Ceilidh Cripple

Despite the ceilidh being three nights ago, my calves feel the need to seize up and begrudge any attempt at movement after any sitting (or resting) period longer than 27 seconds. This results in my walking as though the inedible part of a certain variety of maize had been implanted in my posterior.

It may have been mentioned before, but a ceilidh is a traditional social dance originating in Scotland and Ireland. As Celtic peoples are mad (and therefore completely wonderful), this event is absolutely non-stop once you get into it and also quite capable of rendering normall sedentary persons (aka, herself) utterly useless for walking for days afterward. Stairs are a particular challenge. A request has been made of the E that this become a regular part of my social calendar as I have not hopped around so much since the age of 4. And I like hopping and twirling! (This picture is unfortunately from the earlier -- and therefore tamer and less populated-dance-floor -- part of the evening. The set dances are kind of like American square dancing where you are in either lines or squares and you do crossing over and swinging. There are no pictures of this part as your photographer happened to be dragged out repeatedly by her new friend, Elsa, and is therefore unable to provide cultural documentation.)

Fortunately, on this occasion, there was a caller (i.e., a person telling you where the hecks to go). This was due to the large number of foreigners at the conference (Americans and Canadians) and was quite useful since when you get native Celts together for these things, they (naturally) know what to do. This is intimidating to easily emabarrassed outsiders. Our caller was amazingly patient with dealing with the chaos (we all know what a challenge it can be if you are told to go left and you don't have time to do the 'L' thing with your hands -- no giggling). She dealt with us for nearly 3 hours without a break!

This kind of social activity is really not a part of most people's lives (at least people that I know, but then I do know a lot of Baptists), and this vaccuum seems kind of sad to me. This is an opportunity for intergenerational connection (in a community or family setting), historic traditions, good safe fun (not to mention excellent calf development) and brings people together to a sharing depth that we mostly do not get past inprobably 98% of our little shallow 21st-century interpersonal interactions. Since I am listening to 'Me and Bobby McGee' while typing, my brain is not really putting this so smoothly, but perhaps you will get what my point is.

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Earlier in the same day (this was Tuesday), we were fortunate enough to have a day trip which involved walking down and up a steep grade to see Giant's Causeway -- and began with an 8am coach trip to the Bushmill's Distillery. (Note to the mama: we were not drinking whiskey at 8am... it was an hour an a half ride and then an hour tour, so it was at least 11.30 before I tried the Distiller's Reserve. Which was lovely! ahem, ahem. I need a toddy.)

Bushmills was licensed to distill whiskey in 1608 by King James I (of Biblical fame -- obviously fairly human and prseumably not opposed to a wee dram of the Aqua Vitae), although it is thought that is has been being distilled since the 13th century. Since the heat is not created with peat smoke (as Scotch is), it is a smoother liquor. The process is really amazing and even the fermented barley remnants are sold to farmers for feed, so it is a pretty resourceful creation.

All casks are pre-used before the whiskey is aged in them and what was in the casks before guides the flavours -- sherry, madeira, American whiskey, etc. Casks are only used once (or maybe it was twice) and then are recycled or sold to garden centres. The bottling room is also amazing and just like a movie. Fascinating!

(This is a former pot still, which is in the cafe. Very sadly, no photos are allowed within the factory, as you would blow up the whole shebang. My favourite part was the Distilling Master's area, because he has all these pipes connecting to little brass and glass aquarium-ish things with and chemistry readings being made by computer from the liquids. It looked like Willy Wonka and the Whisky Factory. Without the Oompa-Loompas.)

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Several of us decided that we could have actually skipped Bushmills (despite being fascinating) and spent the whole time at Giant's Causeway (it is known as The Eighth Wonder of the World), as it is truly spectacular and we were only allowed out for a tad over an hour. We didn't even make it to within sight of the suspension bridge (which was something we all wanted to do). This means that it is mandatory that someone go back with me for an explore, a ramble and an entire day of hiking -- anyone, anyone?

We did, however, learn some of the legend of Finn McCool, (or Fionn mac Cumhaill in Gaelic) the Giant and his Magic Camel (seen here, if you look carefully at the bay). Finn McCool built the Causeway with the approximately 40,000 hexagonal columns that make up this geological phenomenon, and one of the columns is his chimney.

Back when the British Isles were below the Equator (who knew! I am going to have to get a book on plate techtonics...), this entire area was formed by multiple lava flows, and the columns formed when the basalt cooled very rapidly. There are only maybe twelve other places in the world where this has happened, three of which are in the continental USA.

On one of the mounds is the Wishing Chair, which our guide probably tells as a different column every time... wishing involves sitting and wiggling your bum back and forth three times.

And this is wild thyme. Wild things make me happy.

The rest of the week was actually spent working and in sessions (at Queens University Belfast) and learning about immigration laws and how banks in the US are dropping UK schools from their lists of approved destinations to loan money to students -- all very scintillating stuff.