Febuary 13-15
I spent this past weekend in the beautiful environs of the town of Carna, Co. Galway located in the wilds of Connemara. The trip was an optional part of my Beginner's Irish class, as Carna is part of the Connemara (Galway) Gaeltacht. Galtacht is the term used for areas of Ireland where Irish is still spoken daily by at least some of the residents. As we learned during our short information session shortly after arriving, the area around Carna is one of the strongest Gaeltachts in the country with 75% of its natives speaking Irish on a regular basis. The opportunity extended to the Irish-learning students was an immersion weekend in the Gaeltacht in order to experience the language outside the classroom, in its natural habitat so to speak.
Initially I was nervous about going on the trip because I felt that I hadn't learned enough Irish to be immersed in it. Along with other budgeting concerns, I barely made the deadline for the trip, turning my slip in on the very last day. Looking back over the weekend, I am so glad that I decided to go.
The bus picked us up outside the quad at 5pm on Friday. As I was walking up, a bus pulled away and passed me, immediately making me nervous of course by convincing me I had just missed my ride. I looked over at the entrance to the quad though and saw some people that I at least recognized as other American students even if none of them were from my class. Two minibuses stood by and shortly after I arrived we were split between them. Unfortunately since there were multiple drop-off points, some of which were closer together than others, we were packed into that bus like sardines.
The ride took about an hour and a half, and I think the bus driver managed to find the bumpiest roads in the country which was amusing (seeing as I was on the inside rather than the aisle seat). The views, what we could see of them through fogged glass and before the sun set, well made up for the discomfort of the driver. I actually managed to get several gorgeous shots before having to put my phone down and close my eyes due to a motion-induced headache. (Luckily I had the forethought to take motion-sickness medicine before leaving).
Ok so maybe only the second is really a good shot but I like the light in the third.
It was full dark before the bus stopped anywhere, When it did we all kind of looked at each other not really knowing what to do, Were we all getting off? The bus driver then stood and listed off ten names after which those called left the bus; this was apparently their host house. I was surprised when so many got off at once; the house didn't look big enough! The list we had received with rooming assignments had had several of us grouped together, but I'd figured it was just weird formatting. When we stopped a second time, my name was called along with nine other girls. We all disembarked and walked up to a door which was opened by a woman who looked to be in her sixties.
She introduced herself as Eileen and welcomed us before directing us upstairs. We all trooped up the stairs with our luggage and showed us the two rooms we would be staying in. In each there were two bunk beds and a standalone, housing five all together. It was snug, but cheerily decorated and quite comfortable. Eileen told us to make ourselves comfortable as dinner still had a few minutes to go. It was interesting because as the program was through the Irish program, I only knew two of the girls I was staying with. Actually, I only knew two on the whole trip. I lucked out though because we all got along pretty well and I met some cool new nerd friends. :P
#priorities
(yes I just hashtagged mid-post...cultural brainwashing and all that jazz),
Having finished our relative feast of stew, potatoes, and carrots, not to mention the bottomless tea, we sat and waited for the bus to come pick us up again. It took us to Áras Shorcha Ní Ghuairim which is actually a language-learning outpost of NUIG itself. We were given itineraries for the weekend and then enlightened about the gaeltachts. We then were introduced to sean-nós song and dance. Sean-nós is traditional-style Irish music and dance both of which vary somewhat from region to region. Carna has a strong history for being a center of both singing and dancing in this style. We watched a video featuring one of the most famous sean-nós singers, Joe Heaney or Seosamh Ó hÉeanaí.
Here's an example of his singing:
As a side note, they taught us this song which was kind of cool. I love hearing a room full of strangers joined in singing, it's pretty awesome to hear the voices grow stronger and blend once people start to learn. After the video we listened to some traditional music, played with great skill by musicians who looked like they were about 14-16.
I should also point out that during the whole evening, all the residents present spoke in Irish to one another. It was pretty cool (as well as daunting) to hear how quickly they spoke to one another. Seeing the language spoken by the young people was especially interesting to me; after writing a paper last year about the death, revitalization, and slow dying of Irish last year it's cool to see that it's still hanging on. I was also excited to find that I could pick out words and phrases here and there in their conversations such as: "go raibh maith agad" which is 'thank you'.
