Sligo, Fringe, Yay!

Yeah I'm behind again. I know, but I'm sure we are all used to it by now. So as I said I was on my way to Sligo and before I can get into the wild tale that was Sligo I must take a short aside to mention that I, recently, have been dating an Irishman and that is who I went to Sligo with and that is all the details on him for now.

Anyways so we went to Sligo for the weekend which is on the West coast of Ireland and the Irishman suggested that we go to Coney Island for the day. No, not the one in NY. Though apparently that is how the NY one got its name though I am skeptical as the two islands could not be more different. The island can be accessed by boat or by car when the tide is out by driving over the beach. We asked a taxi driver if he would drive us out and, to my surprise, he did. As we drove across I noticed that we were driving across a watery beach and the water seemed to be accumulating but as the taxi driver did not seem too bothered I decided not to worry too much. Once we got across the taxi let us off in front of the one and only pub on the island and a woman came out and said that the tide was coming in and if we wanted to get off the island we had better get back in the taxi. I, however, a girl of the desert whose knowledge of oceans and tides is limited said that we should stay on the island (having driven all the way out) and wait for the tide to go back out, because my concept of tides is that it would only be an hour or two. This is wrong. It was more like six hours. As soon as the taxi left it began to rain. Of course. So we took shelter in the pub where, over a whiskey, I began to realize what I had gotten us into. The tiny island only has two families living on it year round and is really a place where people go for the day or weekend in the summer. There was only the pub, no shops or restaurants, oh and this pub was also tiny and could maybe fit a dozen people at the very most. The local islanders soon realized that there were two strangers around and I think because I was American I received most of the attention.  One woman remarked on how long my hair is and asked if I plaited it. That means braid, right? Yes I can do that but nothing fancy. She then asked how I managed to stay so slim. I don't really have an answer for that. Except that I am a starving artist. I told her it was because I am not very good at cooking. This is only sort of true. Also, probably not really something you should say to an Irishwoman. She told me all I had to do was cook some mince with a bit of chopped up onion and garlic.  Why didn't I think of that?

The rain stopped and we went for a walk around the island. It was beautiful. Completely worth being trapped there for several hours. There were wild blackberries growing (which I helped myself to) and as there was no one else around it was very peaceful. I decided that when I am old I want to live on an island and go to the pub and make blackberry tarts and give silly girls weird advice. Except it would be nice if there was more than just a pub and maybe a bridge to access the island better.  After we walked around the whole island we went back to the pub where we met a few more locals who were all very kind. I noticed amongst all the different things tacked to the wall a list of people who had lost their lives at sea. This does not bode well, I thought. Finally, a lovely couple named Violet and George offered to drive us back across as the tide had made its way out. We all cramped into the front of their pickup truck and drove across the beach, which still had a good bit of water on it. I saw crabs scuttling away and big clumps of seaweed dragging along the sand. It was a relief to be back on dry land, my clothes never dried from being caught in the rain and my bones were frozen. As soon as we got back to the hotel I drew myself the hottest bath possible and stayed in till my skin turned pink. Next time I go to the island I will wear my wellies.

Now then, let's see. After that adventure I spent my week back in Dublin interning. I went to dinner (a free dinner no less) with my friend Mc. which he won through twitter and then we saw a play called Our Father which was part of the Fringe festival. The play is told through rap and rhyme and was really good. Hurray for good plays. Then it was my turn to work away on S.'s show in the Fringe. Last weekend we were in tech which is always fun horrendous. The show ran all last week, it was called Amy, I want to make you hard. S. and her friend wrote it based on their experiences of being a woman in Ireland and how that has shaped their lives. It is interesting to see what is similar about my childhood to their's and what is different. The show was well received and we had good audiences all week and I think S. should be very proud of her accomplishment. I was glad to be a part of it. I have also started working as a production assistant with S. on a show she is working on which will be in the Dublin Theatre Festival, so I have been very busy lately, which I enjoy, despite the fact that I am tired.

Well that's that! Thanks for reading!

On to September!

