Three festivals in Ireland every week for a year. Mark Graham gets eggcited
GOING TO SO many festivals in Ireland, it’s difficult not to chat to people. Inevitably I’ll end up telling people that I’m trying to get to three festivals every week for a whole year. Most smile, nod and back away slowly, making sure not to break eye contact until they’re at a safe distance.
However, some get understandably confused and want to delve a little deeper. The usual first question is “Are there actually three festivals in Ireland every week?”
Missus! I’m missing more festivals than I’m actually getting to. Seriously. For April alone, I’m on target to hit more than 30 beanos. I gave the Guinness Book of Obsessives crowd a shout to suss out the record for most festivals attended in a month. Some Swedish lad got to 21. Sure, you could do that over a bank holiday weekend in Co Clare.
The Guinness people had a problem with me trying to break the record. They reckon the Irish definition of what constitutes a festival is kind of loose. I think they’re worried that if two fellas stood on a street corner in Wexford and started banging pots together, a crowd with bags of cans would gather and lo and behold – a pot-banging festival. They have a point.
A HARD SHELL
I’ve been at some beauties. The National Egg-Throwing Championships at the Culchie Festival in Mohill, Co Leitrim was more fun than it’s probably decent to have during a recession. A crowd of proud, self- confessed culchies throwing (and catching, which is the difficult part) eggs at each other gave me a pain in my face from laughing. One of the best things about this festival, besides enjoyable face ache, was that it was free. More laughing than a stoned hyena at giraffe ice-skating night and it cost Tom Gaul. You’d be surprised how many festivals aren’t trying to get you there just to empty your pockets.
SAMBA SCENESTERS
Last week I made it to Dublin for the 13th Irish Latin American Film Festival’s screening of Samba agus Craic, a film about the Dublin-based band Canta Brasil, who bang out Brazilian Samba. Hugely enjoyable, friendly crowd, wonderful, chilled atmosphere, the director and some band members were even there on the night for a chat. No charge.
The next night I headed to the launch of the Five Lamps Arts
Festival in Connolly Hall. A photo exhibition of Dockers from the rare aul times and a gig by The North Sea were both free and there was lashings of opening night refreshments too. Not a credit card line or booking fee in sight.
BIT OF BALLET-HOO
The Glen of Aherlow was my destination on Saturday for Fonn Rince, a sean-nós dancing festival. I tried my hand and feet at it, only to discover yet another activity for which I have no innate ability. But it was still a laugh.
One of the best things about buzzing round all these festivals is the people you meet (well, that and launch-night vino). Roy is the man responsible for organising Fonn Rince; an interesting buachaill. Having retired from Irish National Ballet, the bould Roy thought his dancing days were done, until he experienced a late-blossoming grá for the sean-nós buck lepping.
I asked Roy if his former colleagues from the world of ballet would be dismissive of the traditional skipping and hopping he now loves. He asked me not to quote him, so I’ll paraphrase: ballet dancers look down their noses at everything.
This weekend Dublin will be home to festivals of guitars and prawns. Segovia and shellfish by the seaside sounds splendid, but on paper the highlight of the weekend has to be in Co Wicklow. A vintage tractor rally . . . in Hollywood. Perfect. I’m there.
Safe Travels, Don’t Die.
