We had dinner at Keogh's every night in Kinvara. We wanted to experience daily life in the town, get to know some people, and practice the art of conversation with strangers in a pub. Since this pub had a restaurant connected to it, and the most amazing beer-battered onion rings we've ever tasted, we decided this was the winner. We became friends with Steve, the bartender, and one evening he explained that an older crowd of locals would be there to play some music.
We decided to pass on the old folks, but after coming across live music in another pub that was rather disappointing, we started on our way back home. Walking past Keogh's we heard a lot of yelling and music coming from inside and couldn't resist going in. We were immediately greeted by Steve, who never hangs out there off the clock, and seizing this serendipitous moment grabbed the only empty bar stools left in the place. The pub was packed wall to wall with people, warm and electric as the instruments sang through the night of years gone by. We felt like we'd stepped into history, sure that this gathering was the same as those in other pubs all over the country hundreds of years ago. The bodhrán (Irish drum) beat on with the accordion, fiddle, spoons, and the like joining in the song. Every now and then when a song would end, someone would sing a traditional song a capella.
My favorite moments were when a seasoned seanchaí (traditional storyteller) would stand and recite a long lyric poem about a pretty girl, the beauty of his country, or the warmth and kindness of its people. We were stunned by the length of the stories and the fact that these men in their nineties could recite them from memory without a moment's hesitation. The minutes ticked on by and we begged them to give pause to these stories that we didn't want to end. As the night wore on the curtains were eventually pulled shut around the windows but that didn't stop the music from playing, the Guinness from pouring, or the people on the streets from streaming in until the wee hours of the morning.
We decided to pass on the old folks, but after coming across live music in another pub that was rather disappointing, we started on our way back home. Walking past Keogh's we heard a lot of yelling and music coming from inside and couldn't resist going in. We were immediately greeted by Steve, who never hangs out there off the clock, and seizing this serendipitous moment grabbed the only empty bar stools left in the place. The pub was packed wall to wall with people, warm and electric as the instruments sang through the night of years gone by. We felt like we'd stepped into history, sure that this gathering was the same as those in other pubs all over the country hundreds of years ago. The bodhrán (Irish drum) beat on with the accordion, fiddle, spoons, and the like joining in the song. Every now and then when a song would end, someone would sing a traditional song a capella.
My favorite moments were when a seasoned seanchaí (traditional storyteller) would stand and recite a long lyric poem about a pretty girl, the beauty of his country, or the warmth and kindness of its people. We were stunned by the length of the stories and the fact that these men in their nineties could recite them from memory without a moment's hesitation. The minutes ticked on by and we begged them to give pause to these stories that we didn't want to end. As the night wore on the curtains were eventually pulled shut around the windows but that didn't stop the music from playing, the Guinness from pouring, or the people on the streets from streaming in until the wee hours of the morning.
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