Oh Doolin

It's funny where you end up, the possibilities that arise, when you don't worry about filling in too many details of a plan ahead of time. I tend to get a bit lazy, a bit comfortable. In general, would prefer a slow day on my porch over a day in the city, packed full of restaurants, shops, and other activity. But during my trip, I tried to say "Yes" to as many suggestions as possible (within a broad definition of "reason"). This is how we found ourselves in Doolin, how we found ourselves there again, and even once more. We are now at my favorite part of the trip, and the reason I am so late in finishing this blog: it was so awesome, I didn't have any time to spend on the computer; and it was so awesome, I am finding it difficult to explain to you.

Abby and I had to leave quite early from Galway to make the ferry from Doolin to Inisheer. We got to drive through the Burren, an area of amazing natural beauty with a varied landscape. It contains the Burren National Park, the smallest of Ireland's six national parks. The drive was kind of crazy. The roads were narrow and winding, and I was again unable to keep up to speed. But that's OK, because the scenery was stunning, and it gave me more opportunity to appreciate it.

I liked to imagine the people who built these walls up the mountains.

See the sea from everywhere.

Again, this is meant to be a two-lane road.

I wish with all my heart that Hannah and Tommy could have been on the trip with us. But I observed that, if it had just been Hannah and me on this trip, we probably wouldn't have made it 20 miles. I wanted constantly to stop and take photos of each beautiful scene, countless though they were. Hannah gets just as absorbed as I do. We probably would have been four hours at the Causeway, instead of just the two.

 The best part of the drive was going up Corkscrew Hill, which was the most intense series of switchbacks I've ever driven. Here I intend to put up a video of the most interesting part of the drive. Please let me know if it doesn't work.

corkscrew from lachelsa on Vimeo.

There wasn't much traffic, but there were many coaches, and they drove even more slowly than I. To make it worse, they were either nervous or jerks, and it was impossible to pass them. We arrived at the Doolin pier half an hour after our ferry left. We inquired anyway, and found that there was another one leaving in 30 minutes more. The lady at the booking station told us that we were lucky, because usually there was only one ferry a day for this trip. It was far from the first, and wouldn't be the last, time that I acknowledged the favor I seemed to have in abundance during this trip.

A terrifyingly accurate road sign near Doolin.

I brought my ukulele with me on the ferry, because I wanted to try to take some more ukulele photos. Me playing ukulele on one of the Aran Islands? That sounded pretty good. Abby and I walked by another ferry company, with two employees standing outside. They stopped me to ask about my instrument, and asked me to play them a song. (Let My Love Open the Door. Obviously.) Well, they liked my party trick so much, that they cajoled me into playing two more… Having only the three songs memorized, I was glad they didn't press for a fourth. Both of the men were delighted by my songs, and I think one of them was a bit smitten. However, it didn't come across as a romantic interest, but such a deep appreciation for music and lyrics. He kept asking for more of Pete Townshend, and fortunately I had two to do for him. This man was a bit at a loss for words, but he told me I was a "quality singer" and had a "lovely voice." I was in remarkable good form that day, and felt the full force of their compliments, because I believed them.

The other man, Mick, is a bouzouki player (tuned to DADA, just for rhythm), and he told me about some music to check out in the area. It turns out that Doolin is famous for its traditional music, which had somehow escaped my knowledge. There are three pubs in town, and he told us about sessions at each of them. There was also a music festival in a nearby town that was going on that weekend. He mentioned that one of the Doolin pubs in particular was unamplified, which appealed to me more, so we stored this information away for future contemplation.

The ferry to Inisheer was a bit choppy, and it was more than just spray coming up over the rails. It seemed to take forever, but was probably not even an hour's journey. Inisheer is the smallest of the three Aran Islands. It was a charming approach, and you could see almost all of it at once.

Again, the Galway hooker is a traditional kind of fishing boat. Not this kind of boat, though.

Everything getting wet.

Coming in to Inisheer.

Welcome to Inisheer.

