick peck on the mouth and pulled away. We somehow talked a bit more and then I leaned in to give him another quick kiss goodbye... and WHOW THERE... suddenly I was involved in a deep-sea emergency rescue, involving emergency CPR administered by a gulping fish...
Indeed. It was that bad. And yet, then, he pulls me close, i tell him to sing, and he comes out with this deep ballad, which I can here both in his chest and as it winds its way out his lips (which, if they kissed like they sang, would be simply amazing!). We talked some more, he said he'd love to see the islands and me again, I said I needed to get to bed, but maybe he could join up...
I'm game for a travel partner, someone how know's how to lead a nature hike, a fellow photographer, and a myth-teller. But I also realize he may have been wanting to come with other intentions. So the next day I mustered my courage to be blunt (something I rarely do...) and sent him a text along the lines of 'If you're interested in beautiful scenery, photography, more myth-tellings, and potential more snuggly singing sessions, feel free to join up. But... don't expect much more. I don't want you driving three hours out west just to be disappointed'. He wrote back saying he'd look forward to the islands and maybe some snuggles, and it seemed like he got the point that it wouldn't be anything more. So... who knows. Call me crazy (i mean, monsieur french-vosges-mountain-man has still been on my mind, and made more of an impact than this guy), but travelling opens you up to possibilities and such that you might never agree to otherwise. Some may call it weird that I'd be cool having this guy come out, but you get a sense, and you feel like it'll be alright, and you know you'll work it out and make sure you're safe, and if things are weird, you'll get out of the situation. In any case, we'll either be in hostels or staying with Dee on the island anyway, so I'm not too worried. He was a nice guy with lots of stories to tell, and, bad kissing aside, he doesn't seem full of sketchy intentions.
We shall see, we shall see.
As it is, I've written for much too long, there are a couple of french guys waiting for a computer, and I need to head out on my gallery tour.
Spirits are high though, and I think i'll live through the week just fine, though I'm still stoked to be going home soon...
signing off...
