THIS IS
....that's right....
THE CEOLAS POST!
(.....takes a deep breath.......)
1. Introduction to Ceolas ~ Planning the Journey ~ The Journey Proceeds with some Mishaps, soon Overcome ~ Arrival in South Uist ~The Geography of the Island ~ Triona Meets Various People from Scotland and the World ~ Getting the South Uist Groove
It was a difficult journey to plan, because the route between Athens and the Hebrides is not the most well travelled. I suppose, looking at it objectively, the Hebrides wouldn't be too attractive to Greeks. They're cold, rainy, and boggy, and people eat a lot of animal fat.
But that's not taking into account Celtic-music obsessed Greek Canadians. From the first moment I found the Ceolas website, I knew I had to go. Ceolas is a collaboration between Celtic music fanatics in both Scotland and Nova Scotia, Canada. For one week every year, they run lessons in fiddle, piping, piano, stepdance, singing, writing, and of course, the Gaelic language. This has been going on for the last 10 years. (for more, see http://www.ceolas.co.uk/) .
Everything about it called out to me. While I like concerts, I would much rather be involved and be learning. Plus it was a chance to make up for missing Celtic Connections in January, something I'd always regretted. And, just as important, I would have a chance to see some people from Cape Breton I hadn't seen in a year or more.
So I had a fun two months of planning and anticipation. I looked up the routes and schedules of the Athens Airport Express, Easyjet, the Gatwick Express, The Tube (Mind the Gap!), British National Rail, and British Airways to figure out how to get there. My final itinerary was about 8 pages long and would do credit to Phileas Fogg of Around the World in 80 Days. I planned to fly to London, then commute to King's Cross station, from whence I would catch a train to Glasgow, and from there a flight to Benbecula island (The Western Isles of the Hebrides) the next day. After that I had been promised a bus will be waiting. With anything that complicated, something's got to go wrong. At the same time nothing must go wrong!
And so the story begins....
Saturday, July 1st (Canada Day!)
I said goodbye to my aunt (who had been armed with a copy of the Phileas Fogg itinerary. Hey, I was/am proud of that itinerary. I swear, it's like my Ph.D thesis in travel. It proves I can get myself around.)
Athens is sunny and hot. Mind you that kind of goes without saying in Athens. I get to the airport ridiculously early, and know exactly where to go to check in (because a month earlier I did a practice run.) In the check in area, I read about all the stuff that is going wrong in the world, in The Economist. On a positive note, Warren Buffett has just donated a few billion to the Gates Foundation. This, and the equally important fact that I am going to Ceolas, can easily compensate for whatever bombings, murders, kidnappings, tortures etc. that are currently happening in the world. Or so I feel at the moment.
Several articles later, the Easyjet flight for London still hasn't come in, but an Air Finland plane taxis to the gate. Apparently, this is the plane we are flying. The slightly bewildered passengers board ("Are we going to London or Helsinki?") However, the pilot gets us to London almost on schedule. A slight lurch in my stomach, not entirely caused by turbulance, welcomes me back to the country where I started my international adventures. But I successfully train/tube to King's Cross station (ha! I could get around London with my eyes closed) and after collecting my ticket from the ticket machine, finding my train, and my seat, figure the worst of my worries is over. I settle in for the 5 hour ride to Edinburgh.
The train proceeds to klunk about a hundred metres out of the station, and comes to an ominous stop in a tunnel. After sitting in the tunnel for an hour, we are informed the train has been "declared a failure." It limps - barely - back to King's Cross, and the passengers are herded onto a train for Newcastle, which has been extended to Edinburgh. I ask when the train is going to get into Edinburgh, since I'm supposed to catch a connection there to Glasgow. Nobody knows. The guard doesn't come to check tickets either. He's probably scared to to face the passengers. Not only have they been delayed an hour, but England has just lost to Portugal in the World Cup finals. This is not a happy train.
I resign myself and snooze on the train. At about 10pm it arrives at Newcastle. And stays there. Passengers to Scotland are now ordered to board buses. I find the Edinburgh bus, only to have the driver mumble something about "not sure there's enough room. Please wait..." As soon as his back is turned I throw my luggage on board and jump on the bus. I ain't waiting for nuthin' nor nobody!
I sleep on the bus because I'm beyond worrying at this point. I wake up to see it passing "Airdrie" which makes me think of home. I wave to Bob and Eileen in Airdrie, AB. At 1am we arrive in Edinburgh. Edinburgh is full of limping people in skimpy clothes and bare feet. Ah, long night in party shoes... I have missed my connection by a good 2 hours and no trains are running. But luckily the train company pays a taxi to take me and a few others on to Glasgow. We have a very nice taxi driver who manages to drop everyone off where they want to be in Glasgow, even though he doesn't know the city. Thanks to him I finally make it to the airport.
