My musical trip to IRELAND. Meeting Mickey McConnel and Gavin family.

On August 22, we met the Family Gavin, and their Gypsy Wagon TV. They had invited me to sing and to be recorded in their wagon, and I had the luck of knowing their natural paradise in the middle of Fintown's Nature; a green paradise of trees and grass, lakes, rivers... They were very kind with us and we spent a happy and nice afternoon of music and friendship. You can see their awesome channel of folk and music.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCoiry3FOj-18ibNQe9FijDA

The other great experience of this summer was meeting Mickey McConnell.

First of all, I met the song. “Only our rivers run free”. I listened to it some years ago, through YouTube, sung by a young man in a pub of England; this man seemed a worker or a syndicalist, and he sang for freedom. I felt upset with that song, it made me cry and I didn’t know why. May be It happened because its meaning was applicable to the situation of my country, Catalonia. As I told you, It happened some years ago.

From that moment on, I searched and I discovered that that song was written by a man called “Mickey McConnell”. I learnt things about him. He was born in Northen Ireland. His song “Only our rivers run free” talked about the constittutional status of Ulster, and this song became a hit in Ireland in 1968. He made many other songs like “The little drummer boy” and “Follow the flag”. The songs of Mickey were sung by singers like Christy Moore, The Wolfe Tones, Mary Black, The Kelly Family, The James Last Orchestra...

I listened “Only our rivers run free” again in YouTube from a young singer called Sheena (now she is older and lives and sings in pubs from New York. Few weeks ago she was in derry) and I cried again. Finally I learnt to sing this song, and... from time to time, even now, I perform it in the kitchen of my home for my daughter. Now she is 11, but when she was three or four, she hardly ate his dinner, and I sang this song, an others too, so that she had dinner easier, and really she did. Now, I have just made a Catalan version of the song. I told it to Mickey last night and he loved the idea.

So… after all that… I met Mickey McConnell through facebook one or two years ago. This summer, my family and me decided to visit Ireland and I asked Mickey where did he sing and he told me about McMunns, in Ballybunion. We went to have a dinner there on August, 26, and it was great, magic, exciting… My family and me enjoyed a lot, and, in two occasions, Mickey put his guitar on my hands and asked me to sing a couple of songs. It was very exciting to contribute to the magic of the pub with two Catalan songs. If only I had knew that I was going to sing I would have prepared some irish song; I usually sing “Grace” and “The great majestic Shannon” but I don’t know them by heart, and I sang two Catalan songs that I remember and feel very well. Anyway, It was great. The atmosphere of the McMunns was bewitching, entrancing, gripping, awesome… Mickey sang “only our rivers run free” “Viva la quinta brigada” and many others. Other man whom name I don’t remember that had been a very good football trainning (and player) many years before sang too (a deep song about a worker). A woman stood up and sang too (Me and Bobby McGee). Mickey made us feel welcomed; he dedicated songs to us, he explained to the whole pub that we had come from Catalonia, he introduced ourselves to one of the owners of McMunns and some other kind people, he helped us to feel very happy in a warm and kind human climate. That night, the Irish people of McMunns turned out to be like a group of friends for us, openminded, open to other culture (Catalan culture), cheery…

So… I want to thank Mickey such a wonderful night, three days before I turned fifty years old.

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At dawn, light is blowing down darkness, and a new day is starting again.

About half way between Coll d'Estenalles and Coll d'Eres, there is a place where oak and pines trees stand under the early stars, while the sun is sinking behind Montserrat mountains. After walking through the forests of this area, we usually sit on the ground, and with the faces flushed by the last sunlight of the day, so red, we sing the songs we love the most. These are the deepest instants in life, perhaps the truest instants. The North wind cools us, however we wear suitable clothes, and despite the cold weather, we appreciate the harsh intensity of the forces of nature. We love the cold in winter, the heat in summer, the strong blow of the wind when it awakes, the silent falling of the snow in the heart of the forest, the loneliness of the wild valleys... The energy of the nature is not our enemy but our mother. We emerged from the strongness of this nature that we love, and we accept its power.

