Another letter from Katie Botkin’s travels in Ireland:
After Counihan’s Mary and I head across the street to Crane Lane, a big place with hanging plants above the outdoor walkways and frequent live music. I’d been there a few nights previously with Mary and Emily and Nicole, the last two of whom have returned to England since then. It was that evening that Mary decided to christen Emily Five-Foot due to her height, and some ill-fated Irishman overheard and decided that gave him leeway to use her head as a table for his drink. He kept insisting that she cooperate, and she kept telling him in exasperation that she was not going to allow it.
This evening, things are considerably more quiet. We sit at tables and talk above the noise. Once again, we stay out until the place closes. Once again, the music stopping gives the males in the place one last surge of adrenaline, and they try to make conversation as we’re being swept out the door. One fellow asks me where I’m from. “Idaho,” I say “I bet you don’t know where that is.”
“I know Josh Ritter wrote a song about it,” he replies, and before I can compliment him on his taste in music, we’re separated by a wave of people, and I’m outside on the sidewalk, jumping up and down in the chill. Slightly to my right, lo and behold, there’s the other Katie from Idaho. Maybe she’s the reason the boy in the bar knew about Josh Ritter. But then, I kind of doubt it.