After my time in Cahersiveen, arriving in Dingle (pop.
1,900) felt quite metropolitan. I imagine it was mostly due the fact that it
was bustling with revelers in for the holiday weekend. I hopped in the car with
my hosts, and we drove out Slea Head Drive, quite a bit farther than I thought
we’d be from town. That’s the way it goes, however, when in haste you read 5km
instead of 5m. At least in the States we know we use the imperial system, and
that’s that. In the British Isles it’s a smattering of both, and I haven’t
quite figured out when to use which. I hopped back into town and rented a bike for
the week so I could have a moderately faster method of transportation.
Not wanting to face the hill between town and me a second
time that day, I wondered what to do with the evening. Which is when a small group of musicians showed up to stay at
the same place as me. I finished my dinner hastily as I heard them to preparing
to leave, and ran out the door after them asking for a lift in. They kindly
obliged.
Their band, Attention Bébé, was in for the weekend to
perform for the festival. I asked about their music, and Susan explained to me that
they perform either for loads of money or loads of crack, but prefer playing
for crack. I didn’t ask which one it was this time, but started thinking if
they were getting crack that night, that I should find a different ride home
for the evening. It wasn’t until well later into the night that I discovered that
“craic,” is common Irish slang for “good fun.”
In the meantime, however, I wandered round Dingle town,
looking for a place with good drinks and good music where I could sit and write
for a while. I wandered in and out of a few pubs, none with the right vibe for
writing. Finally, driven in by rain, I found a place that seemed to fit my
needs. I walked in, looking for an open table, when my eyes lighted upon Fr.
Steve, my boss from the Salesians eight years ago who I haven’t seen since.
Instead of spending the evening writing, I ended up chatting for a bit, then
joining him and his family singing along to traditional Irish tunes.
I met back up with the band at Dick Mack’s, Dingle’s most
famous pub. Discovering that they weren’t just in town to get massive amounts
of crack cocaine, but rather to play for the enthusiastic holiday crowds, I
decided I didn’t need to spring for a taxi. I went to their performance the
next afternoon. Good craic indeed. There are certain things in life you can’t
anticipate. I’m not talking about sudden loss or love – though unexpected, the
stories are common enough. I’m talking about staying with a band on the
outskirts of a town of 200 in the Irish countryside, then going to watch their
10 piece band perform nineties mash-up covers to a packed house. When the first
strains of the Jurassic Park theme sounded from the stage, I knew I was in for
a treat. And I was. They had amazing talent and energy. And because of my ska
days, I really appreciated their heavy brass section.
 |
| Set of Episode VIII in the distance |
I know this isn’t much, and I have many more stories not
only from this past week, but from my travels in general. I think, however, that this will
be my last post to you for some time. My travels are soon at an end, but when I
see you next I can fill you in on some of the stories that never made it here. Perhaps
when I next undertake to venture forth, I will write once more. Let us hope
that is not a too distant future.
May the Fourth be with you!
The Brevity Report:
“Roads go ever ever onUnder cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.”
