Peat and Rhythm

When Al and I first talked about going to Ireland, high on my list of places I wanted to go was Donegal. I had nostalgic memories of Donegal in the 80’s—huge family gatherings at my aunt’s cottage, games of soccer-tag (also known as ‘quick, make up a game that all ages of our family can play’) on a near deserted beach in the middle of July, scrambling over rock walls as my cousins and I explore the fields around us—and I knew that I wouldn’t find that Donegal again (firstly, good luck getting all my cousins together at the beach) but I was hoping that the landscape was still as breath-taking as I remember.

Well, it was really hard to see the landscape when it rained the entire time we were there. Not just rained... POURED! My poor shoes never did fully dry out and took on such a funky smell that I ended up just binning them and buying a pair of cheap boots. (Thank you Dunnes!)

We arrived at the Diamond* in Donegal Town and I wondered if I had made a huge mistake in dragging Al here. Co. Donegal had been my request after all. Once-a-day bus times meant that we couldn’t go to Bunbeg, the area of my childhood memories, without eating into a lot of our precious travel days, but I was hoping that a day trip to Slieve League and Killybegs would be just as lovely. Donegal Town, however, wasn’t really living up to my hopes.

The Diamond in Donegal Town. Don't be fooled by all those cars, that's the taxi stand.

We arrived at the hostel to find the owner (the lovely Linda from the county Cork) in the middle of starting a peat fire. While Donegal Town still had yet to win me over, the hostel was getting major bonus points!

There's something about a big pile of peat which makes me insanely happy. It reminds me

of visiting my granddad's friend with my dad who lived in a thatched cottage with a peat fire

and he boiled the water for tea in a pot hanging from a swinging arm over the fire.

After we had warmed up and somewhat dried off, Al and I walked back into town for dinner and a drink. We partook in the ‘traditional’ fish and chips from an actual chipper before making our way to the Reel Inn. Rumour had it that there was music every night and the one thing that Al wanted before she left was to hear Irish music in an Irish bar.

Our Saturday night at the pub turned out to be a lot of fun. We arrived well before the music started so we pretty much had the place to ourselves for the first hour. We made small talk with the barmaid (the fabulously sarcastic Emer) and tried to decipher the comments from the drunk regular who I think might have been speaking Irish at one point. The place slowly filled up and by the time the band started, it was standing room only. Still, you can always find room to dance!

We learned later from our new friend, Helly** that Al’s

dance partner was single and owned 80 acres of land!

We left the Reel Inn at 1:30am with the realisation that everyone still in the pub was older than us. That’s right, the 45 – 80 years old age group totally out partied two 30-somethings. Welcome to Ireland!

The next day was still raining. We had hopes of going to Slieve League but everyone we talked to said they were fogged in (later confirmed by other tourists who had gone), so we went with our back up plan of the Donegal Bay Waterbus Tour. The first indication that perhaps this wasn’t the great idea was the booking agent who replied to our request for two tickets with ‘really?’ The next indication was the bus loads of seniors that were being dropped of as we boarded the waterbus. It was a full tour and save for ourselves, a family with three kids under 12 and couple who looked much like Al and I felt (that would be ‘horrified’ for those of you who need an actual word for that moment), everyone was 65+. The minute the bar opened, Al and I hightailed it to the alcohol.

We thought the guide telling jokes which had nothing to do with the tour was bad—we groaned, we rolled our eyes, we giggled at how silly the whole thing was—but when we got to the end of the bay and it was time to turn around, they pulled out a keyboard. Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING is as bad as cheesy songs with synthesised drums. Al and I beat a hasty retreat to the top deck... where the music followed us. It was like some bad horror film. No, don’t go upstairs! He’ll just follow you!

Oh well. At least we got to take pictures in between our bouts of laughter.

The bay is very shallow so at low tide you can walk to most of the islands from the mainland.

And just so you can hear exactly how bad the music was:

Um, it won't let me play this video to check it before I post it but

if the colours are as wacked as they are in the draft photo... oops!

On our way back into town we passed the ruins of the friary where the Annals of the Four Masters were written. Having wasted €4 on Donegal Castle earlier that day we decided to check out the free ruins. If you ever find yourself in Donegal Town, skip the Castle and just go check out the friary. I would have rather paid to see the friary (which is now a cemetery so double score for me!).