Abby and I decided to rent bikes, but this meant I had to leave my ukulele behind, as it did not fit in the basket. When I left it with the ladies at the bike rental place, I asked, "You're sure it will be OK?" because they told me just to put it on one of the shelves up front. They kind of laughed, as if to say, "What on earth could happen to it here?" Leaving the ukulele ended up being OK. My bad knees meant I had to walk the bike up the steeper hills. I did not enjoy the actual riding of the bikes, but I'm glad we did it, because we got to see so much more of the island than if we had just walked. We also got far less tired than if we had trudged around with ukulele, cameras, tripod, etc. And there were some pretty amazing downhill stretches.

We kept trying to find the old castle, which you could see from virtually any point on the island; but we never could figure out which path would take us there. We did get to see a lovely graveyard full of Celtic crosses, a shipwreck, the lighthouse, and many great views of the island and the sea. Our lateness gave us an hour less on the island than we would have had, so despite the small size of the place there were other things we did not see as well. There was a beautiful white sand beach, and a pub near the harbor. Its outside seating was very inviting on such a clear, breezy day.  I do like what we did, though. Going to the Aran Islands is something I had wanted to do, but thought we wouldn't have time. It worked out just perfectly.

Teampall Chaomhan, for St. Kevin.

Looking towards the town from the graveyard.

I have not one but two pictures like this.

Abby asking directions from old folks on bikes.

We turned a corner, and saw this. I thought it was a maze at first, but it was just small pastures.

Friendly old horse.

Lovely lake.

From Wikipedia: "The cargo vessel Plassey was shipwrecked off Inis Oírr in the 1960s, and has since been thrown above high tide mark at Carraig na Finise on the island by strong Atlantic waves."

Perfectly posed cows.

Just gorgeous.

Abby likes lighthouses.

Instead of a ferry back, we got to ride on a larger boat that was designed with open observation areas. There was a small, red dog that came aboard with his owners, and this made me nervous because of all the gaps in the railing. He was more surefooted than anyone on the boat, though. Maybe because he had four. Anyway, next up on the agenda was a cruise along the Cliffs of Moher. We approached them so slowly that their greatness kind of snuck up on you. Once you realized what you were looking at, it was hard not to gawk. I have never seen anything like these cliffs. I don't know if any other landscape has affected me so much — not the glaciers I've walked, the mountains I've sailed alongside; not underground waterfalls, vast empty plains, or even the rolling patchwork hills of County Down. We had to laugh at what our B&B host, Ted, had said to us earlier. "Just cliffs!" I was completely enamored, and kept taking photos of the same views, because they were so incredible to me. Again, the wonder doesn't translate.

I was fascinated by this rock that was separated from the cliffs.

It was home to probably a million birds.

That guy was nice.

It amazed me how regular the formations are along some parts of the cliffs. I wanted to be a geologist.

Abby looking unbelievably cool

A dog on the ferry. It made me nervous!

After the cruise, we decided to stay the night in Doolin so we could see the session that Mick had told us about. We also wanted to go to the Cliffs of Moher via land, so we headed up that way. Parking was silly money, something like €8 per adult. Since we'd just paid to go up right alongside them, we didn't feel we could justify the cost. When we drove uphill, we saw a spot where 2-3 cars could park on a curve along the winding road. We returned there, found it empty, and prayed our car would not be hit while we were gone. As we began to walk, we also prayed that we would not be hit, as the shoulder did not exist for long. A tour bus came quite close to me. I smiled and waved, and they waved back.

There were parts of the roads that said SLOW, and parts that said VERY SLOW. No speeds were designated. It always made me laugh a little, and I wanted a photo for a long time. Finally I got this one as we walked down the middle of the winding road...

Chelsea, Abby, tripod, ukulele, Yashica… We all got there whole. I'm glad we also went to see the cliffs from this angle, because they were impressive in a totally different way. The view was lovely, and when we saw that everyone else was going over the safety barriers to get some better photos, we figured we would too. (I probably wouldn't have if Abby hadn't encouraged it — I'm glad she did.) We took some more ukulele and tin whistle photos. It was another day with a warm sun and brisk wind: vitalizing.

