A Mighty Wind

This morning, walking over the bridge on the way to school, I actually recited my last will and testament out loud to Maggie and Hannah. Given, it wasn’t nearly comprehensive—when I actually do have to pass on my earthly possessions, I certainly hope I’m able to come up with something better than “give all my music to Jeremy and all my clothes to Isabel!”—but we were in the middle of a monsoon (Only minus the palm trees. And anything resembling warmth), and I had to think fast. It was one of those mornings when the rain seems to defy all laws of nature by blowing COMPLETELY horizontally, no matter what direction you’re walking in, and manages to soak only those areas that you can guarantee won’t dry for the remainder of the day. As if it weren’t bad enough to have class early in the morning, Mother Nature made it so we not only arrived at school looking like drowned rats, but also decided to swear off class for the rest of the semester. Or at least, until tomorrow.

            It would seem that I always start off my blog entries by griping about the weather in some form or another…but its constant volatility is as much of a key player in my daily life here as anything. By mid-morning today, Hurricane Galway had already morphed into something gorgeous, sunny, and brisk. Still windy as hell, but that’s to be expected. My Grandpa Bob told me once when I was a little kid that wind brings change, and he’s usually right…

            So, last week! It was one for the books. I’ve been on a mission lately to do things that scare me, or might otherwise make me want to curl into the fetal position and turn my phone on silent…I’m not talking walk-blindfolded-through-an-abandoned-mine-shaft scary, just going out of my comfort zone to accept invitations that I might not normally take. Tuesday took me to the Crane Bar, where I watched the trad music society from NUIG rock the socks off of a full pub. I sat in my little stoop on the windowsill, quickly becoming my regular spot, and watched as one person after another walked up and added their instrument to the mix. It was bliss. On Wednesday night, we wandered around in search of dancing, and ended up at Massimo’s salsa night—a crowded, dimly lit mob of European exchange students salsa dancing to the tune of a ten-piece, live Cuban band. Needless to say, I was in heaven. The strangest part about it was that there were hardly any Irish people there…which made perfect sense to my roommates, when I told them. “Have you seen the way the Irish dance?” Yes, I told them. “And you’re surprised?”

            Guess not.

            On Thursday night, faced with the option of attending a meeting of Writer’s Society or staying in and organizing my sock drawer (which presented me with less opportunities for possible humiliation), I sucked it up and went to the meeting… and I am so, so, SO glad I did. Here were all the romantic, intelligent, unwashed Irish poets that I’d been waiting to encounter! I walked in the room a complete stranger, and left with some of the most hilarious friends I’ve met thus far. For hours, they all just sat in a circle, passing around pieces of their personal writing to be picked apart and celebrated and discussed. We did on-the-spot writing exercises and read them out loud in funny voices. The whole time, I felt as though every sense in my body was electrified…just dying to absorb this scene, and all the people in it. One of the heads of the society met up with me the next day, after I spent the entire morning reading The Third Policeman and drinking coffee in Café Luna, and he gave me a walking tour of his favorite spots in the city. Like most Irish people I’ve encountered so far, most of the landmarks were prefaced by “so here’s the spot I cracked my head on the sidewalk…” or “and here’s the spot I stole a rickshaw!”—and it was one of the most entertaining afternoons I’ve had yet.

            Then came Saturday, and with it, the 2010 edition of the Americans-take-Galway-City Pub Crawl/Scavenger Hunt. As you might imagine, anything with the words “pub crawl” in the title isn’t exactly my area of expertise, but lucky for me, I had a team of champions. Out of the three teams, we weren’t the most competitive—Maggie, are you out there? Aren’t you glad you gathered those 12,833,872,756,761 coasters?—but we definitely had the best spirit. I had forgotten how completely ridiculous and wonderful scavenger hunts can be. When else do you have complete authority to walk up to strangers and ask them to dance with you, simply on the basis that they have ginger hair? Throughout the course of the day, Erin, Nick, Kerry and I received a traditional performance of an Irish song, were shown the bare belly of a man who was about to be married, were given a 100-year-old recipe for potato cakes from a man who looked to have been around at the recipe’s inception, went knee-deep in the Galway Bay, and hit close to 20 pubs. Needless to say, I will never, never forget it. There aren’t really words to describe how fun it was, so I’ll have to leave it at that… beautiful, silly, and indescribable.  

            Since the weekend, I’ve spent a lot of time on my own just wandering around the city and seeing where my legs will take me. I sat by the water for a long, long time the other day, just watching the birds and feeling immensely grateful for the green grass and crisp air (needless to say, this was before monsoon season hit.) There’s this delicious, smoldering energy creeping up in my stomach lately—I’m not sure exactly what I want to do with it yet, but it’s there. It’s new. For now, I’m just doing the best I can to do the things that are out of my comfort zone—whether it be throwing myself into a brand new group of people, or just ordering tea in Áras Na Gaeilge, where we’re forced to speak Irish. Did I mention I am a complete blockhead when it comes to speaking Irish? I’m doing the best I can, but when the nice little lady in the hairnet asked me what I wanted to order, I almost peed my pants out of sheer terror.

            On that note, I’m signing off for now—of all the things I could do to frighten myself on this particular evening, I think that journeying down to the kitchen in search of food is right up there at the top of the list. Last time I was down there, the floor was covered Tabasco sauce.  

            Slán go fóill!