Sunday July 2nd
Glasgow airport is fun. I sleep on a bench, look at all the shops, and sit in a massage chair. I buy two clip on flowers for my hair. They match my travel wardrobe perfectly. I am a good travel shopper.
At about 6 AM I eat a "traditional breakfast" - eggs, sausage, something that tastes like it was once a potato, and a black pudding. "Pudding" in England/Scotland appears to mean various unhealthy substances all mixed up with animal fat and fried. Not sure what's in black pudding, though I think it includes blood.
Feeling rather sick, and missing Greek food, I wander around the airport, pacing like a caged animal in front of the flight monitor sign. I wanna be on South Uist now!
Finally it's time to board. I am flying with the tutors from Cape Breton, who are arriving at the same time as me. I feel shy, bury myself in The Economist, but soon conclude that terrorists, and even Warren Buffett, are a sorry substitute for conversation with nice musicians, and put the mag away. I chat with Kinnon Beaton, who I haven't seen since the Cape Breton Trip in 2004 (another week to remember). I also meet Anna Wendy Stevenson, from Scotland, who is teaching fiddle. The plane is stuffed with as many instruments as people. After a few minutes, I'm all smiles. Though I'm so sleepy I actually doze off despite the excitement, and despite the fact the plane is really cold.
The airplane that took me to Benbecula
Bogs from the air
On the ground at Benbecula, we are met by a bunch of happy people chatting in a strange language, which intitially sounds like a mix of German and Japanese, but is Gaelic, of course. Well, that doesn't bother me - I've just come from Greece after all, where I can't understand anything people say, either. Here everyone speaks English too, but they choose to keep their traditional language. I get a ride to my B&B, getting a good view of South Uist in the meantime.
South Uist is mostly flat, with some low mountains. There are almost no trees. Mainly you see green plains, dotted with many small white boulders, and equally many white sheep. The rocks are some of the oldest in the world, formed 300 million years ago as the crust of the earth cooled. The landscape was also shaped by glaciers which carved out shallow valleys. The islands are rocky, and much of them is covered in peat, which is made of decayed plant matter. It is often used as fuel. There are also many bogs, which form when the (frequent) rains waterlog the ground. It is difficult to build roads for this reason, and they are often only wide enough for one car. However, this doesn't seem to bother anyone; people drive very politely and always make room for each other. Visitors from cities such as Seattle (and Athens, ha) were full of praise for the "civilized" motorists.
The sheep/rocks/sheep view is hardly dramatic, but it's very easy on the eye. The view from the window of my B&B, run by Margaret and Robert MacDonald (seriously, it seemed like half the people I met were called "MacDonald") is very nice to wake up to in the morning.
But I didn't come all this way for the view, of course. Later I go over to the school to register. There I meet some of the other students (about 70?) While the majority are from Scotland and the U.K., there's a pretty decent international component. I meet Enrique from Columbia, Maria from Moscow, Russia, and Takuko from Japan. Enrique is doing research for a thesis on Gaelic, and Takuko is also studying the language. Maria is in my dance class and is also learning Gaelic song. Another notable guest is Graziano (16 years) from Sardinia, who is learning pipes and dancing, and who plays an instrument called the triple pipe with impressive skill.
There are also many students from the U.S.A, some of whom have come over with their whole families. Susanna, who plays the fiddle, is from the U.S.A., but is attending a school for the blind in the U.K. Her mother has come over from the U.S.A., and they are attending Ceolas together. David MacDonald, a doctor, is at Ceolas with his daughter, and his wife is with them too.
Not as many people from Canada, but I think I met someone from Vancouver, and of course there was Kinnon and Betty Lou Beaton, (teaching fiddle, and piano) and Troy MacGillivray (fiddle). Joining them were two new faces, Angus and Kenneth MacKenzie. All from Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, with the exception of Troy who is actually from Antigonish, the little university town you pass before crossing the Canso Causeway.
I also meet Lucy (fiddle and song) and Jayne (dance and fiddle) from Scotland. We spent a lot of time together during the week.
A celebration of regional identity: On the right is the Cape Breton flag, in the middle the Ceolas flag, and on the left, the flag of South Uist (all unofficial).
After registration, there was a welcome service at St. Peters Church.
The church was very pleasant inside, with high ceilings, and pale green walls and a lot of natural light. Enrique and I marched right to the front, and Lucy joined us. Might as well start the week with enthusiasm, I said; there's no point in coming all that way just to hide in a corner. The priest talked in Gaelic for a while, then cheerfully asked who couldn't understand the language. A dozen or so people sheepishly raised their hands, including myself. "Well, you're in the minority, I guess you'll have to suffer," he said and went on talking in Gaelic. Ouch! I felt rather sorry I couldn't understand anything; I would have liked to. But on the other hand, the islanders are a tiny minority in the big world. On their island they are surely entitled to do exactly as they please.