Being Canadian Thanksgiving that weekend, we decided to get dolled up and go for a nice dinner. It was surprisingly hard to find anything turkey related so had to make due with lamb so perfectly cooked that I touched it with my fork and it fell off the bone. It’s a tough life, I tell ya! After dinner, we headed back to the Reel Inn to see what Sunday night would provide in the way of music. While Saturday night had been fun, it had felt touristy. Sunday night reminded me of my dad’s parties growing up.

The owner (on the accordion) and a few of his friends sat around and played whatever song they felt like. If one of them felt like taking a smoke break or heading to the washroom, the others kept playing. If they weren’t totally sure of the song, they’d fake their way through it. If someone wanted to get up and join them or sing a song, they were welcome to it. It was about as authentic an Irish music night you’re going to get in a pub.

There was supposed to be two videos here but after 37 minutes of waiting for just one to upload (I'm not joking, old computer...) you're just getting a picture instead.

The banjo player was amazing! Even more amazing was the man hiding behind the mic. His name is Frankie and Al and I love him. I found someone else's video on YouTube so you can understand why.

PS. That's the owner on the accordion.

He  had such a lovely singing voice that we loved him in spite of what appeared to be a very gruff demeanor when we first met him. Then he threw a couple of smiles our way when we responded positively to the songs. During a break late in the night, he sat down beside us and we got to chatting. I asked if he knew Sonny's Dream and he admitted that he didn't know the words, but if I wanted to sing it he'd back me up. Small problem: I'd had a bit to drink and couldn't remember the words. He wanted to know if we were going to be around the next night. We weren't but he was willing to bring in the words and sing Sonny's Dream for us if we were. I love this man more than I can express in writing.

We saw none of the things we wanted to see, we spent more time wet than we did dry, and we wasted money on the stupid castle and the waterbus, but Donegal had won its place as our favourite stop. “We could always go back to Donegal” became the mantra of the rest of our trip. When we hit up a music pub in Galway, we looked at each other, agreed it was no Reel Inn and beat a hasty retreat. And any singers we heard? Well, they’re no Frankie!

What I would give for this pub to be my local!

*many northern Irish towns call their town centre or square ‘the Diamond’ but it’s usually a triangle. I get the feeling Irish people probably fail geometry ;)

**I can not, for the life of me, remember his first name but he spelt his last name for me so it kind of stuck. It’s what Al and I referred to him as for the rest of the trip.

Overload of Posts

After a week of not even a peep on the blog, I'm going to bury you in a plethora of posts today. That's how all the lazy successful bloggers do it, right? I could just make it one really long blog, but I think this way works better. And it's my blog so there :P

Yes, I just did a 'tongue stick out' emoticon. I'm mature like that.

For my Victoria peeps (or Victoria-adjacent-and-willing-to-travel), Saturday night is Matoto's AGM. Once the AGM portion wraps up (which you are also invited to attend), then we're going to have a celebration because...

*drum roll*

...our school in Kubian, Guinea officially opened its doors on October 5th of this year!! There is more information about our AGM and Celebration Gala on our facebook event page. We'd love to see you out!

Shoot for the Moon. Earth's Gravitational Pull Will Prevent You From Obtaining Orbit But Maybe You'll Land Somewhere Interesting.

After a fabulous weekend in Nanaimo during which we visited Gabriola for the Theatre Festival, played a total of 11 games of rummy (so, roughly 100 hands), drank a few bottles of wine, drank a few gallons of tea, and discovered I had injured myself, the rest of Summer has flown by.
Did you know it's September 1st today?

I know!

I realised that out of all my plans for the summer, very few of them actually happened but I'm okay with that.

Camping plans fell through at the last minute. Hiking plans never happened due to something else happening pretty much every weekend. Travel to Vancouver and Seattle never materialised for the same reason. I did a lot of running but conflicting schedules and then injury stopped my goal of four-times-a-week.

I did get to catch up with some old friends at Shawnigan. I sat in the gardens at Government House and read a good book. I had multiple BBQs with awesome people. I verbally committed to going to Guinea in December 2012 and teaching the Kubian village ladies to sew school uniforms.

Wait, what?