Once the musicians were warmed up, we saw some examples of sean-nós dancing which is stylistically different than Irish dancing. All of the dancers we saw were national champions; two of them were brothers, the youngest of which made champion at age 15. As they described it, sean-nós dancing differs from Irish dancing in a few ways. For one thing there is no kicking or lifting of the legs. In sean-nós the feet stay near the ground and the steps drive a lot of force into the ground. Furthermore, the torso and arms are much more relaxed than in Irish dancing. (I have video footage that I was going to post, but I don't have the names of the dancers and therefore feel uncomfortable doing so. Instead YouTube once more comes to the rescue)
At one point one of the dancers got all 30 of us present onto the little stage and gave us a brief tutorial on one of the basic steps in sean-nós dancing, the "shuffle". It was difficult to do in such a small space, but I was able to do it. After practicing for a bit we "shuffled" to music which was cool. Even cooler was the fact that when our instructor told the accordion player "go mall é" I understood him. In this case he was telling the accordionist to play slower for us.
As part of the evening we were also privileged to hear Joe Heaney's grand-niece (he was originally from the area around Carna) sing a traditional piece in the sean-nós style. She had a beautiful voice and the song she sang was unbelievably haunting. We were then taught the song I posted above. What I found interesting was that while there was some semblance of a program outline, it was pretty loose. After we'd sung as a group, the Emcee for the evening asked if anyone else would sing a song. At first no one spoke up, but we ended up hearing a lullaby from Maine and another American folk song, as well as a Dutch song from one of the other international students. All in all it was a fun evening.
Even though we didn't get back to Eileen's until after 11pm, we all gathered in her kitchen to drink tea, eat biscuits, and chat. Like I said, bottomless tea is a beautiful thing here. As everyone settled into bed, four of the five girls (myself included) pulled out journals to jot down the day's events. It was oddly comfortable to hear all around me the scratch of pens and the turning of pages. It also encouraged me to actually write down what had happened that day which I've gotten out of the habit of doing.
The next morning we had to be in class at 9:30, so we were up by 8:30 to eat breakfast. Not only was there different types of cereal for us to choose from, but Eileen had made an abundance of toast as well as boiled each of us an egg. I personally was nervous because even though everyone had essentially been speaking to us in English up until this point, the point was immersion, so I was sure that class would be all in Irish. That ended up not being the case. I think perhaps we were not quite at the level that our teacher was expecting because we ended up reviewing some and going over more basic concepts in English first. The teacher wasn't upset though, which was great, and he gave us a lot of tips for our oral exams at the end of the semester. As much as I like my Irish instructor Fiona, I 300% wish that Dáithí was my regular instructor. I feel like I learned so much more this weekend than I have in the classroom since the semester started. Dáithí also constantly made jokes and musical references and made fun of himself, thus making the atmosphere 10x more comfortable.
Halfway through the morning we had a wonderful tea break. This was nice because not only were tea and digestives involved, but I also got to talk to some of the students from the other Irish classes. Furthermore we got to use a little bit of Irish when talking to the tea server.
Fully refreshed, we returned to class and learned more Irish including the correct pronunciation of "Óró 'sé do Bheatha bhaile" as well as the meaning.
We returned to Eileen's for lunch before our activities for the afternoon.
The bus picked us up once again at 2:15 and headed back to the school. It turned out that this was not where we were supposed to be though, because the bus driver got off and back on within five minutes before whisking us back in the direction we'd just come. We ended up driving past the same hills from the night before, but this time we had a better view. The pictures I was able to take before getting sick again don't do justice to the ruggedness of the landscape. I knew before visiting that Connemara was the some of the rockiest land on the island, but you really can't visualize it until you see it in reality. It was so hauntingly rugged and desolate even with blue skies and sunshine.
Eventually we pulled into the Kylemore Abbey parking lot. I was rather surprised because the itinerary we'd received had said that we would be visiting a famine road (though what that was I had no clear idea). It turned out that the Abbey was merely a convenient meeting place where the Masters class students were waiting for us in another bus, (They had been on a morning hike while we were in class). After a short bathroom/stretch-your-legs break, we got back on the bus and drove to our actual destination, Kilary Harbour.