And soon none of that mattered, because they began to sing. Now I've heard a lot of music. But as I listened, all I could think of was a passage I vaguely remember from St. Augustine, where he admits he is a bit suspicious of music because it can be more beautiful than religion itself. He could have been talking about the Gaelic hymns of South Uist.
After that we went across the road to the hall, for the Welcome Ceilidh. This began with the Canadian Barn Dance, which apparently is very popular on South Uist. Naturally everyone wanted to know if I knew it. I'd never heard of it. (Have any of you in Canada?) They found that surprising. I should have asked if they use Scotch tape.
But despite that a local lady asked me to go out on the floor and try it, and I made my best effort to represent Canada, even after slipping on the wooden floor.
I joined in a few more group dances, but couldn't quite bring myself to stepdance....yet. Enrique saw this and kept teasing. Finally, just at the end of the evening, when we were about to leave, Fin Moore and a couple of others started a dance set on pipes and fiddles. So I told Enrique I'd do a dance for him. Then I had to, having promised, of course.
I didn't pay much attention to what I was doing, just focusing on the music. I hadn't practiced much before coming to Ceolas after all, just enough to make sure I remembered some steps.
But it surprises me how much easier it is to dance when the music is live. I always think it will be harder than dancing in private, because there's more of a risk involved. People are watching. Going on to the floor is an emotionally charged experience. You're not just dancing to the music; you're joining in with it and adding a new element. It can be intimidating, because I wonder if I dare add that element, how people will respond, and if I can be part of the moment or if I will just get in the way. But somehow it seems to work. My feet find the rhythm, and my mind and body follow them.
Ah yes, that was fun.
But tomorrow was a whole other day.....
2. Transportation on South Uist ~ The School Begins ~ The Weather of South Uist ~ The Piping Ceilidh ~ The Morning After Day 1 ~ Strathspey Theory ~ House Ceilidh at Peggy Anne’s ~ Frank Shows an Unexpected Talent
Monday, July 3rd
I sleep very well at Margaret and Robert’s, and wake up to find a beautiful sunny Monday. Monday! Happy day, the first at Ceolas. I chat more with Margaret, even convincing her to try baklava, and make acquaintance with the dog, Molly. Molly greets me as if she’s known me all my life. Lucky I’m not a robber; Molly wouldn’t do much to defend the place.
Margaret tells me, as every local will do at least five times a day all week, how very lucky we are that it’s sunny.
After breakfast I set off to St. Peter’s Hall, where my stepdance class is held.
This part of South Uist is rural; there is no town centre anywhere near by. The hotel, school, church, and church hall are with a fifteen minute walk of each other, but at least an hour's walk from Margaret's. Every day I start walking in the general direction with no idea how or when I will get there, and every day I get there in perfect time. Somebody either stops and gives me a ride, or the Ceolas bus, driven by Angus, happens by at just the right time. I don’t know how it works, and I don’t ask. I’m just grateful.
Maria and Jayne are at St. Peter’s Hall, and we immediately start comparing and analyzing each other’s dance shoes. It doesn’t even occur to me that this is the first time I’ve taken a dance class since Grade 12 (9 years ago). Into this melee come Maddy, Rachel, Tim, Dale, and the irrepressible May, and finally Frank McConnell, our dance tutor. And Kenneth MacKenzie, who plays fiddle for us.
Frank is from Glasgow, with strong ties to the Hebrides. And he can dance! He does some strathspey steps with us that are completely different from anything I’ve seen before, but which seem quite easy to pick up. That we follow with some reels that are variations on steps I know well, and so are a lot of fun.
L to R: Jayne, Dale, Irena, Maria, Rachel (behind Frank), Maddy, Tim, and May
Frank, tutor, in centre
For this whole class, and the next one, and the whole day, I am so high on adrenaline I can barely sit still. Everything seems oh, so marvelous, more marvelous every moment. I force myself to eat since I know I have to, but the notes from fiddles, pipes and songs drifting through the halls seems like the only sustenance I will ever need.
After dance I join Lena Walker’s Gaelic beginners class. I take two classes; one that all students go to, and one I’ve chosen as a second option to dance. I mainly took it because I didn’t know what else to take, not being able to sing or play an instrument, and I’m a little bit apprehensive. Other than English, I don't consider myself very good with languages.
But Lena is a very good teacher. It seems she would rather be hung by her toenails than make anybody at all uncomfortable, ever. We make some progress learning how to say our names, and where we're from, and finish by making up a song that includes the phrases we have just learned.
