Student Bloggers

“Hey, girl from America, why don’t you sing a song?”

I was at Grace’s in Rathmines, an Irish pub that felt like a time warp to me. With its dimly lit interior, no website, and a Facebook page that hadn’t been updated in years, Grace’s was the kind of pub you only knew about if you were either a local, or put in a lot of effort to try to feel like one. I was there, on a Friday night, playing fiddle with a gathering of traditional Irish musicians. Going to this sort of musical gathering, called a session (or sesiún), is something familiar to me, and was one of the things I’d looked forward to the most when I decided to study in Dublin.

“I only know like two songs,” I replied to the old Irish man’s question. Here, as in so many other times this week, I felt out of my element. After Semester Start-Up ended, I was excited to finally meet some Irish students. The program had definitely been an enriching experience, and the lectures we attended taught me a lot about the history and culture of Trinity College, Dublin, and Ireland. But contrary to my hopes, I had barely even spoken to anyone outside of the Arcadia program. I was hoping that classes would change that.

It turned out, though, that making friends was hardly my primary concern in this first week. On Monday, I was late to both of my two modules, not having allowed myself enough time to find where they were. Both of these instances were unpleasant – the first was a small class in which my late arrival was very clear and directly pointed out, to my extreme embarrassment. The second was a huge lecture in which I arrived so late that I didn’t even get a seat – the entire lecture hall was full of more than a hundred students, and I ended up kneeling at a bench in the very back corner of the crowded hall. I’m honestly not sure which was worse.

Things did get better, of course (namely that I now know where all my classes are), but in everything I did, I was keenly aware that I was a foreigner. Every time I spoke to a new person, I hesitated, knowing that my telltale American accent would reveal me for what I was, at best a visiting student, at worst a glorified tourist. When you go to study abroad, people will tell you that it’s amazing being surrounded by foreign things, that it’s exciting exposing yourself to a new culture. While this is true on many levels, it’s not entirely accurate. Your surroundings are only new and novel to you; to everyone else, you are the novelty. You are the girl from America.

But that’s not always such a bad thing. Of the handful of Irish people I actually had a conversation with this week, the vast majority mentioned Donald Trump. With the recent government shutdown and the constant barrage of controversy from the U.S. government, this wasn’t exactly surprising, although it also wasn’t exactly pleasing. However, my first meaningful conversation with Irish people ended up being about politics. After coming to a Friday night Shabbat with the TCD Jewish Society (a very small organization with even fewer actual Jews), I ended up talking with the two students I met there for almost an hour about U.S. and Irish politics. It was both enjoyable and illuminating.

It was also not such a bad thing at the two sessions I attended. On Wednesday night, I went to a session at The Cobblestone, a pub in Smithfield well-known for its Irish music. As I sat down around the intimidatingly small circle of musicians, I delayed saying anything for as long as I could, not wanting to out myself as an American. However, when I finally introduced myself, the people around me seemed pleasantly surprised to see an American playing Irish fiddle. Although I sat in silence for much of the time between tunes while other musicians talked, everyone was generally welcoming. When I left, they told me I was welcome back any time.

And here, at Grace’s, it was not such a bad thing at all. The older gentlemen and ladies around me were all curious about where I came from, how long I’d played the fiddle, and yes, if I knew any songs (and would sing one). So, in the spirit of their good-natured curiosity, and in being in this pub that felt so quintessentially Irish, I told them I would.

“All the way from Massachusetts, Rebecca’s going to sing us a song!” they said. I laughed, hardly believing this was happening, and started to sing.

I sang “The Parting Glass”, a traditional Irish song that I learned in high school choir and had sung many times since. It was a song of my past – a goodbye song, sung my senior year of high school as our choir alumni song. It was also frequently sung in the Irish pub near Skidmore, The Parting Glass Pub, at which I regularly attended sessions. My past, my voice, my love of Irish music – it had all led me here, to this song, to this moment.  

So it was that at the end of a trying week, the girl from America sang an Irish song in an Irish pub. It was a goodbye song, but it felt like a new beginning. I hope it was.