Yeah, you read that right. But don't worry, go back and reread it just to make sure. I'll wait.

Through the magic of links, I'll remind you of the time I said:

5) MoonDance is talking about going back to Guinea for another dance/drum intensive learning holiday in 2012. Actually, Lynn suggested it a few years ago and then later said it wasn't a firm plan. Tonight Erin and I decided that we're just going to talk about it like it's happening because then it will. So, I'm totally going to Guinea in 2012. You heard it here first.

Erin and I were (sort of) joking but it worked. Moondance is going to Guinea in 2012 for dance and drum lessons. (While I have verbally committed to doing this, I will refrain from saying I'm actually going until I can sit down and do some accounting math and planning.)

Moondance is very closely related to Matoto as Matoto was born out of Moondance's last trip to Guinea. At at working bee last week, we were discussing our school in Kubian which will begin teaching students this October! (very excited about that) when the topic of school uniforms came up. I remembered a project in Tanzania where the local women were taught to sew the uniforms which in turn gave the additional income to the mostly single women.

Why can't we do that?

Except we need someone who sews.

And that, my friends, is how I ended up verbally committing to going to Guinea.

(Actually, I told them that if I am able to make the trip to Guinea, I would teach sewing but that the *if* is quite substantial at this time. They gave me a 'uh-huh' look which clearly states they expect me to fully make it happen. I do, after all , have 15 months to get it sorted.)

Something else I need to get sorted out in that time? French.

Guinea's only offical language is French. While I know that many of our teachers will have some English and many of my fellow travellers will have some French, I'd like to be able to do most of the teaching with as little translation as possible. In other words, I should have started learning French yesterday.

I'm nothing if not ambitious... and slightly crazy.

Mostly crazy.

A Long Time Ago, A Million Years BC...

Seventeen years ago today, Dennis Potter passed away.

Who? You're probably asking.

The man who taught me that song and dance routines are always appropriate.

I wasn't older than eight (possibly even younger) when I first say Potter's Pennies from Heaven six part series and I thought it was magical. I was too young to understand the dark (depressing) storyline of an affair, the resulting baby, the abortion, the fall into prostitution, and the accusations of rape and murder (in short, I got very little from the storyline beyond Arthur was a married travelling sheet music salesman in 1930's England) but I was drawn to the upbeat and cheerful 1930's dance numbers which punctuated the grim backdrop.

Unlike traditional musicals, the numbers in Pennies from Heaven didn't served to move the plot forward but to give an insight to what the character was thinking at that moment; you could remove every song and you'd still have a complete story (albeit even more depressing). The actors would lip sync to original 1930's recordings while dancing around a set only to end up in the same position they started in, as if the number had never happened. I was enthralled; I could do that in my own life!

I was never captured by Dennis Potter's later works the way I was with Pennies from Heaven (which may be the result of the creepy scarecrow in The Singing Detective which still gives me slight moments of panic 20 years later) but the fun burst out in a song that fits my mood and thoughts is a habit I have taken forward into adulthood. So thank you for that, Mr. Potter. And thank you for teaching me to never trust a travelling sheet music salesman.

And also for teaching me that love is good for anything that ails you.

Dancing Queen

I am known to randomly burst out in song and dance routines. Hanging out with friends, in the middle of a staff meeting (yes, I have burst out in song in staff meetings), if something reminds me of a song then I sing it. If I feel that dance moves are appropriate at that time, then I'll bust them out to.

About eight years ago, when I first started my current job, I busted out the running man for a bit of fun. (For those unfamiliar with the running man, here's an educational video.) It became my 'thing'. When I asked for help from certain coworkers, they asked for me to do the running man first. When we headed out for social nights, the running man always made an appearance. It was just the natural (drunken) order of things.

But then we grow up. The coworkers that would request it moved on to other jobs. I matured into someone who stopped going to Wednesday retro nights because I had a respectable job. Slowly, the running man faded from my usual arsenal of dance moves. I still busted it out from time-to-time, but never with the same vigour and willingness that I had in days past.

Then Saturday night happened. I was at a wedding reception and while the amazing soul band took a break, someone popped on an iPod so our little group of crazy dancers could keep going. Tired and thoroughly drunk thanks to the unexpected open bar, I sat down on the edge of the dance floor to consume another beer and chat with a few friends. In amidst our chatter, I heard the word "busted" and then the beginning of a familiar tune.

