Wondering why I’m listening to Cotton Eyed-joe in a cafe in Galway…it’s a pretty strange experience! I remember dancing to this song when I was young, people being raucous and rowdy and lots of movement all round. Here, there’s none o’ that. Lots of chatter in Irish voices except the one beside me who’s also on his phone, reading news or about his favorite sports teams. This is not a new experience for me. Except that everyone has a different accent to mine. D is never talkative off the clock unless we’re at the bar with other people. And I’m always wishing he were. But it’s ok here, his silent way is helpful for my observing nature.
observing the denizens of this Galway cafe
I see so many people who look just like they could be at home in San Francisco too. But they’re here, at home or visiting, in Galway, Ireland.
There’s a lady with a big, fluffy black coat, beanie and sunglasses across the room from us, sipping her drink, some espresso no doubt; I can’t tell if she’s old or young she’s so covered by her trappings.
There are students on their laptops, studying or playing around. And ladies yapping over their coffees. And I’m just an American in Galway…haven’t seen anything but this cafe and the train station. The few pubs surrounding it are of course, as you’d expect, plentiful. But they serve food, people don’t drink like you’d think here in Ireland. I think it’s only the young people who party much and usually in foreign places like America, when they’re visiting on J1 visas.
We’ve come to see the town and yet we’re sitting in this quaint cafe, listening to the full version of The Prince Of Bell Air…