Lena Walker, Gaelic tutor
After this Gaelic class, I go to my next one, and meet David MacDonald (U.S.A., Highland bagpipes), Fergus MacDonald (Scotland, pipes and fiddle), (see what I meant about MacDonalds!) and Robin (U.S.A., Ceol Mor on the highland pipes; a graduate student in music composition). We repeat the same stuff from the last class (good; that means I might even remember it) and learn a few more things.
The last element of the "academic day" at Ceolas is the Crossover Class. Crossover classes are a mix of musicians, singers and dancers, at all levels from tutor to beginner. On this first day we learn our mission, which is to work together to create a 5 minute piece, involving everybody, which will be presented on the final day. Cathy Ann MacPhee, one of the singing tutors, already has a vision, and a Gaelic poem in hand, penned by the Artist in Residence. It’s all rather fun, and confusing. The tutors in the crossover class are Kinnon Beaton, Cathy Ann of course, and Angus MacKenzie. Tiber from P.E.I. , with a set of bagpipes permanently attached to his body, is also there. There isn’t any dance tutor though. Perhaps because of this, nobody seems to really want to dance except me. Oh well, a solo won’t be too bad. I can do exactly what I like.
The singers in our crossover class
After classes - oh the joy! oh the hyperness! - I join Enrique, David, his family, Robin, and Graziano, for dinner at the Borrodale, which is the after-hours hub of activity, and scandal, at Ceolas.
Candid shot from a session at the Borrodale
We enjoy ourselves, then it's off to the piper's ceilidh at St. Peter's, the first of events every evening through the week. First of all, I should say that bagpipes and singing are to South Uist what the fiddle is to Cape Breton. Of course, Cape Bretoners pipe, and sing, and many other things, but nobody questions that it's the fiddle that represents the place, accompanied by piano. In South Uist, it's the song and pipes. Piping and singing are their true religion, I am sure.
Ross Ainslie, rock star of the pipes (Ceolas photo)
Jayne and Lucy and I get good seats at St. Peters, which is all decked up for the concert, which incidentally is being recorded by the BBC. No two pipers play alike, but they are all very good. Toward the end however, I need to step outside for some air. It is all a little overwhelming. I watch a lovely sunset over the bog.
I ride home reflecting that I've certainly got enough bagpipes for once. I even have dark, dark thoughts that I might get enough Celtic music for once.
But if my thoughts are dark, South Uist never is. At about the 57th parallel, it never gets completely dark at night in the summer unless the sky is cloudy. (For you Albertans, that's about the same latitude as Fort MacMurray.)
Tuesday, July 4 (Independence Day!)
I wake up the morning after the piping ceilidh, reflecting on having sat through 3.5 hours of bagpipes. When I tell this to people back home, they will surely conclude I am either Scottish, or insane. I decide not to think about that for the moment.
The adrenaline has finally run its course. Everything seems a little bit...harder....today. And a little bit...slower. Frank teaches an excellent lesson on strathspey steps, and how to get inside the rhythm of a strathspey. Exactly what I want to know. But today it feels like work. Phew. Does he have to make us think? Frank nevertheless tells us that everybody is dancing much better than yesterday? No, really?
My energy drop leads to a mood drop. I can't think of a thing to say to anyone. I eat dinner by myself at the Borrodale and feel blue, so blue.
But I don't have much time to mope. Tonight, the students and tutors spread out over the island for the house ceilidhs. These are hosted by the locals and we go to whoever's house is closest to our B&B/campsite/hotel etc. I am at Peggy Anne MacDonalds.
I arrive at Peggy Anne's and for the moment am almost the only person there under 30. Lucy and Enrique give me a ride but they go on to another house. Everybody is talking Gaelic. For the first time I feel awkward. I don't know exactly what's appropriate at a ceilidh, but sitting like a stone and staring doesn't seem like it would be. Not that anyone seems to notice. But living in a small community, they've probably mastered the art of appearing to notice nothing, while noticing everything.
Soon, however, some others arrive. I meet Tara, who plays the Celtic harp. And she dances, so we have plenty to talk about. Frank shows up with his two sons. Oh dear! My first time at a house party, and I'll have to dance in front of Frank. When you are self-conscious, everything seems like a big deal.
Tara plays a few tunes on the harp, and her friend accompanies her on piano accordian. This is the first time they've played together. Harp and piano accordian together seems like an atrocity, but the music actually sounds great.
Angus and Kenneth MacKenzie arrive and play a set, on pipes and fiddle. Frank dances.
Robin plays Ceol Mor on his pipes (politely going outside, since pipes indoors can be a little intense.) He plays very well and I tell him so.
Then several people sing songs. I sit beside Rachel on the floor and listen. Really listen now, letting everything go, thought by thought. I know one of the songs, "Hi Horo 's Na Horo Eile," from Rita and Mary Rankin's recordings, so I sing along. Why not. I'm here, after all. And as I take the melody in, the jagged edges in me stop feeling so sharp. Like the pieces of a puzzle, they come together, they fit as one.
