Mary Rose: Dear Blog,

Since I came to Ireland, I feel as though I have been waiting for something truly Irish to happen to me. Like most things in life, I don’t think you can look for this experience, it has to come to you. I had nearly given up having an ‘Irish experience,’ about as much as I had given up on good weather, when there it was – extending its hand to me, literally. On a weekend trip to County Kerry, some friends and I had gone out for a few drinks on a Saturday night. We wandered into a pub called An Droicead Beag (pictured), The Small Bridge in English, and spent most of the night chatting up locals. I went off on my own to look for someone in my party, when I found a random part of the bar with live traditional music; there was an accordion player, a drummer, and a guitarist. Two women who worked at the bar were doing stepdances, and occasionally a random couple or two would join in. In addition to stepdances which were made very popular due to programs such as Riverdance, there are also set dances which are based on French quadrilles. The earliest history of Irish dancing began with the Druids who would use dance as part of a ritual honoring the Sun, and the oak tree. The Celts also had their own circular folk dances, and the Anglo-Norman incursion brought other dance customs to Ireland as well.
These customs are still alive and kicking (literally) today. I was watching what looked like a set dance, clapping my hands and stomping my feet, when a young man extended his hand and said something to me in Irish. I don’t speak the language, but I caught the gist and took his hand and walked into the great unknown: Irish set dancing. I haven’t got any Irish in me (unless you count the Jameson I drank earlier), but some of the couple dancing reminded me a bit of some polkas I know (being very Polish). But I didn’t care that I was clueless, I just kicked my feet, and ran around the dance floor laughing and smiling, and luckily my partner was no Michael Flatley. He kept speaking to me in Irish, but I was so out of breath I don’t think I could have answered if I knew the question. I was just honored that someone considered me native enough to speak the language.
I’ll never be able to communicate into words what happened on the dance floor, not only because I haven’t a clue what dance steps I was attempting to do, but because, no matter what culture or time period, dance is such a powerful entity all in itself in that it moves you in more ways than just physically. And that soul movement occurs in that moment, and can only live in that moment. Afterwards, you are just left with a sense of blurry happiness without a clue as to how it got there, and while my laughter was mostly directed at myself, part of it was a battle cry to life, to the warring in my head. And it was my thank you to the fates, or God, or oak trees for finally having that story to tell, and that one night that goes down in my history.


xoxo,
Mary Rose