As I am in the mad world beyond the strange world beyond tired, I can only summarize. I left the hostel in search of traditional Irish music. This, I found in a place called The Spanish Arch. I was drawn in by an attractive combination of voices and instruments and remained there for the entire set. The band was called CuChulainn and, on the basis of both their songs and my conversation with them afterwards, I endorse them wholeheartedly.
Walking along after that, I saw a young man playing a guitar and a young woman with red curly hair singing along: buskers on one of the commercial streets. I engaged the young woman in conversation to the point where she eventually disengaged from the young man and led me to a multi-level pub with a beer garden, somewhere across the river that divides Galway. After hours of conversation there, I was further led to a bohemian residence reminiscent of the dirty house, where there was discussion of travel, ecology, the India period of The Beatles, and much else.
Recognizing that I need to be awake to catch a bus in less than five hours, I politely begged my leave of Roisin (the young woman who I met with the busker), and promised that I would pass along certain songs and poems mentioned during the night’s discourse.
An excellent concluding night in Galway, regardless of how many new holes have burst open in my much abused brain. I will try to describe it better when time and brain cells are more ample.