Suddenly a cameraman from the BBC rushes in. A young piper goes to the center of the room and starts to play. Was this arranged? No matter, everybody listens while she plays and the cameraman creeps softly around the room like an undertaker, filming her and everybody's reaction. Everyone is on the verge of laughing, it seems, but you'd never know. We play to the camera perfectly, all smiles, feet and hands tapping, cheering. Immediately after the set, he sneaks out without another word, and a sort of repressed giggle goes through the room.
Angus and Kenneth start playing again, and I ask Rachel if she wants to get up and dance. "Sure," she says, and we go on the floor. Rachel is instantly my favourite person in the room.
My shoes are under the chair in a bag, and I leave them there. Sometimes you can't be prepared. Anyway, in Nova Scotia they often dance barefoot. Rachel and I dance the strathspeys, then the reels. I keep thinking Angus and Kenneth are almost done, but they keep going. We keep it up for about 10 minutes, then we have to sit down from sheer exhaustion. No matter - Tara takes the floor immediately after. She's good! And then Frank finishes off the set. The BBC comes sneaking in at some point again, but nobody pays them any mind. And they sneak out again.
After the set we're all tired and happy. Frank says thoughtfully: "Wouldn't it be funny if the BBC came in to film and were were all singing country songs." Everyone laughs. Then he starts singing "Oh My Darling Clementine." He can't remember the words - or says he can't - so he starts making them up as he goes along. This is priceless! After he's done I laugh so hard I knock over not one but two drinks. Which incidentally I don't only do in Scotland. I swear I can't get through a social evening without spilling something or dropping the cake. Frank comes rushing over and helps me wipe it all up, without saying a single word. Frank and I are on the same side from that point on.
No more blues after tonight. And I'm definitely ready for more music!
3. Dance at Eriskay ~ The Stepdancer's Queue ~ No-one's a winner, but everyone's a dancer ~ Ceilidh on the Bus ~ Margaret Likes the Weather ~ A Conversation About Sheep ~ Triona on the Pipes ~ A Sharing of Song
Wednesday, July 5
It is still sunny in South Uist, as everybody takes due notice of.
I have my second wind back. I feel very refreshed after the ceilidh the night before. Our dance classes go very well. We do a few reel steps and by the end I'm much more natural and confident with them. I feel terrific, as if someone put endorphins in my tea. I feel full of music, and my feet keep tapping, even in the lunch line up. At break I chat with Troy and Betty Lou. Betty Lou has a lovely smile. Then I even make some progress in Gaelic classes.
Tonight is a big event - the Cape Breton square dance, and the Scottish dances known as reels and quadrilles. They are in Eriskay, which is a tiny island south of the Uists, connected by a causeway. The area around Eriskay is beautiful, with a rocky coastline and numerous tiny beaches with white sand.
http://www.clandonaldchiefs.org.uk/events/eriskay.jpg
Several of us, including me, Lucy, and Troy, catch the bus from the Borrodale to the Eriskay hall. A Nova Scotia flag flies outside the door. This is fun. Inside, the place is packed. The evening starts with the Scottish dances. They are done to a couple of accordians. Maria asks me to dance one. She has an excellent lead, which allows me to pick up the dance without tripping over my feet too many times.
When it's time for the Cape Breton square set, Frank goes to the microphone to talk everyone through it. "Oh great, a square set," Tiber says, and rushes into the crowd of people waiting to dance. I am about to head onto the floor, and then I'm distracted by Tiber storming off again. Still looking for a partner, I follow him, curious. He says he absolutely won't do the dance because it's not being done the way they do it in West Mabou! I find this funny and tell Tiber he has to dance anyway. He refuses and I insist until the square set starts without us, and I end up sticking around and talking with him and Tim, from my dance class. Or rather listening to them talk. Mainly I'm determind to stay until I convince Tiber to get out and do the next dance, and I'm not going to give up till I hear yes. Eventually he says he will....later. I consider this victory enough and Tim and I agree to do the next square set.
They don't play the sets one after another though, like in CB. (Maybe Tiber was onto something...) First there's a break, and then a raffle with Frank reading the numbers. The raffle appears to be a necessary part of every social event in South Uist. This one is memorable because nobody seems to have the winning numbers, ever, and they have to be redrawn constantly. Meanwhile I find out Tim sings puirt-a-beul (mouth music). I ask him to sing one for me. He sings it in my ear, and I dance. Thanks Tim!