Dun-dun-oh! Tck-tck-dun dun-ah!

Before I had a chance to excuse myself from the conversation, I was back on the dance floor doing the running man. The people around me stopped dancing and for a moment they were all silent. Then the cheers began. I was in my element. This is why I had practiced the running man 20 years earlier. And it was glorious.

When I finished my tribute to 80's hip-hop dance, I received high fives and adulation from those around me and applause from those not close enough for high fives. It was a wonderful feeling.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to blast a little Young MC and practice my running man. I feel it may be making appearances much more often now.

Things I Learned This Week

I wish I could get paid for the work I do for Matoto. It's not that I feel I deserve compensation for it, but because I love it and if I got paid, I could quit 'the rat race' and actually love, not tolerate-and-sometimes-even-enjoy, my job.

Even if I'm not working Monday to Friday, my body finds Fridays exhausting.

I miss being on the phones at work. Due to a shortage of staff on Friday, I had to handle the phones. It's something I hadn't done in 17 months. I never realised how much I missed the direct contact with the clients, and how I get my satisfaction in life from knowing that I've helped someone.

I need to help people. It's who I am.

My body loves to dance.

A conversation with an old friend can turn a stressful Thursday into one that ends in laughter.

Coffee with a new friend can make a great Wednesday an awesome Wednesday.

No matter how many times I watch it, I always giggle when the captain yells "sheiße" in Das Boot and the subtitle says "oh no!".

I wish I knew enough about computers to take the scene I mentioned above from my DVD of the movie and upload it to YouTube so I could link to it and make all of you laugh too.

Sitting in a coffee shop for an hour with a large coffee and a good book is the most satisfying way I know to waste my time.

Fake dating website questionnaires and planning retreats go together better than I could have anticipated.

The Victoria Symphony has Bach's Brandenburg Concerto 4 and Beethoven's Symphony 6 coming up on February 27th and March 7th respectively. Is it every socially acceptable to roll the blue rinse set for their symphony tickets?

If you decide to go for an epic walk because it's bright and clear and you want to play with your camera, make sure your batteries aren't on the brink of dying.

Sometimes Saturday nights are best spent with a bottle of wine, a chick-flick and two cuddly cats.

Getting Creative

The weekend is finally here!! YAY!! I'm especially excited because in just over an hour, I'm going to see my Baby Bro for the first time in 7 months. He took off to Europe last April to travel and spend some time with our family in Ireland. We're going for Thai food because the only Asian food he could find in Europe was "crap Chinese" (his words, not mine).

It's been a very busy week for me and this weekend isn't going to be any different. The only change is that I've been busy being creative and that's much better than being busy cleaning the house. My employer is going to be showcasing various employee's artwork or other visual art. At the suggestion of a friend, I put my name forward for my photographs and received a very positive response back. On one hand, that's really flattering. On the other, I've never actually shown my photos as works of art (other than on my wall) so I'm now trying to narrow done my thousands of pictures into 10 which I will post on here and ask you to help me narrow it down to 5. So far I've narrowed it down to 49 possible photos. Getting closer...

The other creative thing I've been doing is writing. I submitted the following for a "What Does Dance Mean To You" competition at MoonDance. Your submission could be writing, drawing, photo, sculpture, any creative medium you wanted but it had to capture the love of dance. The song I'm talking about is Beethoven's Peasant Dance in Eflat major.

I take my place on the stage as she sits at the piano. I love dancing to live music--so much better than pre-taped in my opinion--and I hope my joy and excitement about it transfers to the audience. She looks at me as she places her hands on the keyboard. It begins. It's a song I've heard so many times I could hum it backwards in my sleep. I have lived this music; every note, every nuance, speaks to me and directs me across the stage, long and flowing with the legato, quick and lively with the staccato. I give my all to the audience and when the final chord plays I have no regrets. Every emotion in the music was transformed into a physical manifestation through my body and I became the dance; it is the best performance not just of this piece but of my life.

She gets up from the piano and moves to the kitchen for a cup of tea. I pick up my audience, my beloved bear Pola, and follow her.

"Perhaps it's time we enroll you in some dance classes."

It is the happiest day of my eight year old life.