My boss came back from her holiday and we had quite the time scrambling in the office to get this seminar together that we held last weekend these things always come together at the last minute. Friday I drove up to Leitrim, in the west of the country and bordering the North, with K. blasting U2 and speeding getting stuck behind tractors through the country side. We met F. at the hotel where we were holding the conference and had a nice dinner. K. turned in for the night and F. and I chatted with the barman for a while. His name was Patrick (typical) and he told me that he used to live in New York but returned to Ireland to live the good, simple life on his farm of 160 acres with cattle and sheep. Unfortunately for many farmers (Leitrim is major farm land) they must work a second job to keep their farm going, hence Patrick the farmer was also Patrick the barman. F. told me earlier that everyone has a story. She is right, especially here in Ireland where the ability to spin a good tale seems to be encoded in their genes. When F. and I drove back we passed all these 1950's era cars (there must have been a car show somewhere) and it reminded me of how in some ways the rural parts of Ireland are like entering a time warp, which I find really interesting.

View from my hotel room. Rough, I know.

Our seminar was a smashing success! We had a group from Leitrim and a group from Belfast together, using drama to communicate their experiences with the Troubles. Obviously there were different perspectives but everyone was able to work together and try and see the other's perspective. When I tell people about the work Smashing Times does many fall into the stereotype that I am working with the IRA and the people have guns and it's dangerous. In reality our work, for the most part, is with ordinary people who were swept into the violence and politics caused by the Troubles.

As we come upon the ten year anniversary of 9/11 F. and I have been talking about the fact that one particular act of terrorism can become more prominent in world media than others. I am not undermining 9/11 in any way at all, it was an extremely tragic event and has probably affected my life much more than I realize, however, Ireland has seen acts of terrorism for decades that rarely receive any media attention. When I first moved here I was surprised by the amount of U.S. coverage that I see on the news and in the past week there have been so many special documentaries on 9/11 (I am not even sure they are made by U.S. companies) I have to turn off the tv. I do not see how reliving the event ten years later helps anyone, in fact, isn't this what the terrorists would have wanted? The world sitting behind their television paralyzed with fear when, instead, we should be communication with each other, connecting and sharing each other's pain/hope/fear/happiness. Is this not what makes us human? Alright, there's my food for thought, it's been on my mind anyways. (And now is when I get put on a government list) Just kidding! Don't you love the first amendment?

Anyways, it has been good to be back in Dublin or The Big Smoke as it is sometimes called. I am not sure why, maybe to do with all the factories that would have been here during the Industrial Revolution? Yeah history! I finally finished Ulysses! It is probably one of the most difficult pieces of literature I have read to date. I am still mulling over it though I have really enjoyed seeing all the places that Joyce referenced in the book around Dublin, most of them have a plaque on the wall. Now what should I read next? Part of me thinks it should be something easy, but I don't really like mindless reading. Although I don't think I'm ready for War and Peace yet.

Wednesday I went to the cinema, this is a popular past time here, I think perhaps because it rains all the time. I saw Fright Night with Colin Farrell who makes a good vampire. Fun fact Dracula was written by an Irishman whose name is slipping my mind at the moment. See? I managed to twist a silly film into my experience of Irish culture. I am a genius.

Speaking of genius I saw the most incredible, brilliant, amazing play last night! (Finally a positive review). If you are in Dublin and you are reading this than get off your stupid computer and go see this play. If you are elsewhere allow me to elaborate. The Dublin Fringe Festival is upon us and my friend S. told me to be sure and see Corn Exchange's Man of Valour. So I trotted down to the Samuel Beckett Theatre in Trinity College completely unaware of what I was about to see. In fact, now it is a bit difficult to put it into words. The play is acted by one man who not only plays several characters but also makes most of the sound effects in a mime/commedia del arte style. The actor's talent combined with the detailed yet simple light design, sound design and videography made the play seem cinematic at times, yet still remaining a true piece of theatre relying on the imagination of the actor and the audience's willingness to use their own imagination to follow him on his journey. The play shows a man living a rather ordinary and even depressing life but it changes when he learns of the death of his absent father. That synopsis sounds trite. Just go see it. Really, when I think about it my brain kind of goes gahhhhhh kjnfsduhawdpi. No, I am not having a stroke. I am just having difficulty verbalizing my thoughts as I am still processing the play. If I could see it again I would but really I just want to say to the actor, "teach me your ways master." And then he would magically bestow his acting powers unto me. That's how it works, right?

Here I am, it's Friday, the sun is out (for once). It has quickly become autumn and I'm afraid winter will be here sooner than I'd like. I am off to Sligo for the weekend and then I'll be diving into work for the play that I am working on in the Fringe. Fancy, no?

Slainte!