It happened that our guide for the afternoon had gotten our bus so the remainder of our trip was very factual. As we were driving through the hills he told us all about how their all owned privately by those whose farms lie at the bottom. He also pointed out nineteenth century potato ridges which are still visible on the slopes (I have some pictures later). We even passed the highest point in Connemara the peak of which was shrouded in cloud. Finally we stopped at a seemingly random point on the side of the road and were told to go ahead and get off, leaving all unnecessary articles behind. There was some shaking-of-heads at this because many people had bags or purses with them. We were assured though, that the bus drivers would be with the vehicles at all times during our absence so there was nothing to worry about. Furthermore, we were instructed that it was important for us to keep our hands free during our trek.
Now this in itself was surprising because in all the information we'd been given regarding the outing (both in Carna and back in Galway) the intimation had been that we would be participating in a country walk. Even our "what to bring" list said to wear walking shoes. However hands-free-for-safety bespoke something more intense than walking. Luckily I had my hiking boots on, so I was mostly excited by the possibility of climbing.
When we got out of the bus, the harbour was on our left. This was my first view:
And this was the view of where we were headed:
(the telephone poles mark the path we followed)
Instead of a sedate country jaunt, we found ourselves climbing up the side of a hill. It wasn't quite as intense as it looks though; we were mostly just walking at an angle along this rocky pass. The biggest issue was that we were walking on bogland, so we had to make sure that we found the driest places to step so we didn't slip or sink. Concentration test! Plus we stopped at every other pole which was a helpful rest. At each stop, our guide Micheal (who is an archaeologist) would tell us a lot of the history of the area.
According to Michael, Kilary Harbour was on of the foremost smuggling ports on the west coast of Ireland in the eighteenth century. The residents of the area, one of the poorest areas in the country, were said to be essentially living in hovels but drinking the best wine in the country because they could get it duty free. There was apparently a very steady wool-for-wine trade at the time. 
I actually remembered to have someone take pictures of me this trip :)
We also learned that this area of Connemara in particular was on of the hardest hit during the potato famine (1845-1852). Michael told as a story about how the landed gentry of the area (the house still stands on the opposite hill from where we were and is still owned by descendants) had a private shipment of food etc. sailed into the harbour because there was no food there. However, the starving islanders at the opening of the harbour hijacked the ship for survival. According to Michael it became common practice for islanders to turn pirate; he also told us that there were recorded incidents of cannibalism because people had nothing else to eat.
I love this picture because you can actually see the ridges that people made to plant their potatoes which eventually led them to grief. The fact that they still exist for us to actually see after 175 years completely mind-boggles me. The land still bears the scars, a physical memento of the tragedy that laid waste the lives of thousands.
When we reached the top of the pass, we were looking down into a gorgeous river valley surrounded by hills:
We figured that we would just be walking down the other side, in other words walking in the direction the camera is facing.....we were wrong.
Behold, our path....upward:
Before we'd even left the buses, Michael made it very clear that anybody who was afraid of heights should tell him then. Some of you who know me, *cough* Mom *cough* are probably wondering why I didn't say anything. I'm pretty sure I'm not really afraid of heights anymore, as long as there's no super imminent feeling of falling. (I still am not a fan of stadium stairs at the Xcel or Target center). I kind of like heights actually. (Tiny firetowers are another story). So when Michael offered us the option of going up, I was excited. I like climbing rocks. That being said, climbing this part was the only point on our excursion that I was scared. At the same time though, the adrenaline was wicked :P There were a couple of near misses with me grabbing hold of loose rocks, but luckily there were strong tufts of grass that sufficed.
The views from the top of the ridge were 100% worth the intensity.
Aaaand this was looking back down where we'd come from:
Look how tiny that telephone pole is...
It turned out that the river valley we were looking down into was actually the only fjord in Ireland. So I can now say that I have climbed the side of a fjord. Cool points, yo.
The day was absolutely beautiful and we were able to see everything around us. Michael told us that a lot of the times he makes the climb with people the views are hazy with rain or mist and that we seriously lucked out. The sun also meant that it wasn't freezing, even at the top of the ridge; I was just fine in my Irish sweater :).
