Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Day One
I know I drive my wife nuts. It must be some weird Irish custom that is deeply embedded in the genetic code. Every time I get ready for a trip, especially a trip overseas, I do what I call my “death clean.” I have this overwhelming urge to clean the house spotless. All dishes done, all dried and in the cupboard. All the trash and recycling out and in the alley. All carpets vacuumed and all specks of dust removed. I guess in the back of my mind, I hear the turn of the key in the door and the people coming in, mournful over my untimely loss. Then I hear the gasp as they survey a house totally undone and unkempt. “Oh, I thought he was such a good, clean man,” I hear them say. “Now we know; NOW, WE KNOW!” The prospect of such an indictment makes me get the house looking as good as I can get it, before I leave with Annie’s and my carefully weighed luggage off to O’Hare and on to Ireland.
We meet the FitzGeralds and Arnolds at the airport. Nick, our drummer, has been patiently waiting for us as we finally pay off the cabby and run into the international terminal. There we meet all the other people for the tour and hand out the special Switchback hoodies that were made just for this tour. It is a big tour that we are bringing to Ireland this year, about 60 people who are coming not only from the US, but Japan, Serbia, and Canada. It’s a wonderful affirmation that our music is reaching out to people from around the world. I can’t think of a better place to meet those people than here at the “home base” of Ireland.
The plane takes off from O’Hare and I switch on the screen on the seat in front of me to see where we are traveling. “You are such a geek,” says my wife Annie, who is watching some melodrama on her screen. But I am watching the flight for several reasons, mainly to time when I need to “sleep” on the plane. Usually that takes place after dinner, when others are settling into their films. The secret of east-bound flying is to get as much sleep as possible to cheat the body’s internal clock when you arrive six hours ahead of the time it is keeping.
But I am delayed over Canada. There is a dramatic electric storm outside the window. The thunderheads light up across the sky. We are cruising several thousand feet above them. One brain-shaped cloud pulses with light, like neurons sparking with some illuminating rumination of a thunder-being. It is powerful in its aspect and the modern 21st century planes pay homage by skirting around the front, their contrails and outlines sporadically made visible by the sharp flashes of light.
So after the light display I concentrate on dinner, which of course in airline-speak is always “chicken or beef?” One of these days, I long to hear “leg of lamb or rainbow trout?” but I am afraid that this will never happen. I am now attempting a gluten-free existence, so that quickly rules out half of what has been presented to me. But no fear, I find enough to make a satisfactory meal and then pull out my eye-patch and ear plugs and attempt to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in the economy section of the plane.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Day Two
We land early in Dublin. The airport has finally completed its remodeling after years of our watching the construction. I am impressed, but our drivers Mick and Dave are a bit more jaundiced about the whole layout of the place. “It doesn’t cater to moving people,” Dave says. And I have to agree as we trundle out of the airport and have to walk a good distance, luggage in tow, to board the coaches. But that is not even a slight concern of our group as we happily pull our belongings, stow them with the help of our drivers, and begin again traveling down an Irish road.
We stop once in Longford and I am surprised and happy to see that the Paddy Keenan Banjo Festival is underway. Our friends Jeff and Vida from New Orleans regularly play the event, but they are not on the list for this year. Still several bands from the States, Canada, Ireland, and elsewhere are converging to celebrate the African instrument. The main thing we are aware of in Longford is watching for the stray splotches of doggie-doo that pepper the sidewalks. That’s hard to navigate on jet-lag, but after a good cappuccino, we are ready to head to Mayo.
Our driver Dave does a wonderful job of describing the Irish landscape and history, but he is pretty wise to well-worn Yanks and soon, in spite of our best intentions, the majority of us are dozing on the bus as we roll across the midlands of Ireland. We arrive in Westport, County Mayo around 3 p.m. and get settled into the Clew Bay Hotel. We haven’t stayed here before, but it is a wonderful place with a lot of space and a great, welcoming staff. Maggie, Annie, Takeshi, Brian and I decide to take a walk around the town and are very happy to see that the picturesque Croagh Patrick has shed her shroud of clouds, except for one trailing bit that looks like a feather boa being teased by a dancer. We aim to climb her this tour. Our hope is that we can reach the top on Sunday, but that remains to be seen.
We head back into town and who do we see but Joannie Madden of the group Cherish the Ladies. We have shared the stage with Joannie only once, performing a concert for the Northwest Indiana Symphony. But we had a great rapport, and with Joannie, a true professional musician, it only takes once to make a friendship. We welcome each other on the street and talk about meeting at Matt Malloy’s on Sunday. She is on tour with her group, playing a string of dates throughout Ireland. “Not much pay,” she says, “but a bit of craic.” Knowing Cherish the Ladies, that is an understatement on both accounts.
Our dinner at Clew Bay Hotel was wonderful. I had baked cod, resting on a light bed of potatoes, and supplemented by a savory mix of baked cabbage and carrots. That, along with a great smoked chicken salad and a fantastic dessert of ice cream, profiteroles, jello, and cheesecake made a more-than-sufficient welcome to Ireland. The tour group is very happy and seems extremely excited about the opportunities that await them over the next few days.
Michael Feeney, who is helping coordinate our concerts in Castlebar, stopped by the pub to go over logistics for the next two nights. A Member of the British Empire, he has spearheaded a campaign to bring honor to all the Irish citizens who sacrificed their lives for freedom. Throughout history, many of those served in armies from other countries, including the U.S. Army. Michael has helped find these graves of soldiers who have been buried in absolute anonymity and bring a dignified acknowledgment of their sacrifice for freedom. Many a Mayo soldier has fought and died in wars over the centuries. For this a beautiful Peace Park has been created in Castlebar. Tomorrow night, we will do a benefit to help raise money to help Michael and his folks continue the campaign to bring dignity and respect to these selfless soldiers. One person he tells me about is a Catholic priest, who entered as an army chaplain in the British Army during WWI. He persuaded the draft board to take him in lieu of his brother, who would be the only one to take care of their mother. This priest was killed on the last day of the Great War. He was returned to Ireland but was buried in an unmarked grave. For almost 100 years, he has laid, unknown and unhonored. But Michael and other volunteers have helped bring about acknowledgment through their work. So tomorrow, we play for these volunteers and indirectly for those others who have given the ultimate sacrifice.
Stay tuned for more installments of Marty's Ireland Journal!
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