Ennis It Wonderful?

Day Twenty-six: June 28^th

Ennis felt like a real town; one that isn’t catering to tourists but instead is a central focus for people from all over Co. Clare.  The manner in which it attracted huge crowds of Irish people searching for music, bachelorette parties, beers and food was not then also abandoned by the real needs for bedding, telephone accessories and groceries.  Everything is happening in Ennis. 

Except not so much by us.  This was the beautiful day in which we had breakfast, fell back asleep, woke again, read books, and eventually stumbled out of our room around 2:30. 

 The morning's big event, tea in the room

The only bit of touring included a long tour at the Friary, around which Ennis was originally built.  This 13^th century former Franciscan monastery and medieval church ruin was new in one aspect: in its having been roofed to protect the fine stone carvings. Most ruins we have toured were swinging in the wind, corroding with the rain, and deliquescing picturesquely stone by stone.  I cannot share the beauty of it all because I inadvertently erased all the photos from my phone.  You are probably better off.  Here is the one photo Steve took:  

The menacing spires are an Anglican re-branding from the eighteenth century

As we were walking to a coffee shop we heard a male voice shout “Monica!”  We just happened to be walking past the Old Ground Hotel, a sprawling maze of nice rooms on multiple half-levels where Steve’s sister Alida and and our brother-in-law Joe were staying.  They invited us to their room overlooking a Catholic elementary school and car park and thus began a night of epic whiskey consumption (for me at least).  We had skipped lunch—were it not for some Cashel blue cheese and crackers I might have fallen over within the hour.

We had seen earlier that a pub named Faffa’s was featuring Siobhan Peoples on violin on Sunday nights, which this was.  Daughter of Irish fiddle legend Tommy Peoples, she is quite well-known in her own right here and in the States as a consummate fiddler.  Steve had been advised to seek her music in Ennis.  Thankful for this strolling discovery and timing luck we showed up at the advertised time of 6PM.  A banjo player and button accordionist  arrived around 7:15 PM. 

Steve introduced himself and we chatted over Steve’s beer and my second whiskey.  When comparing American and Irish and other nationalities’ players, the banjo player commented that each culture reflects through their versions of Irish traditional tunes.  The Germans are metronomic, the Irish are looser and intentionally less perfect, and Americans tend to regiment their ornamentation into a precise replay of riffs that are admired .  He had toured the Pacific Northwest years ago with a band and had not really felt compelled to attend any sessions on his few days off from performance. 

Throughout the next hour’s arrivals of players to this popular session, a prime seat in the corner booth remained open.  Into it slid the bow and fiddle and person of Siobhan Peoples around 8:30.  The commanding swing into a maverick of musical waves was on.  There was one piper, two banjos, three flutes, two button accordionists, two whistles, one mandolin (Steve)—and in a tribute to her skill —only one fiddler, Ms. Peoples herself. 

 Siobhan Peoples arrives— and smiles too.

Whiskey number three was imbibed as the music took off.  Joe and Alida were with us, enjoying the scene.  We non-players were starving so we ordered pizza down the street and were permitted to consume it in a back room of the bar, not in the music area.  Steve took a break to fuel up too.   Taking a break is a dangerous thing in a popular session as you are apt to lose your seat.  Steve did ask one non-playing young man to return to him his stool and he kindly obliged. 

Good companions always, these two.

Steve in a version of lilting fast-paced musical heaven.

The music either got muddier and louder, or my brain got fuzzier and stupider (whiskey number four) as it began to sound more like a freeway overpass at rush hour than music to me.  Fresh air was non-existent.  Alida and I went for a walk and when we came back we found Steve talking to Joe, having lost his seat for good this time when he took a bathroom break.  This is one of the evil effects of too much Guinness.  While packing up his vintage Gibson into his relic of an original case Steve reported that this was one of the best nights yet of shared music.