A madman in Ireland

I am not a fan of big street crowds. I endure them when needed, but as soon as I can avoid them, I take the escape route. You can't say Galway's Shop St. is the 5th Avenue, but whenever the sun dares to break the gray cloud wall, locals and tourists alike storm down from Eyre Sq. to the Spanish Arch. Musicians try to make some cash and light the mood of passers-by, including a guy who played and UFO shaped drum that sounded like a synth guitar depending on where he hit it.

One of my first days in the city I chose an alley that connected Shop St. and Middle St. While much quieter, the narrow sidewalks don't make it ideal for a stroll. Still, the Augustinian Church has the charm to attract the visitor. But as much notorious as it is, it pales with another temple, down to Cross St.

Those with a deep sense of the aesthetic would mention the Stendhal syndrome when confronted with Charlie Byrne's bookshop. I won't go that far. However, entering for the first time I had clear that it was my place to go. Wandering in the entrance room and finding a venerable copy of the complete works of Rabelais, so old I couldn't find the edition date in case the pages fell apart, made the expression “love at first sight” stop being a cliché. At least for a brief while.

It was not the most surprising thing. On the outside of the shop, round the corridors of the commercial passage the store is located, there are shelves of bargain books, without the vigilance of any of the workers. Striking for a man coming from a country where, most probably, there would be more books stolen than sold.

I wandered inside and outside, finding not only books but also vinyls, old and affordable, although the only way could play them but be sticking my left index finger into the disc hole and scratch the grooves with an almost non-existing, bitten nail. I sat in the leathered chairs, which seem as veteran as the bookshop itself, not even reading, but staring at the shelves. The place may be only twenty six years old, but has the feeling of being there for ages.

I knew my girlfriend would love it as much as I did. I told her working there would be my ideal job. But after we went in together, she worded it better: “Not only that. Throw a mattress somewhere and I'll live here”. “We'll bath in the Corrib”, I added. Preposterous. But by all means true.