Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day, a national holiday in Ireland, celebrating the patron saint of Ireland and the wonders of alcohol.
It's said that the thing that most dominates a particular culture tends to have many words that describe that dominant thing. The eskimos have many words to describe different kinds of snow. Desert dwellers have many words to describe types of sandstorms. And the Irish have many different words to describe states of drunkenness. In the short time I've been here I've heard of hammered, wankered, sloshed, smashed, wrecked, locked, and a whole bunch of others.
Now, I'm not saying that Ireland's a land of drunks. What I am saying is that, on St. Patrick's Day, there is a disproportionately high ratio of drunks to sober people. Granted, it was mostly folks in their 20s and 30s, and a lot of them looked to be students. But every single bar was overflowing onto the street from about 1 pm well into the night, and nearly everyone I ran into both leaving and returning home, was in some state of drunkenness.
People were walking around with cases of beer. And not just one or two people, mind you. By late afternoon, beer cans, bottles, and plastic glasses that once held beer were strewn along every major street and on shop window sills. I saw a few fights break out, but most of them were a friendly type fight, the kind you laugh about later. Much later. When you're sober. Even the Garda, the Irish police, were playing along, engaging the inebriated in pleasant conversation unless there was some mischief going on.
The Irish know how to have a good time.
But that was not how the day started. It began with walking through the parade staging area on the way to meet Darren, a Galway native who's a friend of my friend Ben in Dublin.
Darren and I watched the parade for about an hour or so together. It was a typical small-town parade, with the streets filled with onlookers and people hawking flags and hats, marching bands and kids in costumes. It was a very festive atmosphere, and everyone was having a good time. The weather stayed pretty nice, and we were even treated to some sun.
It's said that the thing that most dominates a particular culture tends to have many words that describe that dominant thing. The eskimos have many words to describe different kinds of snow. Desert dwellers have many words to describe types of sandstorms. And the Irish have many different words to describe states of drunkenness. In the short time I've been here I've heard of hammered, wankered, sloshed, smashed, wrecked, locked, and a whole bunch of others.
Now, I'm not saying that Ireland's a land of drunks. What I am saying is that, on St. Patrick's Day, there is a disproportionately high ratio of drunks to sober people. Granted, it was mostly folks in their 20s and 30s, and a lot of them looked to be students. But every single bar was overflowing onto the street from about 1 pm well into the night, and nearly everyone I ran into both leaving and returning home, was in some state of drunkenness.
People were walking around with cases of beer. And not just one or two people, mind you. By late afternoon, beer cans, bottles, and plastic glasses that once held beer were strewn along every major street and on shop window sills. I saw a few fights break out, but most of them were a friendly type fight, the kind you laugh about later. Much later. When you're sober. Even the Garda, the Irish police, were playing along, engaging the inebriated in pleasant conversation unless there was some mischief going on.
The Irish know how to have a good time.
But that was not how the day started. It began with walking through the parade staging area on the way to meet Darren, a Galway native who's a friend of my friend Ben in Dublin.
[Click photos to see a larger version.]
After we'd had our fill, we took a shortcut around the crowd through some back streets and ended up at McDonagh's (which sounds like "McDonald's" to this untrained ear), where you'll find the best fish and chips in all of Galway. It was crowded, but they kept the line moving, and it was good food. Then we checked out a few pubs, including Wilde's (the newest gay bar here, which is smaller than the apartment I'm renting), the Crane (which was way too crowded), and Darren's favorite pub on Eyre Square, the name of which escapes me at the moment.
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| Someone lent me their cap to make me look more authentic. That's Darren on the right. |
After that, a bit of pizza for an afternoon snack, and Darren and I parted ways, hopefully to meet up again this weekend to check out the Aran Islands if the weather holds up. Heading home, I walked back through the crowds that never left the pubs. After a bit of work and dinner, I headed back out through the same crowd. Only difference was, they were a bit more rowdy and a bit more drunk. Debris from the parade and the partying filled the walkways. But I'd heard that there was a session going on a bit off the beaten bath, at the Town Hall Theatre, and that's where I was headed to meet up with Lillis, the sean nos singer.
When I arrived, I discovered it wasn't a session at all, but I recognized the button accordion player from a session the previous week at the Crane. He's very good. It turns out it was a night of sharing dancing and music, as there was a combination of native Irish and native Bretons in attendance. First the Irish folks did some set dancing, which I liken to American square dancing without the caller. Then a bagpipe player arrived, and the French-speaking Bretons did a few dances. Lillis sang a song. I was asked to sing a song. A fiddle player treated us to a beautiful air followed by a song in Irish. There was much mixing of cultures and music and dancing and languages (English, Irish, French), and I know I've used this word a few times already, but it really was magical. Maybe I need to start coming up with some new words to describe this recurring feeling.
As I was leaving at around 11 pm, I asked some people by the door the best way to get back to Salthill. They gave me a route that avoided most of the mayhem going on in the city centre, but I still managed to see a bit of it as I walked home. I can't imagine the collective hangover this city is experiencing this morning!
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