There's no hurry for the next square set, apparently. But Kinnon, Betty Lou, and Troy come on again to play a set for stepdancers. Alexander MacDonnell (Cape Breton/Ontario) leads off. Then some of the tutors dance as well as others from Ceolas, whom I don't know. The BBC has their cameras out as usual.
Troy, Kinnon, and Betty Lou (photo credit: http://www.ceolas.co.uk/)
I am like a firecracker waiting to go off, and finally, I go out onto the floor. I feel a bit cheeky, since this is all being filmed, but I cannot remain sitting while Kinnon, Betty Lou, and Troy are playing. I don't care who's watching! I wouldn't care if I was naked! But by now I'm more relaxed about dancing in public and it feels quite natural, even with the crowds and cameras. After me a couple of others dance as well (the whole set must be about 15 minutes or more) and finally even Troy does a few steps.
Then finally it's time for the square set. There's a moment of worry when Betty Lou's keyboard falls over with the crash, and then refuses to make a sound. Somehow they get it working again. The floor is crammed - over a hundred pepole - and I don't envy Frank the task of trying to organize everyone. But somehow he does it, and the dance proceeds. I notice Tobar is indeed out on the floor. Ha. Satisfaction.
For anyone who's wondering, the CB square set is done in groups 4-6 couples. It's a mix of stepping, dancing with your partner, and dancing as a group, in a circle. Several groups of couples usually do the square at the same time (as was the case with this huge crowd). There are two sets of jigs, and one set of reels, and the dance gets more wild with each set. The idea is simple, and yet it's a really exciting dance, and very active. Afterwards I'm wiped. They play more Scottish dances, but I sit and chat, and think. Pleasant thoughts. It's been a good evening, and too soon, it's all over.
At Ceolas though, it's not safe to say the music has ended. I get aboard one of the little 16-seater buses to go home. As usual there is a long discussion about what direction the bus should go, and several people switch buses until things are worked out. Some of the final occupants of our bus turn out to be half a dozen young islanders. As the bus starts rolling, they start singing. In Gaelic. And they sing really well, despite it being late and everyone being either dead tired, or dead crazy. We stop at the Borrodale and Tiber goes in and gets his bagpipes. Is he really going to...? Yes, he is! We lurch onward to Boisdale, and Tiber plays his Highland bagpipes in the bus.
Only on South Uist.
Thursday, July 6
When I get up the ground is wet and the air is moist. The sky is gray and there's a fine mist everywhere. "It's raining today," Margaret says when I come in for breakfast. Then - "Och, I like this weather better anyway. It's nice and cool."
Dance classes and Gaelic continue to go well, though the pace of the week is slowly starting to catch up with me, and I just might be tired if everything wasn't still so fun and interesting. There's only 2 of us left in Gaelic Beginners now: myself and David MacDonald. But that's fine, because now we know enough to have a little bit of a conversation, with Lena's help. I'm actually enjoying it.
David, L, Irena, R
Meanwhile our piece for Crossover class is coming along. We have a poetry reading, a song, and then the fiddlers play a couple of jigs, and I come in and dance. Today, with just a few hours to go, we add in a reel, which makes me happy, because it will allow me to do more steps.
After classes I'm pretty tired, as everyone is. Troy and I and share the one comfy seat in the lobby. We talk about allergies and whether it is possible to be allergic to sheep. I think I might be, because I can't stop sneezing. Oh dear, I suppose that means I can't stay forever on South Uist. I will have to leave in 2 days after all. Or the sheep will be the death of me.
Meantime David walks by carrying his highland pipes. I've never seen them up close, and I ask to take a look. David lets me hold them. One thing leads to another, and I ask if I can blow into them. After a few puffs I fill the bag up. And I get them to drone! Oooh! Wow!
But that's only half the battle. I blow - and squeeze - harder, and then, at last, I get a skirl! Ha! What a rush! Then I sit down before I faint.
"Now you can appreciate what Tiber does," David says, nodding toward the same, who is sitting some distance away, looking unimpressed.
"Tiber," I say, truthfully, "I have a lot of respect for you now!"
"Not that she didn't before," David rejoins, laughing.
This evening is the song concert. I am more excited by the active events, but this is good timing since I feel like a rest. Some of the students skip the evening events to recharge, but I don't want to miss anything. The song concert is very good, like all the events. Local singer Kathleen MacInnes headlines, since she is releasing a new CD. Cathy Ann also sings, as do the song students. I'm afraid I start to nod off during some of the slower songs though. I'm sure plenty of people notice (I see one old man glaring at me) but I can't help it. I hope they forgive me.
4. The Lamb ~ The Power of the Dance ~ The Freedom of the Song ~ Ceilidh Mor ~ Party at the Borrodale ~ The Drunken Piper ~ Mary of Glasgow ~ Home Again
Friday dawns sunny again. The last day of Ceolas! Can it possibly be? Yes, it must be - I'm completely exhausted!