In this scenario, time stretches as if it were ethernal; perhaps because we don't think about time. We don't think about what existed before this instant and we don't think about what will exist after this instant either. The dazzling image of the sun dissapearing in the west like a red ball of fire reveals to us that we are in heaven, but we are in heaven not because of all these realities but because of our heart, our mind, our love, our way of thinking, our way of living, our lack of utilitarianism, our submission to the forces of nature.

Lately, we have become usual visitors of this countryside, and sometimes I think that the trees, the wild pigs, the hills, the winds... know who we are, and love us, and are glad to have us so near.

This place is the farest spot from fashionable people. It is a hidden place in the heart of the wild Earth, where the core of the existence lives naked, and so we can see it naked and clear as it is.

Some skin stone's tops cluster near this place. They are made of red rocks, and these rocks are made of thousands of more little stones. Below the tops, the trees cluster around the stone's hills, and from these trees, a wide and deep forest stretches like a green prayer rug. The big temple of the mountain embraces a deep silence, and only the wind, some animals, and our voices singing in the night, break the strong and peaceful stillness of the evening.

The distant image of the old monastery of Sant Llorenç is cast across the wood. There is a quavering light on its windows, and from there to us there is only the deep darkness of the tree tops in the night. Now, the ripples of the clouds are dyed red, and the wind blows stronger. Rosemary and thyme scents are sent up by the blowing of the wind. I put my hand on a rock and I feel it chilly almost as if it were ice. We sing a song and when we finish we flounder for a minute because we don't know what to do. Perhaps singing another song would be a good idea, or instead perhaps we should go back home. Suddenly, we discover we are not alone because somebody is coming down to where we are. He or she comes from the top of the mountain, and appears as a little point of light that grows as it gets closer. This man or woman crawls slowly as if it were a distant ship in the horizon of a dark and cold sea.

When we go away, and the night rules and goes by, the dew is going to moisten the leaves and the grass. Yet, at dawn, light blows away the darkness, and a new day starts again.

This forest is full of winding paths that guide toward magical places, isolated wells, little old churches, lonely and neglected old farmhouses, charmed palaces, deep caves... I specially want to talk about a cave, the dragon cave, whence many centuries ago, a dragon went out from the dephts of the Earth to eat whoever it found on its way.

Sometimes, I went into this cave, a crevice in the heart of a red stone's crag, and I have to say that I didn't find any trail of the dragon, but something inside me compells me to believe that it is real, and that I have to believe it exists. This narrow cave is dotted with inner crevices, and it has two holes as entry and exit. The dragons have some sort of magic that makes them glorious and therefore they usually appear in the armorial shields of many important families around the world.

These days, the days we go on a journey, a mountain trip, are very important because time tends to slip away. And when we decide to start a trip, a trip towards nature spots we have not to hope or to expect anything. We have to enjoy whatever we find whatever we live. If we imagine our trip before it starts, it doesn't quite live up to our expectations. To make the most of our journey, we have to enjoy what we find without expecting anything. Every day has a surprise, something to savour, a specific identity. Every trip is a gift, a mystery, a magic experience. Of course, we have to plan it out, but we have to keep a chance for the random factor. We have to have free time, a time without timetables or specific goals; a time to walk without any direction, discovering more than seeking, living more than thinking.

Many people cringe when they think about travelling without any safety. People put the comfort on top of all the goals in life, and they destroy any magic to be more comfortable and more safe. When magic dies life dies. And if we don't fight against the rut every day, we will mindlessly end up in the mind's jail where most people live. If we don't fight, we will succumb. Social pressure is far too strong.   
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The best way of starting the first week of june

I heard this song sung by Manu Chao, and I learnt a little bit about rythm. I discovered that rythm is not only a pace to sing a song but also a way of life. Life has the colour we feel inside of us.

I hope you like...