This could be a predicament. How do I explain to my children that I went off for the weekend with ten (that’s right…10!) awesome guys? Okay, I’m using that word "awesome" maybe a little loosely. Nevertheless, that’s what I did.
I should elaborate. It was the Scoil Cheoil an Earraigh (Music School of the Spring) trad festival in Ballyferriter, just outside Dingle on the southwest coast. Come to think of it, I did the same thing last year. The lads have been going for years. It’s a tradition and now they have a female tagalong. I didn’t hear any complaining.
First stop… John Mason’s (This is part of the tradition). John is a retired French teacher who plays concertina. We met in the kitchen of John’s “home place” which is old and inviting and delightfully Irish. There was tea and coffee and a selection of fine whiskeys. I had my latte in hand (so American) and sat cozily by the stove while the lads discussed the finer qualities of their favorite spirits and reminisced about trad festivals long past. They are all accomplished musicians and have delicious memories they savor year after year. The whiskey is a relaxing chaser.
Then we hit the road (designated drivers were still intact thank goodness). It’s a three hour drive from here to there. I dozed in the back seat while Dixie drove and Toss, Dixie’s tenor banjo picking brother-in-law, stretched out in front of me. I felt secure considering it was lashing rain and Irish roads are so narrow and precarious. I figured if we hit someone head-on I’d have the best chance of survival. Toss just thought I was being nice offering him the death seat.
With no mishaps along the way we arrived in Dingle around four. We had rented two apartments behind a pub. The tradition is… arrive late afternoon, unpack and have “tea” which is the Irish word for supper. They brought everything! Hailing back to the days when they were all young and on stricter budgets, they didn’t waste a penny on restaurant food. But the spread was spectacular.
Whole chickens, turkey, whole ham for sandwiches as well as breads, biscuit cake, tea brack and apple tarts. ALL HOMEMADE!!! These guys know how to cook… and eat. I contributed southern style chicken salad and it went over well. Everyone ate their fill and not since Jesus fed the five thousand has there been so much left over.
After cleaning up (yes they did!) we gathered our instruments and drove the 15 minutes or so to Ballyferriter. Classes and concerts had been going on all week but we only came for one thing… to indulge our obsession with jigs and reels and have some good craic.
Since there were eleven of us, we needed a good space. We found it at Saors' Pub. There were some teens from the Scoil Cheoil there just wrapping up. We played along with them for a few minutes and when they left we moved in. We played almost six hours nonstop with other musicians joining us in and out. We all slept well that night.
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Saturday morning I woke to the smell of a traditional Irish fry (that’s breakfast). There were eggs cooked to order, more homemade breads, homemade granola (from me) and in true Irish heartstopping fashion (that’s figuratively and literally)…SAUSAGE THREE WAYS!!! No one left the apartment hungry.
The lads then went for a drink to Foxy John’s which is owned by an old friend of theirs from Thurles. I knew the reunion would involve conversation about disgraceful calls made by incompetent officials against their favorite hurling, soccer and rugby teams… why Guinness is better in one pub than another… whatever happened to Paddy What’s-His-Name who used to play such a sweet button box… and discussions like that.
I opted to stay behind. There was a small library in our apartment and I picked up an Irish mystery called Buried in the Bog. It was actually quite well written (a NYT best seller) and I regret I never discovered who-done-it or even who it was in the bog. I might have to sniff it out on Amazon.
When the lads returned we were all off to another great session at Murphy's in Ballyferriter. After a few short hours, we weren’t ready to quit, but we knew it was time when our stomachs were making more noise than our instruments.
Saturday’s tea was the crème de la crème. John unveiled his famous enormous beef stew (it’s rumored to contain six full round steaks as well as a vast assortment of Irish veggies) and mashed potatoes with wild garlic (by now the lads were in spud withdrawal) and more homemade tarts.
We were stuffed but we managed to brave the elements on foot to O’Flaherty’s Pub, just a stone’s throw away. Again, the lads knew the owner and we were welcomed with open arms and lively tunes. We played there a while then called it a night. I was blurry eyed and I’d only had one drink.
I took the safe seat home again as Dixie, Toss and I discussed the upcoming Fleadh na gCuach (the Cuckoo festival) in May. We have already booked three apartments on the scenic waterfront in Kinvarra also on the west coast. In the mean time, I have a list of tunes that aren’t going to learn themselves. I see more practice in my future.
Here's a clip of a session.
Here's a clip of a session.