But I get to St Peter's Hall early and have a lovely walk in the morning silence, taking a few photos. I spend five minutes trying to get a picture of a lamb perched on a rock. Every time I lift the camera, it turns its rear end toward me. Finally I get the photo (see the "Once upon a time" graphic at the top).
In dance class, Frank goes over all the steps we have learned. Then he solemnly tells us to "stop thinking." We aren't just dancing to the music. We aren't just responding to it. We must get right inside it. And to do that, he says, we can't be worrying about what we are doing. Otherwise we are focused on ourselves, and not on the music.
I am high on endorphins again and I wish he would stop making pretty speeches and let us start dancing. But he continues:
"If you relax and let the dance into you, it will teach you. Because I believe music and dancing are much more powerful than mere mortals."
Frank McConnell
In the afternoon, it's time for our 5 - minute Crossover class performances. There are 5 groups presenting. They all have a mix of singing, dancing, piping, fiddles, and a few other elements depending on the talent - including some rap.
May (in red shirt) does some very nice steps for Group 1.
Frank, L, and Jayne, 3rd from L, and others do a stepdance number for Group 4.
Lucy, R, also played fiddle for Group 4:
My group was last. Oh, the pressure!
As mentioned before, the artist in residence, Angus Campbell, had written a poem for us. First one of the singers read it in Gaelic.
Then we all sang "Oh Mo Dhutaich," a lovely slow song that was written by a Canadian from South Uist. He had moved to Manitoba and was missing his homeland. Maybe the mosquitoes got to him. Even I sang, thanks to a phonetic rendition from Lena.
Listen to Karen Matheson sing Oh Mo Dhutaich
I was the only person from the group dancing, so when the pipes and fiddles started up, I stepped out there and did my thing.
Afterwards David told me that I look very natural when I dance. I seem to be in my own space, and then I smile a little, as if to say, "This feels so right." I liked that, because it shows he, and probably others, could see me for what I am. The best compliment of all is to have someone see your real self, and tell you they like it.
Our piece ended with the English translation of Angus Campbell's poem. It talked about how people have left the islands, and the windows have been boarded up. But on South Uist, the windows had been thrown open.
"And through them I see the birds
The beauty of the mountains
And the people in the hundreds
Singing the freedom of the song."
And so ended our last day of classes.
Oh! But Friday was just getting started.
First I joined Rachel and Kevin at the Borrodale for dinner and talk. Rachel, in addition to dance, also plays the fiddle and I'd caught her and Kevin at a Borrodale session once
L to R: Seoras, Rachel, Kevin, and Alan from London
Then it was off to Ceilidh Mor, a big concert featuring all the tutors. Cathy Ann and Kathleen sang a Gaelic song called "O Luiadh" (Oh My Dearest Darling.) It's a beautiful tune I'll always associate with that evening.
Outside it was cold and rainy, and most people ended up at the Borrodale afterward, drinking and hanging out. We were packed elbow to elbow but very happy. Everyone was talking, so several of the boys got out their bagpipes - the only instrument you would be able to hear. Tiber stood two feet from me and played full blast. But hey, I'd been on South Uist for almost a week, and I didn't even flinch.
Troy came and sat with me and Lucy. We talked about his job as professional musician. What a wonderful job! In my eyes at least. Of course to him it seems less glamourous. We talked about meeting at some place in the world again. Maybe Glasgow? Maybe Celtic Connections? Would I travel hundreds, or thousands of kilometres again for something like Ceolas? Who knows? What is it that calls out to me? Is it the music, the feeling of release and catharsis when I step out onto the floor? Does that take me, emotionally, to a place I can't get to any other way? Is it the people, the community, the shared passion for music and tradition? Is there something there I can't anywhere else?
Perhaps it is because people look completely glorified when they give themselves to music, and to the dance. Perhaps I have a deep need to see people that way. To believe I can be that way, too.
The conversation ended with us being kicked out of the pub, due to it being about 1 AM. Lucy and I looked at each other.
'Are you tired?"
"Yes, I really want to sleep..."
"Yes, sounds good..."
But somehow we found ourselves on the road to St. Peter's Hall, walking through the rain to the dance. We sang "Far am bi mi fhìn," or "The Drunken Piper," to stay warm in the cold wind and rain.
Far am bi mi fhìn is ann a bhios mo dhòchas
Far am bi mi fhin bigh mo dhochas ann .
