Celtic Connections
A day of fierce winds and lashing rain. A day for exploring what lies inside rather than what the city provides outside. Oh Scotland- now this is the weather I expected. Lashing winds and rain providing physical encouragement to stay close to the kettle and consider the gift of being.
What is it that drew me to this city so far away?
Celtic Connections is a three week long city wide music festival that happens every year in Glasgow, Scotland. A chance to do something familiar in an unfamiliar place while feeling on the edge of something new. Seeking ways to honor the inner pull toward what is new and what in unfamiliar away from the easy comfortable bliss of home.
Glasgow: reminds me of Boston in 1885. I mean no offense to the city of the loads of lovely Glaswegians I’ve met. Friendly, open hearted, and curious about what in heavens name has brought me to Glasgow in January? When I tell them I’m here for the Festival they seem surprised. Yet here we sit, arm to arm in auditoriums, halls and churches throughout the city to listen to together. There is something delightful in these chance meetings. I met David who had just finished his midpoint chemotherapy treatment. He had heard about the performance by chance. David stopped at a café for coffee and learned about the daily performance at the Royal Concert Hall on the Danny Kyle stage and decided to come and have a listen. We talked about how he was supposed to be on Iona at his annual decades long volunteer pilgrimage. His recent course of chemotherapy treatment up ended his schedule. He assured me that he will go to Iona to recover and recuperate and do some volunteering. He spoke of his love for that place, his gratitude for his treatment and he encouraged me to come back to Scotland and visit Iona. He assured me he will go in the spring. Not seeming to be on to shirk his commitment. He is a Glaswegian after all. David’s Ionian hosts and friends will welcome him to come when he can and do what he can but mostly just look forward to is rest and recuperation. There was Christine who blew into The Old Fruitmarket Hall cane in hand winded and flustered. “The bus didn’t come!” she said. “It was there in the sign and it just didn’t come! I didn’t think I’d make it.” I assured her I was glad she did and that we were in for quite a show. “Oh I know!” she said. She was right.
There is an industrial gritty historic vibe here that permeates the air. The people I’ve met personify that energy. It’s lovely to share real and utterly human moments like these with strangers. There is a vulnerability in sitting together arm and arm with wrapped attention as the lights go down. I’m happy to be in Glasgow. There is an energy to this city that feels like a place that gets shit done. I get that feeling. May look a bit rough around the edges but don’t judge too quickly, this place has heart. A proud heritage and an excellent music festival. My kind of place.
The first few days have been all about sharing this adventure with Simone. A life-long practice of searching out great music in new places and something we truly enjoy. We’ve avoided guide books and instead take a few recommendations from friends and feel our way through the city. Parks, cafes and thrift stores are mainstays. Museums and heritage sites give us a feel for the place and the people highlighting their perspective.
No stranger to adventuring, I’m game to do fun things almost anywhere. However, I always adventure in the company of others. This time I’m on a on my own. It was grand to have Simone to ease me into my solo adventure. I could tell she was slightly concerned about leaving me and yet leaving me she did. Back to her big rich life at Trinity where she is leading a solo adventure by example.
