Ireland Travel Blog Part 4 - The Treasure That Is Galway

Arrival By Train

The train comes to a gradual stop, and I happily take in the sunlit fields of grass stretching out into the distance.

We had left Limerick’s Colbert Station a couple of hours before although, admittedly, I’d gotten there early on purpose. Train stations have always held a special place for me, especially when I travel. There is just something about the lasting promise of adventure and possibility. And all without the intensity of an airport.

Once at the station, my hour-or-so of found time had been spent sipping coffee in a comfortable faux leather chair inside the station’s well-appointed Starbucks, along with hanging out on Platform 3. The platform is open to the chill morning breeze which, I imagine, once dissipated the steam and smoke of trains from a bygone era.

The pleasant two-hour journey to Galway includes only a handful of stops, most notably the town of Ennis, unofficial home of the Irish concertina and the subject of a future blog. But it was the open, green fields of Athenry that drew me in the most as we approached and departed the small station. This thanks in no small part to the classic song I’ve heard and sung a thousand times before.

Gazing from my train window out onto the green hills, I was nearly able to picture a young couple, hand in hand, looking out at the waters before tragedy struck them a terrible blow:

Low lie the fields of Athenry

Where once we watched the small seabirds fly

Our love was on the wing

We had dreams and songs to sing

It’s so lonely round the fields of Athenry …

These lyrics play in my head as the fields roll past, and my excitement temporarily dips with thoughts of the bleaker times on which the song is based.

I’m returning to Galway following a recent trip that had left me wanting more. Sundays are replete with traditional music sessions and, this time around, I hope to get three in. I also want to enjoy the city without being rushed, so I am staying overnight.

Today’s agenda includes three iconic bars; the Tig Coili on High Street, along with Caroll’s and The Crane Bar. The latter two venues are thanks to guidance I received from Steve, a talented guitar and bouzouki player I’d met at the Tig a couple of weeks back.

The Heart Of Galway

It is a short walk through Eyre Square and down to the water where the ancient Spanish Arch marks the entrance to the Latin Quarter. From there I begin my exploration on foot. It’s still not quite noon, and Quay Street is already filled with visitors judging by the mix of accents. The energy as I enter the Spanish Quarter mirrors the vitality of New Orleans’ French Quarter. Flags of green and orange, suspended from the multicoloured buildings, put me in mind of Disney’s Main Street, USA. Except here, it’s all authentic.

I stop to study the bronze Galway Girl sitting reticent on her bench. Bundled in her shawl, she is more a nod to the struggles of past times, perhaps, than she is to Steve Earl’s classic (or Ed Sheeran’s, for that matter).

The buskers are already out as well, and Irish traditional music carries through the air as I make my way towards High Street. A man stands alone, singing a cappella. His voice is clear and gifted and too good for him not to have  grown up here. A little further on, someone in her twenties is nervously setting up their amp and guitar, hoping to cover some of their travel expenses, I suspect.

Galway has no rules or permits when it comes to busking. All are welcome to turn a piece of sidewalk or pavement into their own personal stage. More street performers appear as I walk, and no sooner am I out of earshot of the last when I am able to make out the faint music of the next over the din of the crowd.

Sessions And More

I arrive at the Tig Bar, where I stand for a long moment listening to a fresh-sounding bluegrass band playing just out front. The five-piece band is quite good, and their blue denim overalls and raw sound is reminicent of the music video that made Dexi’s Midnight Runners famous.

Inside I am greeted by familiar faces in the music circle just off to the left, including my newfound friend John who directs me to an open spot. It is a wordless welcome whose import is hard to describe.

The session is as good as before, better maybe, and between songs John mentions that this is the final day of the Cuirt Literary Festival. An added bonus for a bibliophile like myself.

Once checked into my room, I attend a reading which turns out to be more of a stage show. Told in memoir, it captures a journey from Galway to New York. Though it is entirely in Gaelic, the message of struggle, intertwined with pathos and humour, is easy to discern and immensely entertaining. 

The show ends with just enough time for me to grab a quick bite before crossing over to Nuns Island and on to Caroll’s and the iconic Crane Bar.

The musicians at Caroll’s are quite young and, equally surprising, mostly American. Still, the session has all the comfort and comradery you could hope for. Song after song is played with skill and passion, and I am struck by the many contrasts. Americans playing Irish Trad in a Galway pub. Strangers sharing music that is familiar to all. Songs that go back hundreds of years, yet still evoking a feeling as fresh as the day they were written. 

Parting company, I am directed to the Crane Bar a few short blocks away. The building’s green walls with red trim soon comes into view and draws me towards it like a beacon.

But my excitement is somewhat tempered as I enter and head upstairs to a crowded room which appears to be more show than session. There are three players onstage, along with an empty chair; for one more, perhaps? Waiting for the set to end, I hold up my concertina case and give my best hopeful face. I am immediately given a wave to join in.

Galway, I think to myself, your friendliness never fails to impress.

The couple and family friend onstage put on a great show, pleasing the audience with a mix of traditional material and audience requests. What results is an eclectic mix of songs ranging from pop to folk, all of which we happily accommodate.

The session ends, and I, exhausted but elated, make my way back along the quiet streets to my room for the night,

Galway Bay

I am in no rush to leave the next day. There is more than enough time to head down to the water, and I enjoy a long, contemplative walk, crossing over the Claddagh Basin and strolling the beach at South Park. The wind picks up slightly, and I imagine the hookers heading out for a long day of fishing, their triangular sails disappearing over the horizon as they journey out to sea.

This imagery is reflected in the lyrical prose of Galway’s own Walter Macken. An excerpt from his “Rain On The Wind” is in relief of oxidized green copper not far from Nimmos Pier. It offers an evocative depiction of the bay at dusk which is pure poetry:

The sun was heading for the Aran Islands and somebody had touched a pink brush to the clouds on the horizon. The bulk of the town on the other side of the river was alive with the winking diamonds of the dying sun on the window panes ….

For me, Galway is a vibrant jewel which does not disappoint. Ever mindful of its rich and sometimes tragic past, it strikes a perfect balance; offering a reverent nod to its heritage whilst still coveting joy in all its forms. 

It is, arguably, a town that embraces story and song like no other. And I am missing it already as I head back through Eyre Square to catch my train.