Siubhal air na cladaichean 's a'coiseachd air a'ghainmhich
Thèid mi fhin is Sine null gu taigh a'phìobair,
'S nì sinn brod an ruidhle leinn fhin air an làr
"Where I will be, there will be my hope,
Where I will be my hope will be
Traversing the shores and walking on the sand
Sheena and I will go over to the piper's house
And we will do an exceptional reel by ourselves on the floor "
(Trad., translation by macfhionn)
St. Peter's Hall was still buzzing when we got there. My dance shoes had been worn smooth and not having sandpaper, I kicked them off and joined the dancers barefoot. We did several dances, including one called Strip the Willow, in which you whirl your partner around really fast. You just pray the person hangs on to you or you'll go flying through the wall. It was fun to dance with many of the people I'd met over the week.
At about 4 am I got back to Margaret's, and packed my bags in the pale light of early morning.
"One crowded hour of glorious life, is worth an age without a name." -Sir Walter Scott
Saturday, July 8
The bus ride to Benbecula was the only really unpleasant thing I experienced on South Uist. Those narrow, winding roads that go up and down are pretty, but ugh....I almost puked.
May and I and a couple of others hung out at Benbecula until our flight came. We ate at a nice cafe and visited MacGillivray's, the "everything" shop. The plane was cold, again. And soon, we were in Glasgow, and I waved goodbye.
Glasgow seemed awfully noisy and crowded after South Uist. And to my dismay, I could understand people's conversations. It's been months since I could walk down the street and understand what people are talking about. People talk about really stupid things! And they use bad words, too!
After checking into my hostel, I wanted some hot chocolate. But I'd never been in Glasgow before, and anyway everything appeared to be closed. Not even a Starbucks in sight. However, the hostel is close to the train station. So I went to the train station and got hot chocolate. And sat there and drank it. I felt a bit silly, going to the train station for coffee, but after spending so much time in them I felt as at home there as anywhere else.
Sunday, July 9
Today I spent with my friend Mary, who moved to Glasgow from Canada with her husband almost two years ago. Mary is the sort of person I can talk to for five or six hours, and then feel sorry to leave because there is so much more to talk about.
We met up at Glasgow Cathedral, the famous "black cathedral." (it's just really dirty). We attended the service, which felt appropriate, because I had a lot to be thankful for. The cathedral is beautiful inside, and despite the convention that you close your eyes and look down when you pray, I always wanted to look up. Hey, why did they make the ceiling so high, and put in those stained glass windows, not to mention the paintings on the ceiling, if you're not supposed to look up!
Then we went downstairs to the crypt, or whatever it was, which actually wasn't spooky at all. On the contrary, it was uplifting. The ceiling was made of elaborate interlocking arches, and they made me think of music I could see. Mary found something that she thought was a toilet, but it was the well. Oops. We got away without being pushed down it. Then we visited Glasgow's oldest house, and made fun of the paintings of Henry VIII. From there we took a tour bus. Admittedly there didn't seem to be a whole lot to see, but it was a chance to talk.
Next we went to a nice pub, tucked away in a corner. I tried haggis, because I vowed I'd eat haggis in Scotland.
It wasn't terribly exciting. But it was nothing to be afraid of, either.
Irena eating haggis. Mmm, mmm!
Then we took a nice walk around Glasgow University. We had an "oh, bliss" moment by the towers.
It was terrific to see Mary again, and it didn't feel like she'd been away that long, though it was a year and half. Here's to the next time!
That evening was the World Cup final, but I was coming down with a cold, and the wild days and nights of Ceolas were catching up with me, so frankly I didn't give a damn. I plunked my worn out body into bed and slept.
Monday, July 10
My trip home was fairly uneventful. Everything seems to work more smoothly on return trips, well, other than the A/C breaking on the train. Yuck! That train ride couldn't end soon enough.
I ordered a salad at Gatwick Airport and was thrilled to see a green leafy vegetable again. They do exist in Britain!
Waiting to board the plane to Athens, I noticed again, the dark complexions, dark eyes and dark curly hair of the people around me. I smiled. There is something nice about being surrounded by people who look like you. Then the lady sitting next to me tried to talk to me in Greek. Ah! Almost home.
And then I was home, with no idea who had won the World Cup.
Before I left, some Hizbollah terrorists had captured an Israeli soldier. Now Israel was lobbing rockets into Lebanon, and vice versa. It took me a day or two to figure out why.
The world seemed to have moved forward rather fast while I was gone, and I felt like I was chasing a train, trying to catch up with it again and get aboard. But my feet, my feet had wings.
Captain, we have safely completed the time warp and exited the wormhole. The chonometer confirms that we are back in present day Athens, sometime around the date July 22nd, 2006.
I feel differently after South Uist. I feel richer. I feel like some power touched me, moved something within me.
I guess Frank was right. Music and dancing are more powerful than mere mortals. But when you have them, how good it feels even to be a mere mortal!
Watch the Ceolas 2006 documentary:
(I found myself eating in the dining hall, and they filmed me for about 1 second getting on the BUS!! LOLOLOLOL)
