R.I.P. James Gandolfini

If Lucas Jackson from Cool Hand Luke (played by the inimicable Paul Newman) is my favourite movie character of all time, Tony Soprano is my number one when it comes to TV. Having spent a fair bit of my first year at university watching The Sopranos and completing all six seasons within a modest duration, I couldn't help but become attached to the series' protagonist. Machiavellian may perhaps be used to describe the mob boss but like Michael Corleone in the Godfather trilogy, Tony was a character I found myself easily sympathising with. I would go further to posit that Tony's humane, everyman quality - so capably portrayed by James Gandolfini - made him more likeable than he was detestable. There were many times when I felt that I could relate to Tony Soprano. I found myself able to, in varying degrees of course, feel his anger, sorrow and joy (for lack of a better word as this last quality may arguably have eluded him). Because of this, and the amount of time I had spent with him, the character remains an indelible one to me. There's little that I enjoy more on the screen than well-crafted characters and although credit should always be given to the writers, it is equally important to appreciate that it is upon the actor that the burden of interpretation falls. Many others who've watched the series will probably agree with me and this bears testimony to Gandolfini's genius as an actor. To read of his passing evoked a sadness in me and it's amazing how the death of artists can impact people who've never actually met them. The first person whose passing drew tears from me was Newman. To not have actually met someone does not mean to not have interacted with them. Every character is a fruit borne by the actor/actress and his/her person and my attachment to Tony Soprano must have resulted from an interaction with the character, and in extension, Jim Gandolfini himself. I'm sure that Gandolfini was as good a person as he was an actor as Matt Zoller Seitz opines and many in the TV/film industry must be mourning his passing. On a personal level, while feeling sad that I'll no longer get to see him in new roles (I've also watched a films like True Romance and The Man Who Wasn't There), I'm also thankful that he gave the world Tony Soprano, a TV character that has claimed a status of immortality on the screen. Therefore, actors like Gandolfini never really die. R.I.P., Big Man.

The Lily of the West: Visiting Western Ireland

In my honest opinion, Dublin is not as ‘boring’ a place as many of my friends have made it out to be nor was it the charming city I had come to expect, having gone through a phase listening to traditional Irish songs. I prepared for my trip by reading up a little on Ireland’s historical struggle for independence, with particular focus on the 1916 Easter Rising, and this certainly enriched my walk around the city as I attempted to identify areas which were pertinent to this crucial episode in Irish history. However, I was to find Dublin to be like the one portrayed in ‘Dublin in the Rare Auld Times’ with glass cages along the quay rather than the ‘fair city’ depicted in ‘Molly Malone.’ I was therefore thankful that my experience in Ireland extended to visiting the western part of the country as we spent the second half of our week’s stay in County Mayo (‘Mhaigh Eo’ in Irish).

Having a local contact always does wonders in enriching a visit to a foreign place and our family have had the privilege of Uncle Martin’s acquaintance. Uncle Martin, Irish but educated in England, had spent almost a decade working in Singapore and he took us on a three-hour drive to his country home in Swinford. It was a tiny town in the county and reminded me of the Scottish town where Local Hero was set. I’ve always preferred to live in a place like that where everyone was familiar with one another but I was told by Uncle Martin’s wife, Chris, that small and personal also meant that people thrived on gossip.

Swinford

We took a half-hour’s ride to Westport, often voted Ireland’s best place to live in in annual polls, on our third day. A refreshing change when compared to Dublin was the paucity of chain stores as local shops dominated the town’s commercial landscape.

Westport

Croagh Padraic

Croagh Padraic is a renowned hill (from a certain angle, it appears so perfectly triangular that it resembled a toblerone piece) of pilgrimage, and St. Patrick, Ireland’s patron saint, was believed to have preached on it. In the olden times, Catholic devotees would climb up the hill barefoot, equipped with only a stick to help them maintain their balance as they made their way up to the summit. A few older people are still seen to carry out this ritual in such a manner. The prospect of climbing a hill (it takes about three hours for a normal person to get up and down although seasoned climbers do it in about two) like Croagh Padraic is daunting enough, let alone the notion of doing so without shoes. Although we only climbed one-tenth of the height – I’ll have to save the summit for another time – we were treated a breath-taking view of the landscape below us. It was so gorgeous that my point-and-shoot couldn’t capture it well enough. We also took a short drive to Oldhead beach where the actor Robert Shaw, of Jaws fame, used to reside. The blue flag signifying its pristine status, it was probably the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. I’m no poet but I believe that some things are truly beautiful beyond description and Oldhead’s one of them. I did not take photos of the place, knowing that attempts to do so would do little justice to the memory of the scenery. Moreover, I didn’t have to do so as the splendour of Oldhead is, and will remain, vividly etched in my mind. Should I find Love, this is one place we’ll visit.

