Voyage of the Black Phoebe: Kinvara on Galway Bay

Day Eight and a Half and Day Nine: June 10 after Sean's visit, and June 11

Kinvara at low tide

We left Sean and Cashel on Wednesday afternoon and stopped in Tipperary at the Family Heritage Center where we gave over our information on family so far, payed our 44 euro, and left shortly after they promised that they would get back to us soon with information by email. We headed for Kinvara on the southwest shore of Galway Bay. The distances are very short and it took less than two hours. We drove mostly on blissfully modern wider highways. I spent much less time in a state of panic. Things are getting more normal.

Kinvara is a beautiful very small town with a quay and a tidal change of some ten feet. We arrived at low tide when all the boats are mired instead of moored. Some of them leaned aground away from the quay and some leaned against it. I wondered how a boat decided which way to rest on any given day.

Again and everywhere and without fail Irish people would strike up long, helpful, friendly discussions if you gave them any opening. A couple on a bench by the quay had recommendations on where to stay in Ballyvaughan, how to get a bargain on LivingSocial.com, what to do in Galway, and what they thought of their place in Irish and American history. Almost every conversation imparted more facets to stories of oppression, tolerance, civil war, and where each narrator's family stood in the discussion, and thus what was their identity.

After dinner, we walked along the quay until it came to a private estate with a stile for local walker's access. We passed a beautiful garden and lawn and walked to the point. We sat and just stared at this pretty place for an hour. Heading back to the B and B we noticed a long grey-haired man (they don't bother with a ponytail like Steve's) carrying a fiddle into a pub called Tully's. Steve took note.

I haven't bothered to mention so far that being on my feet for ten to twelve hours a day, hiking, birding, castle stair-climbing, and often standing talking to people on the streets or in the shops or in city parks, or on tours has led to a condition that I used to only get when I bicycled too much. My knees are stiff and inflamed. Especially the left. I knew I needed a day of feet up in our nice Kinvara Guesthouse B and B. So for me late Day Eight and all of Day Nine was a day and a half of rest, reading, and writing the two previous blog entries.

I tried to get Steve to guest blog this period and save me the work. But he lazily, I mean wisely, believes the blog should stay in my voice.

So I will now report on a story that I, unfortunately, did not get to witness. That first night in Kinvara Steve went back to Tully's Pub and left me all tucked into bed. He listened to the small session of traditional music of tin whistle, fiddle, guitar, button accordion, and Irish bouzouki (made in Poland), that was playing there. He asked the bar-woman why no bar had any other dark beer than Guinness. She told him that Guinness has a policy of not selling you their beer if you carry any other company's stout. Well that puts a damper on variety! Before leaving Tully's Steve thanked the musicians for their music and said that he played some himself. The group insisted that he come back to our B and B and get his mandolin. Which he did, my brave boy. The group was actually a musical group, the core of them are a group called Failte, and Maeve Kelly the whistle player and leader is from a well-known group called Fling. Steve was immediately asked to start a set. He managed quite well, and played two tunes that the others didn't know and that they thanked him for and said they would put in their repertoire. I am proud of Steve, he has definitely come a long way with the mandolin.

Dunguaire Castle restored in the 1950s, now a Medieval Feast event place.

From the parapet

After visiting the restored Dunguaire castle in walking distance of the town, Steve spent most of the next day basically playing his mandolin. He chose a bench in the quay-side green to practice. An older English couple walked over to him and asked if they could photograph him sitting there playing, Steve said yes. They took his photo and got back into their car and left. They didn't stay for even one tune. I think Steve is picturesque as well, especially with his green vest, mandolin and ponytail.

When he brought me a grocery lunch, he later chose an empty lounge in the B & B for the rest of the afternoon to play in. No more paparazzi. We had a nice dinner, butternut squash soup and a salad with beaucoup de blue cheese at the pub across the street —Keogh's. The pubs were so packed and the sessions so impenetrable in the two pubs in town that night. There were no seats for my tired body either so we just opened our room balcony window and listened at night from there.

Here is our wonderful window. This was my world on Thursday and there were great pickings of life— vignettes of urgent activity—secretly viewed from my tower keep.