They say an army marches on its stomach, but if it were based in Galway, it would need to cover many miles to remove the calories it is just too easy to acquire, even on a short visit. The whole city seems to be geared to great food and drink and there are many restaurants focusing not just on international cuisine, but also on local produce, especially the delicious seafood. Our first gastronomic stopover was at McSwiggans where I lost my heart (again) to a wonderful young waitress who personally manhandled me back from the smoking arena on arrival of my perfectly grilled sirloin steak, providing me with intimate contact unmatched for many a moon. One key test of a good restaurant is the way they cook the vegetables, and here they are just al dente, done perfectly.
Stomach and heart captivated in such a short time and a great prelude to a touring production of Bristol Old Vic’s production of Anton Chekhov’s ‘Uncle Vanya’ at the Town Hall Theatre. Chekhov works so well in Ireland, there are so many shared histories and similar experiences, incipient revolt or revolution; the power of the landed gentry; the poverty of the peasants; the sense of country ennui and the inability to find something sensible to pass the time. Anton’s atmosphere (like Beckett’s) comes across the footlights like a barely visible fog, without the necessity of a word being said. Even if the production itself is not really memorable, as was the case here, actors instinctively understand Chekhov and inhabit his characters without, it seems, any great effort. A translation by an Irishman, Stephen Mulrine, helped to fuse those important points of Russo-Irish conjunction in just the right way. A spellbound audience would not let the actors, including an energetic Simon Armstrong as Vanya and an equally enigmatic Alys Thomas as Yelena (who everyone loves and nobody has), exit from the stage.
A quick visit to see colourful late Matisse lithographs on show at the spectacular City Museum provoked the usual late afternoon hunger pains, soon to be assuaged by the exquisite cuisine of Nimmos, a wonderful dining refuge perched on the very edge of Galway harbour itself. Here lobster, thoughtfully cracked open prior to presentation, thus sparing us all pain and more importantly public embarrassment at the wielding of the tongs, was washed down with lashings of elderflower prosecco. Staff circulated in what appeared to be fancy dress, but it was difficult to determine whether or not we were witnessing a special event, or a daily occurrence. Either way, ambience, atmosphere and great food combined to make our last Galwayian dinner really quite memorable.
Two or three days allowed one to barely scratch the surface, not just of this exciting city, but of the hugely comprehensive Arts Festival itself. At least five pieces of original theatre, a dozen exhibitions, performance artists, classical and popular musicians, literary and children’s events, the list seems to be endless. Fortunately many of the exhibitions are free for all to wander in, which makes it delightfully informal but on occasions quite crowded (I fled from the great Bill Viola installation under a cloud of carbon dioxide laced with thunderous claustrophobia).
The final night was spent in the concert venue of our chosen swish hotel, the Radisson Galway, which boasts a wonderful pool and spa complex (free to guests apart from the various massages on offer) and has great looking glass lifts which present much better than they operate. Here we waited patiently through supporting acts to greet the man himself, one Badly Drawn Boy (aka Damon Gough). Well, all I can really say in the interests of decency (and a curious desire to continue working) is that his last album was called, ‘There is Nothing We Could Do’. Well I could, and did. I left.