Going back down this side was a little bit more interesting than coming up. We zig-zagged back toward the bay, and by no means was the descent as steep as coming up, but the bogland was more prevalent which made slippage more of a possibility not to mention stepping in invisible puddles beneath apparently solid ground. Even in my "water-proof" hiking boots, my feet were wet by the time we got to the bottom, and most people had either sneakers or fashion boots on. Talk about being unprepared by the organizers. (Even though I had my boots on I was pretty bummed because my packing-light philosophy excluded another pair of shoes so basically I was looking at the rest of the weekend with wet feet because said boots are a pain to dry). As we climbed back down to the bay again I took many many pictures, including shots of the sheep that ran rampant (we literally saw one galloping down the ravine after its fellows baaing all the way) on the ridge. However I will not bore you with them. (see Facebook [eventually] for further details).
View looking from the top of the ridge over the bay
Ok so I had to add one sheep shot (hehe)
I don't think you can see it in any of the pictures, but Michael pointed out Clare Island to us (past the land that juts out on the far right in the above lefthand picture) which has ties to Grace O'Malley (Gráinne Ní Mháille). Grace, who lived during the sixteenth centuries, was one of the most badass woman pirates. While I don't condone killing and violence, she was awesome in the way that she took control of and strongly defended the land of her clans as well as going head to head with Queen Elizabeth I at one point. Thus, seeing this island connected with her, even from a far, was pretty awesome for me.
When we finally reached the road again, we found ourselves no more than two hundred feet from where the bus had left us. All the twisting and turning had me seriously disoriented!. We started to walk along the road in search of the buses, or so we thought, I tend to walk fast, so I was up by Michael when he turned off the road onto another path leading back in the direction we'd initially climbed (opposite that of the bay), so basically back inland.
Remember when I said that we had the option of climbing up when we got to the top of the pass? Well three of the participants opted to follow the pass down the other side to the famine road we were meant to see and walk along that way back toward the bay as an easier option. (I should mention now that when were were on our way down, Michael had directed one of the guys [Pat] to take a more direct [therefore steeper and more dangerous] route down to the road to meet up with the ones who had taken the famine road),
Anyway, when Michael turned off the driving road, he was heading us back toward the famine road a) so that we could see it better and b) so that we could meet up with the others. At this point the sun was starting to get lower in the sky and therefore the temperature was dropping. When we got to a good spot to see the famine road, Michael stopped us to tell us the history of it, all the while keeping his eye on the three tiny figures making their way along it in the distance.
The Famine Relief Road (grey line a couple of cm above water line)
Now to finally explain what a famine road (or more particularly a famine relief road) is. When I heard "famine road", I guess I believed that it was a road that famine survivors traveled on to get to the harbour and thus to boats which would take them elsewhere. I think this was partially because there's a memorial on the bank of Galway bay to the sailors of ships that evacuated famine victims. I figured this was the same sort of thing. Then when I heard that it was a famine relief road, I thought maybe it meant a road that was traversed by outside parties, bringing food and supplies to the suffering Irish of the area. I was wrong again. The actual function was a bit more depressing to my mind.
It turns out that the famine roads were the British solution (for lack of a better word) to the famine crisis. It was a public works project implemented to try and get income to the families who had no money because their crops had failed. The government would hire the men of the area for a pittance to essentially build a road to nowhere. The road was never meant to be finished, so when the public works programs were shut down, all construction simply stopped. Michael told us how while the lucky ones worked below, the unlucky ones sat atop the ridge looking down waiting for the current workers to collapse. It felt morbid standing there ogling this tragic site, but at the same time I didn't quite get that intense "OMG history" feeling; too many people around.
What is so amazing to me though is the fact that this is still here untarnished. I don't know if the area where we were is protected or just not developed because of the terrain, but it's just astounding to me. In the US we have battlefields and houses to visit, but this reminder is once again part of the physical landscape. It's just there.
