Do not read this story unless you have read "The Longest Elevator Ride" Ireland Story #2. That story was an earlier post on this blog so you should be able to find it. There is a significant chunk of this story that will not make sense unless you have read it.
Ireland Story #3
Belfast, Oh The Irish
Well, with dinner and the whole "Grunter" incident behind me, it was time to think about what the options were for experiencing Belfast at night. After all, I only have one night in this town.
Armed with a couple recommendations from Michael the Super Guide, a half dozen or so of us head out into the street. Ok, I admit the first place we stopped was the club that Tim Robbins and his band was playing in, but the tickets were 18 pounds a pop ($28). The decision not to go in was a no brainer, at least for me. If you don't know, I am cheap. Enough said. So we head to one of the pubs near the hotel. We ended up at Robinson's Pub (see attached pic).
What I found interesting about most of the pubs we visited in Ireland was that they were similar to the Irish bar chains found in the States, except you can tell these pubs are not trying to look....well, Irish. They are just plain bars. To us, though, they are distinctly Irish in nature. They tend to be darker in atmosphere, with lots of old wood and lots of mismatched stools and tables and chairs. But, they don't have lots of old wood because they like it. They have it because they don't see any need to replace it with new wood or even more modern decorating styles. The original wood is still doing its job. It's still wood. I'm sure if I asked them why they haven't redecorated in the last 200 years, give or take a century, they would give me a look like I was insane for even asking. Actually, out of pity for my obviously diminished mental capacity, they would promptly pour me a stiff shot of Jameson Irish Whisky, on the house. Of course, over there, they just call it whisky.
This pub happened to have live music this night and was crowded. After some standing, we did manage to get a table for 4 for the 6 of us. Another thing I noticed was that the tables are about 8" apart, instead of the necessary 2 feet for a comfortable pass through. So with most tables holding more than the allotted 4 people, it seemed like we were sharing one long table with 20 people. Another surprise was that 8 out of 10 songs being played were American. They were mostly American classics from John Mellencamp, John Denver, and whoever sings "Bye Bye Miss American Pie" and the like, they even played dueling banjo's. Albeit with a guitar and violin instead of a banjo, but it was still cool.
But I must tell you that the atmosphere was electric. These Irish people knew how to cut loose and enjoy the night. Every song brought enthusiastic participation from the crowd with everyone singing along. And of course we were no exception. I noticed during one of the John Denver songs that the lad sitting next to me (technically, he was at the next table) seemed especially enthusiastic about singing along. He was an older gentleman- I would guess to be in his mid/late 50's.
So when the song ended, I slapped him on the shoulder, and quite hard since I figured that's how a drunk Irishman would do it, and said, "You really enjoyed that song didn't you."
He whipped around, and without a second of hesitation, replied, "Of course, I wrote that song for John Denver!"
I laughed with a hearty skepticism.
He then said, "I'm serious! I also wrote 'Featherbed' for John, too! The bastard stole them from me."
We continued our conversation, and I found out he was from Scotland and was visiting friends in Ireland. So there you have it folks: The untold story of the true writer of at least 2 of John Denver's songs, as spoken by a genuine Scott- and we all know they never lie, especially when drunk.
Well, it had been a great night, but we decided to head back to the hotel. As we were getting up we said our goodbyes to the Scott and his friends. On the other side of us at the "next table" was a young couple and their male friend. We had not talked to them during the night, but as we were getting up I said, "Have a good night." That's all it took. Instant conversation. That's what I loved about the Irish people. A simple hello so often turned into a 30 minute conversation between friends. I love this place. So my "Have a nice night" turned into the three of them following us to our hotel lounge for a final drink before night night. James and Clare were the couple and Tony was their third wheel who ends up being a bar owner from another town. At the hotel lounge, he buys the whole party a drink. It is fun talking with them. We have pulled a couple of tables together to facilitate our now larger group. The lounge is nice, much fancier and modern than the pub we just left. Tonight it is mostly empty, so it is quiet- a nice atmosphere to sit and enjoy our drinks and new friends. After a while of visiting, I notice someone across the room who is also enjoying a drink with some friends. Someone in our group told me the next day that at that moment my eyes suddenly got big. Well, it was The Grunter. Yes, you know who I am talking about and of course I know his name, but I prefer to refer to him as The Grunter. After all, that is how HE chose to introduce himself to me. So be it, The Grunter he will be- now and forever.
But there he is sitting with his 2 buddies. No sock cap, no glasses, but yes still sporting those amazing boots.
Apparently, unknown to me the words, "There he is," escaped my lips, because Tony, my new Irish friend asked, "Who is he?"
"Tim Robbins" is my zombie like reply.
Clare on the other side of me says, "Who is Tim Robbins?"
"Shawshank Redemption," I quickly reply.
Tony looks at The Grunter and asks me the not so obvious question, "What is Shawshank Redemption?"
Ok, this breaks me out of my trance like state and I look at Tony with surprise. "You don't know the movie Shawshank Redemption?" With not an ounce of insecurity, and looking back to The Grunter he replies, "No, is he an actor or something?"
I say a hearty, "Yes, a famous American actor!"
Hmmm, where have I heard those words before? There seems to be a ring of brilliance to them.
Now Tony is on his feet and heading toward The Grunter. I get Michelle's attention to get her camera out and follow Tony to get a picture. I have already determined to stay put. I have already had enough of this, this, Texter! Michelle seems confused, but has her camera out and moving toward this latest of Belfast adventures. So now Tony, James, Clare and Michelle are all moving toward the target. The rest of the group, including me, stay in our seats. I have legitimate reasons not to go. Why the rest are staying put, I can only guess. Tony is the first to approach The Grunter. He kneels down beside his chair.
I can't take it any longer. I rise and proceed to the now small crowd of people; his people and my people, squaring off. We will see who has the last grunt. As I get closer, Michelle has snapped a picture (see attached pic). Tony is engaged in a conversation with Tim that I can't quite hear. The rest of us are talking to the other two men, who we correctly assume are part of his band. I inquire about their music style. I care not that they will realize that I don't follow their music. Who gives a..... Ok Shawn, just relax- these guys were not in the elevator with you. They are just dudes who play in a band. Ok, so we have a nice, but short conversation. Then I happen to pick up something Tim says to my new buddy Tony.
Tim says, "So, if you don't know who I am, why are you talking to me?"
I chuckle at this, because Tony was completely clueless about who Tim was and yet, leaped into the scenario. I LOVE the Irish. Tony couldn’t care less who Tim was, he was just trying to get him to take a picture with his new American friends, because he knew we would like that. Tim politely says it’s not a good time.
Well, we head back to our table and it's only then that I find out that Michelle thought that I was only pretending it was Tim Robbins to trick our Irish friends. Even when she took the picture, she thought she was just "going along" with her cousin's prank. She really didn't think the guy sitting in the lounge was the same guy in the elevator with us. Well, Tim and his friends promptly left the lounge. Can you blame him when there is a soon to be notorious Irish/American gang running wild in the hotel? In the infamous Europa, no less.
What a night. The Grunter, John Denver's long lost song writer, Tony the young bar owner and then The Grunter again. I hope James and Clare find couple bliss. I hope Tony finds success with his bar, and I hope I never see The Grunter again.
Goodnight to The Europa Hotel, Belfast, United Kingdom. Thank you for a night to remember.