There's that bird rock in the background.

Rock on or something I guess?

The loveliest. Unbelievable.

Windswept.

The grass is also windswept and looks like it is underwater.

This is where we parked our little car.

We took our time at the Cliffs, and then headed back to Doolin to find a hostel and go to the session. We chose The Doolin Hostel, which was right across the way from the O'Connor's pub. Having been once bitten, we twice-shyly asked to see the bedrooms and the bathrooms. The owner of the hostel, Anthony, was very easygoing and said, "You've had a bad experience, haven't you?" There were other Americans talking to him, so we described our terrible experience for them. Anthony told us he had recently bought the hostel and redone everything. The rooms were huge and open, despite having eight beds (four bunks). It felt very peaceful and I was so relieved that we had stopped there. We didn't bother looking at the other hostels; this one fit us to a T. I was nervous to see who our roommates would be, but they turned out to be an older American woman who had been in Doolin for a week, and a middle-aged woman from Switzerland who wasn't too confident with her English, but was very nice. No one else was in there. It was just about perfect. My only criticism would be that the bottom bunks had no room to sit up straight, but that's barely a problem when you're just sleepin'. The American woman told us about an older man who sometimes sings at O'Connor's. He has one leg and a booming voice. She called him her boyfriend. I hoped we would see him.

We got to O'Connor's, where I had two Harps in quick succession, followed by a Guinness. The session was lively, with more people joining in as it warmed up. Before it started, I caught the eye of a gentleman who played many different instruments. "Will you be joining us?" he asked, indicating my ukulele. I did feel a bit silly to admit that I had brought it but didn't intend to play it, but with a smile I answered, "Probably not." "Oh, we're not good enough for you?" This is one of those things people say that can come across as rather hostile, you know? But he was so good natured when he said it, that I didn't feel awkward at all. "Maybe, maybe…" It turns out his name is Christy, and he is awesome with the spoons.

Eventually, the singer our roommate told us about came on and began to sing. He had a lively, engaging way of singing. It's common for traditional Irish songs to go on and on, with many verses and little variation in melody. But the way he sang, you hung on his every word, waiting to hear what happened next in the story. He highlighted every joke and was commanding us all to join in by the end of the song. This video is precious to me, but the audio quality isn't very good; if you don't watch it I won't be offended. It's the last chorus of the first song he sang, Eileen Og. I'd never heard the song before, but I recently downloaded the Dubliners singing it, and I think you should too.

Eileen Og from lachelsa on Vimeo.

Here's a photo in case the video doesn't work. The man standing is the singer.

There was a flurry of activity out of the corner of my eye, and I looked over to see a very impressive woman who had whisked up to the bar and spun around in one fluid motion. She seemed to have come over with the intent of talking to us. That's when we met Katie, an American girl a little older than us, and her friend, Mary. They had been travelling in Ireland for about the same amount of time we had; they had gone the opposite way from us. They were really easy to talk to, and really funny. There was a break in the music, and Katie and Mary asked me if I were going to play. By then, I was enjoying a dose of Dutch courage. I said I couldn't possibly… Unless I were invited. Suddenly, the musicians were looking our way, waving me over. "You've been spotted; go!" Well I couldn't possibly refuse. I gave Abby my camera, then sat down and introduced myself to some of the musicians. To my left was Joe, and then Christy, the man with the spoons. Joe turned out to be my favorite… He was immensely kind and encouraging. He played many different instruments, but didn't know some of the regional tunes, so he was content to sit and listen, or speak confidentially in my ear just as well.

As I was getting settled, someone tapped my shoulder. It was the accordion player. "I was sitting there." "Oh, OK," I said, scooting over with the stool I had been given. "I was sitting there," he repeated. I stood up, apologetic. He handed me a broken stool and I took it. I was trying to be respectful and it didn't bother me, though I thought it a bit strange… Joe told me later that all the other musicians were really embarrassed by what he did, and offended for me. "He shouldn't have done that," he gravely repeated.