After telling us the history, Michael returned his attention to the approaching figures while everyone else chatted comfortably. It was about this point though, that Michael pointed out that there were only three figures one the road. Pat was not visible at all. I could tell that Michael was worried; all the way down he'd been very particular about people sticking close and not getting lost, and here was a missing student who could potentially be lost on the hill or could have fallen etc. Everyone started making jokes, I think everyone was uneasy, but one Irish student told his friend not to jest because it was really not good if Pat was lost. Luckily one of the girls from his class had his number and Michael was able to call him. It turned out that he was back with the buses. He'd met up with the road-walkers but had gone on ahead to see how far they had yet to go. When he saw the distance, he for some reason climbed back up to where we'd left him originally and then back down to the bay like we had.
As I mentioned before, I have a genetic sunset-photographing problem
Everyone appropriately accounted for, we made our way back to the buses and turned back toward Carna. We'd all settled in for a less-than-restful jouncy ride back, when two of the older students reminded Michael that the itinerary had promised a look at the remnants of a 4,000 year-old forest. We were severely behind schedule at this point, all that waiting etc, but we detoured anyway. I wasn't going to get out, at that point I was pretty fed up with bog-walking, but hey..history right? This was a little different because we actually climbed down into a bog where people had been cutting turf, so that was pretty cool to see. Plus, after all the Erin Hart books I've read about bog bodies (seriously, you all need to read her books if you like murder mysteries) I couldn't quite resist taking a peek. (Michael actually even mentioned bog bodies at one point...)
Anyway, these stumps, which look like stumps, are actually the preserved remnants of 4,000 year-old trees. Talk about shivers! (Although they may have been more to do with the fact that at any point a misstep would have resulted in sinking steadily into the bog).
The ride back to Carna was pretty quiet as everyone was tired. We were once again left on Eileen's doorstep like lost puppies hungry for food. It was a great feeling taking off the boots, but I ended up keeping the damp socks on because since we were going out again, there was no point in getting my other pair wet too. Luckily for me (and it turned out for everyone) Eileen had a range in her kitchen so I was able to dry and warm my feet. It was lucky for everyone else as well, because we ended up leaving our boots and shoes by it all night so they were nice and dry the next morning. We had delicious chicken, rice, and curry for dinner (actually a fairly common dinner here as far as I can tell). Eileen offered to wash and dry everyone's socks and wet slacks, and then her daughter went and offered us the use of her shoe collection so we all had dry feet for our evening activities.
This ended up being a sean-nos dance workshop. I'm not going into great detail here because it turns out that I was not able to do said type of dancing. I grew extremely frustrated because I could hear the beat in the music and could do the "shuffle step" at a slower pace, but when I put the two together my feet wouldn't listen. Our teachers were the brothers from the night before, and it probably didn't help that the cute one would try to help me; dude screwed up my concentration. My issues were a) i couldn't figure out how to shift my weight from foot to foot quickly enough and b) my legs wanted to kick out rather than just "shuffle". It required more control than I could muster while simultaneously remembering step sequences. Eventually I gave up (I'm a quitter, what can I say...did the same thing with Irish dancing at age 4) and went to talk to one of my new friends.
Once dancing was finished, the plan was to go to the pub so that we could practice our Irish. Not to worry, we'd learned how to order pints earlier that week in class. Priority language-learning covered. As it turned out though, the pub that the majority of the group had decided on (there are two in town which allows one to see priorities in a town so small) was the one that had loud music nightly and thus offered limited options for Irish -speaking. I had a good time though, drinking my Guinness, listening to a weird combination of rock-country-Irish folk and chatting with some of the other people in the other Irish classes.
Even though we had a later start the next morning, most of the girls staying at Eileen's were ready to head back after one drink. As luck would have it (I really need to get a thesaurus), Eileen lived lite
Sunday morning followed the same pattern as Saturday with the added confusion of everyone trying to gather their belongings together as we would be leaving for Galway directly after class. It is amazing how in the span of 48 hours one's belongings can migrate to the furthest reaches of one's environment. Mostly the chaos was caused by the fact that five people were trying to maneuver in a tight space. The bus was slated to pick us up at 9:45, so after we were done eating everyone kind of milled around the kitchen and the front hallway so as not to be caught off guard.
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| Candid lol |
Two of the girls and myself enjoyed a lively conversation regarding the various fandoms we belong to, a conversation prolonged by the fact that the driver didn't get to us until almost 10:15; Irish time at work again.
