'You've got what ?' This was the most polite response to the news that yes, I - Englishman and Gaelic Games ignoramus - had got hold of tickets to the biggest Gaelic football match in years, a derby final between the neighbouring counties of Mayo and Galway. 'And I thought,' added my green-eyed drinking buddy, 'that you were meant to be in town covering the arts ?'
Indeed, but my, ahem, elastic approach to what qualifies as 'arts' is, I argued, merely in keeping with the spirit of the Galway Arts Festival: all-inclusive, accessible and always open to suggestion. As a festival ambition, this is not unique - in fact, contemporary arts festivals fall over themselves to state their commitment to both 'the street' and 'high art'. The difference is that in Galway - now a summer fixture, this year it runs from 18 to 30 July - the ambition is realised.
You do find yourself moving from a pub session - or singalong - to a play from the Reunion Islands; or from a 'street encounter' with a French troupe all dressed as 12ft John Majors (maybe, like Jerry Lewis, Major has found cult status in France) to a season of Irish-American movies. The Film Fleadh runs concurrently with the Arts Festival and Galway, now home to the Irish Film Board, is becoming a sharp player on the film circuit. Last year local boy made good Gab-riel Byrne was the guest of honour, and it was typical of the festival that the centrepiece of the Byrne season should be a free public interview at the town hall.
Galway City is booming, as locals will tell you. It has a healthy self-image - go-ahead and young (with a large student population, thanks to University College Galway). You wouldn't say all signs of the new prosperity look good - not many of the developments on the outskirts would trouble architectural awards. But the body of the town, centred on Shop and Quay Streets, retains the feel of a handsome, large village - one with a disproportionate amount of places to eat and drink. On a July weekend, as one alfresco jamboree merges into another, the two streets become one large drinking gallery.
Galway in the summer sees its function as amusement - and why not? The arts festival kicks off a trio of annual events; it's followed by the Galway races in August - just about the best place to lose both your money and innocence, is the local consensus - and the Oyster Festival in September. (If you're in Galway any other time and fancy oysters, try Moran's at Kilcolgan, just south of the city.) At the arts festival, you get the feeling that entertainers are as much there to amuse themselves as to fulfil a contract. So playwright Martin McDonagh hangs out for the craic , Gabriel Byrne, wanders around, exciting the teens, and 'friends of the festival', the Undertones, much-missed purveyors of power pop, give an impromptu session in a pub.
As for the football game, it was a pleasure and education - and came complete with an artistic finale. At the end, the triumphant Mayo captain, hoisted on the shoulders of teammates and fans - I thought this sort of thing only happened in comic strips? - launched into a highly purple speech, which ran through the hundred and one virtues of the famous county of Mayo ('skill, resolution, best-looking girls' etc.) I, by now a committed fan of Galway, was not so pleased, until my gracious hosts reminded me that the best way to forget was to throw a party. (Makes more sense than that old English, post-match sport of throwing a chair.)
That night, the annual Macnas Parade - a a torch-lit fiesta, dominated by ghostly figures whose business it was to eat children - took over Galway's centre. The afternoon's game was forgotten, and the kids were eventually returned - whether their revelling parents wanted them or not.