With the Cunningham family on Croagh Padraic

Gaelic Football @ McHale Park

I also had the privilege of watching a game of Gaelic football. It’s an amateur sport only played in Ireland but it possesses a large following among the Irish people. Each county has a team and the fact that players who play for each team is taken from local clubs situated within the particular county makes the game more genuinely symbolic of local pride. My stay in the West Region coincided with a match between Mayo and Roscommon, two neighbouring counties in Connacht. The match was thus equivalent to a football derby. Though way less hostile and fans were not segregated during Gaelic football matches as they are during football games, the match was particularly significant for a certain town, whose name slips my mind, in Roscommon which curiously had both Mayo and Roscommon supporters. Bragging rights were at stake there. The match was held at McHale Park in Castlebar, Co. Mayo, and the turn-out was way larger than I had expected it to be. More than 19,000 people turned up (probably more than what you’ll get at a Middlesbrough football game) despite the weather being less than encouraging. Besides one sheltered stand, most of the spectators sat on terraces which were exposed to the threatening dark clouds hovering above. Despite an initial drizzle which made me regret not bringing my raincoat along, we managed to stay dry for throughout the match. The game was entertaining at the start but became one-sided and by half-time, it was clear that Mayo, the day’s favourites, was going to triumph. I was unfortunate to have not seen a goal during the course of the 70 minutes (in Gaelic football, players scored points or goals which were worth 3 points).

Of course, no Irish experience is complete without a visit to an Irish pub. I was thankful that the pub I got to visit could be no more Irish (the ones at Temple Bar in Dublin are probably too commercialised to be considered wholly authentic). Swinford town boasts 12 pubs in spite of its very modest size (astonishingly, it used to have about 60 in the ‘60s and ‘70s) and after the ladies had gone to bed, Uncle Martin took me to Padraic Horan’s, a pub doubling as a convenience store, and Mellett’s, a local pub which had been opened in 1797 and has been run as a family business since. Most pubs in Ireland, I was told, are not owned by breweries and most (at least those outside Dublin city) are named after their owners. Chain pubs are a rarity outside Dublin and the person who ran the pub was usually its owner. Pubs in Ireland also close later than the ones I’ve been to in England and even after the mandatory closing times, Uncle Martin told me that people would remain in them past these times. He said that if pubs obediently adhered to the stipulated closing times, many would go bust! The pub owner would lock the front door, giving the impression that the place was shut but people would continue drinking in the pub for an hour or so before being let out through the backdoor. Reminiscent of my local pub in Durham, there was a strong sense of community in the pubs we visited and everyone appeared to know one another. Opting to sample a pint of Guinness instead of my usual cider, I found that a pint of ‘porter’ in Ireland, even in this relatively less expensive part, was more expensive than ones I get in Durham!

Ireland is a country that brings out the song in you and I couldn't help, while killing time in the morning before leaving Dublin for Copenhagen, but record a personal rendition of the Irish version of 'The Lily of the West'. I've shamelessly uploaded the recording, accompanied by several videos and photos, so do listen to it at your own risk. 

High Force: Enjoying Durham's Countryside

When friends ask me what I’ll miss most about being in the U.K., I’d reply, ‘watching football matches at St. James Park.’ A very, very close second would be the gorgeous English countryside.

Capitalising on the Sun’s decision to grace the skies above (it is not often that he chooses to do so), we made the trip to High Force on the River Tees in County Durham. I’d first heard of it during a visit to Barnard Castle one year ago and my mate at my local pub, Charlie, reminded me of its existence when I bumped into him last week. The journey was longer than Emily had expected it to be but driving through the countryside in County Durham proved to be a visually therapeutic experience in itself, the glorious sunshine accentuating the verdant splendour of the dales which were dotted with the colours of sheep and cattle. If only we could’ve played John Denver songs on the way (although Emily did sing a line of ‘Country Roads’)!

High Force

High Force was not crowded with visitors as it was a weekday and a short, pleasant walk through the woods from the car park took you to the waterfall itself. Along the way, one can admire the rock formations perpendicular to the walking path whose curious geometric design made them appear almost artificial, the flat surfaces inevitably inviting visitors to leave their marks. Sitting on the rocks at one side of the bank, one could admire the water plunging quite forcefully (no pun intended here) from the cliff edge, the sound of rushing water adding to the blissfully serene character of the place. It was an ideal place to visit after a hectic academic year and I’d certainly recommend it to everyone studying in Durham. Needless to say, only plan a trip there on days when sunshine and clear skies are forecasted (approximately 4 times a year in England).

Coming from a city-state that’s very much a concrete jungle, I’ll miss the fresh air of the countryside and the tranquillity of the woods. Thoreau wrote of the wild as a place free from the shackles of conformity and society and as a city-boy easily fatigued by the hustle and bustle of urban life (deep down, I don’t believe that I’m actually one), I’ve always thought it ideal to be able to escape to the countryside regularly as there, one finds not only serenity, but sanity.