Our class on Sunday went much the way Saturday had gone, with Dáithí speaking to us a little more in Irish than he had the day before. We also had a little more time to speak with one another which was challenging. It's a lot harder learning a language that is not spelled phonetically (as opposed to Spanish to a large extent). When we're taught pronunciation, I always write it out phonetically.While this helps me pronounce things correctly, it also means that I don't pay as close attention to the actual spelling. Thus when my partner would ask me questions I struggled figuring out what he said even though they were written on the sheet I held in my hand. We learned a bunch more phrases etc. to help us on our exam. Plus Dáithí gave us a sheet of Irish proverbs with their translations and helped us learn how to say them. Again we had a tea break, which while tasty would actually come back to haunt me later in the day.
It was cool when I left the building though (the tea was in another part of the complex across the street from where classes were) because for a few moments I was alone. One girl was walking ahead of me but she was far enough away that it amounted to the same thing. For a moment it was silent, there were no cars, no chattering students, nothing. It was one of those days that can only be described as "Irish" (the picture doesn't do it justice):
For a few moments I was able to find my Ireland again, something I've been struggling with since I got here. It's hard sometimes to remember that I'm actually here even with all the accents; it gets to the point where you barely hear them. And living in the city is not that much different. The other side of it is that My Ireland is something that is purely mine and like so many other things I need to be alone, able to enter my mind, in order to feel it again. It made the day all the more beautiful (though I'm sure others would term the day unsavory).
As the time once again began to run out on our class, Dáithí asked us what we wanted to do since this extra learning was our choice. One of the students asked if we could go through "Óró 'sé do Bheatha bhaile" again. It was really funny because no body really could do the lyrics so we all sort of stumbled and mumbled through those lines, but everyone would chime in loud and proud on the refrain. Then the girl who had sung the Maine lullaby on Friday night tried to coax another girl to sing "The Parting Glass" with her. They only got through the first verse and chorus before getting lost, but it was still cool to sing along with them as it is one of my favorites. Dáithí then asked if anyone else would like to sing. No one offered, so he expanded the options to poetry, or "anything you like...a rap!" *cue audience chuckle. (I have a good memory but not that good. I just listened to the recording I made of our class...posterity and educational benefits). Someone launched into the "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" theme song and it was pretty impressive to hear a bunch of people join in and recite it from memory. Even more impressive though was Dáithí's rap in freaking Irish that he treated us to when the others had finished. Thank the music gods I was recording, I'll have that for life now haha.
I learned much over the weekend, but most amazing to me was the strong evidence of the Irish attitude toward music and more importantly sharing it. Music is a gift to be shared with others, I've seen it during the sessions in Galway when fifteen musicians will gather to play together fro the craic rather than to perform, and I saw it in Carna in the way people were asked off-handedly to share a song. There is a complete love for music I've never experienced before. Maybe it's because the music is so strong in Carna that I saw it, but it's amazing. I know in the US people love music and will get together and jam with their instruments and what not, but we'd never be at a gathering and just go around sharing songs. It hearkens back to simpler times and the traditions run strong. It doesn't even matter what you share, as evidence of a theme song being presented; it just matters that everyone is able to express themselves. I don't know if I even explained that well, but it was astounding and awe-inspiring for me.
They bus ride back started out much the same way as all the others had. Although at this point I had some large bruises in the posterior from bouncing up and down so much, not to mention sore side muscles. Congratulations Ireland, you physically marked me. About ten minutes in though, the driver got a phone call and we doubled back intending to meet the other bus which had the rest of the students. That bus was packed to the gills, being smaller, and one girl was actually sitting on the floor of the bus. We doubled back to pick her up because she realized that there was no way she was going to be able to survive the curvy, bumpy roads on the hard floor. It's amazing how the road looked about 10x smoother than it felt. The rest of the trip went smoothly, despite a minor pit stop which may have been my fault (at least a few others got off as well so I didn't look like a complete idiot...stupid tea), and we reached Galway about 3 in the afternoon.
Upon arriving, we all went our separate ways and the little band that had been created out of shared experiences was no more. Waxing Tolkein much...
So that was my sort-of immersion experience,
Also, here is my favorite version of The Parting Glass:
P.S. The title is how you say hello in Irish:
"God be with you" and the response "Mother of God be with you"
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