But the songs began again, and I knew how out of my depth I was. I can muddle around by ear, but I'm more of a reader. My instrument is so quiet, that I couldn't always tell if the chords I was playing were right. There are only so many ways that Irish tunes tend to go, so if I caught the key I could scrape by. One or two songs I did well on. But there was also a good deal of faking it. And I was grateful that no one could really hear me, though Joe kept telling me to "bang away" on it so I could be heard. I sat in for a while, and even though I was overwhelmed by how good those guys were, I enjoyed the experience for what it was: me, in a pub in Ireland, joining in with Irish musicians as they expertly played the songs they'd heard from childhood. Even though I arrived at the pub with my ukulele in hand, I NEVER thought that would happen.

Me, trying to keep up. The man on the right is Joe.

Because I wasn't heard very well, Joe decided I should sing a song and play alone. I told him my song wasn't Irish, and he said that was perfect. So I got on a high stool and sang Let My Love Open the Door. As I sang, the accordion player (who I had just assumed hated me) joined in a bit on his accordion. The projection still wasn't there in my instrument or in my voice, but they gave me the same courtesy they had given the singer Ted: they began to "shush" the pub so that I could be heard. I absolutely love that. It displays such respect, not only for the singer, but for the music and the song. The music was to be featured, not to fade into the background. What a cultural difference. Nothing like that would happen in Nashville, despite the "music city" we claim to be.

I probably didn't spend too long at the session, but it felt like ages. I left after a while and let them continue as they could without me. Abby was with Katie and Mary, who had been speaking to Ted. He had CDs for sale, and I bought one, thereby inserting myself into their conversation. By the end of the night, all four of us were invited for tea at his cottage the next morning.

L-R: Abby, Katie, Mary, Ted. ADORABLE.

We stayed a while after the session kind of broke up. One of the fiddlers, an Englishman named Adrian, came and spoke to me for a long time. He was very kind and interesting. He plays music professionally. He told me that I should look into an Irish banjo, or a tenor banjo, which he thought was tuned the same as a ukulele. I recently did a bit of research and found that not to be the case, but I'm still intrigued. Maybe for my birthday. There is a such thing as a banjolele (banjo sound, small body and ukulele tuning), but I think I would go for the Irish banjo instead. Joe also came over and talked to us for a while. He told me I should learn a song that's in the Irish language, called "Óró, Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile." I have started learning it; I can sing you the chorus and that's all. Adrian and Joe bought us at least one drink each. I never wanted to stop talking to them. Joe gave me several compliments on my singing and playing, but my favorite one was, "Chelsea's quite the charmer, you know." I always feel a bit like wallpaper. That compliment will stick with me forever.

Chelsea and Abby, with cups (not pints) of Guinness bought them by charming musicians.

Chelsea, Adrian, and Abby.

There's a sign on the bar that reads, WYBMADIITY. Joe told me to go ask a young man what that meant. "Will you buy me a drink if I tell you?" My first thought was that, no, I was enjoying getting free drinks and didn't want to spend any more money. But he repeated it, and I understood. I laughed with him for a moment, and as I was leaving, he called out, "You've a lovely arse." As with all the other compliments I had received that evening, I thanked him. I couldn't tell you what my response would have been if he hadn't had an Irish accent.

Well it was just one of the best nights ever. We closed down the place, and I didn't realize that it was after 3am when we left. Joe walked us to the parking lot of our hostel, and we hoped we would see him again. Normally I would be a bit worried until I got contact information, and I'm still a little sad that I didn't. But honestly I think that just makes it better. I met someone kind, had a great night of conversation, and that's the memory I'll keep.

I couldn't figure out how to untie my shoes, but I blame that mostly on the fact that I couldn't sit up straight in my bunk. I fell asleep in my boots. There were precious few hours to sleep until our 9am meeting with Ted.

Before you go, I would to remind you that everything in this post happened in one day.