This report will cover our June 2025 journey to the Westport Folk and Bluegrass Festival, our stay in Galway, and our trip end at the Doolin Folk Festival.

I was hesitant to write this trip report. My reports for our 2019 Northern Ireland and our 2023 Republic of Ireland trips covered far more key information helpful to others planning a trip to Ireland, especially those without a car. This one includes just a few things new to us, but then again, they might be new to you, so who am I to decide what's useful and what's not.

However, if you are a Bluegrass, Trad and/or Folk music fan, this report might be of keen interest to you. You decide.

Readers should be aware that we are 80 and 72. My husband, who daily walks 10 or more miles a day, just isn't as interested in travel as he once was. I, the rather idle 72-yr-old with crumbling knees and feet am the one still keen on adventure. These facts shaped this itinerary and our eventual day-to-day travel in 2025.

After our successful Scandinavian adventure June 2024, I came home excited to plan our June 2025 trip. My husband? Not so much.

"Let's go somewhere easy. Ireland would work."

OK. That decision meant I had an instant outside framework. We could return to Westport, probably hit Galway at some point, and maybe I could find another music festival we'd like. No matter what, I already knew his rules: no car rentals, stays of three or more nights, trip length preferably less than 14 nights.

A quick check of online music calendars showed a music festival in Doolin. We could spend time between Westport, work our way down to Galway, hang, do the Doolin thing. Now to route the air with points, a game I love to play. After all, my own trip rule is to have a lie-flat seat over any ocean. I had made major progress planning relatively free flight legs when my husband started putting more preferences in place. No JFK. Then no Dublin if possible. Then "I don't want tour drivers." O-Kay.

Gee this was getting hard. I was changing flights and redepositing miles daily for a bit.

Finally I came up with a plan and proposed it. It would involve two flight legs to get to Ireland and two flight legs to get back home. We could do drivers or buses. My husband gave a thumbs up.

The result? A routing for the absolutely insane. But hey, if the shoe fits...

• Fly Atlanta (ATL) to London Heathrow (LHR) in Virgin Atlantic's* Upper Class** (Delta SkyMiles)
  If on time,
• Use Virgin Atlantic Arrivals Lounge for Shower
• Walk Terminal 3 to Terminal 2
• Fly London Heathrow (LHR) to Shannon (SNN) (AAdvantage Miles)***
• Use Taxi or Expressway #51 to Ennis
• Stay One Night Old Ground Hotel, Ennis ****
• Use Driver or Buses and/or Train to Westport for Westport Folk and Bluegrass Festival
• Stay Three Nights Westport Plaza Hotel, Westport
• Explore Achill Sound (north) and Croagh Patrick (south) by Bus Eireann #450
• Use Driver or Bus Eireann #456 to Galway
• Stay Hotel or AirBnb for 4 Nights
• Use Driver or Bus Eireann #350 to Doolin for Doolin FolkFest
• Stay Three Nights Fiddle+Bow, Doolin
• Use Bus #350 for Cliffs of Moher or #350/#333 for the Burren Center
• Use Taxi or Bus #350/Expressway 51 to Shannon
• Fly Shannon (SNN) to London Heathrow (LHR) with Aer Lingus (AAdvantage Miles)
• Take Heathrow Express from Terminal 2 to Terminal 5
• Stay Sofitel Terminal 5 One Night (Accor Points)

*First time flying Virgin Atlantic
**If the term "Upper Class" hit you wrong, you are not the only one. It really bothered us (but not enough to fly Economy)
***Beginning November 2024, Aer Lingus has allowed booking with AAdvantage Miles
****Yes, this one-night stay in Ennis and our ending stay at LHR broke our three-night stay rules. But it did end up working well for us.

I spent my time after nailing flights and reserving two hotels working out some of the finer points. I had to get tickets for both music festivals, get a driver from Ennis to Westport (husband approved it), perhaps reserve our old driver from the 2023 trip from Westport to Galway (husband happily approved), and figure out where we'd stay in Galway this time.

I nailed the drivers pretty fast. Tony Wood Chauffeur, an Ennis company, would get us up to Galway; our favorite driver from 2023, Mary O'Toole of O'Toole Taxis, would be zipping us down to Galway from Westport.

The Galway hotel ended up being more of a problem. We had returned to The Park Hotel again and again over the years, but we wanted a different area. There were several lovely places in the Salthill area, and if we weren't up for walking to and fro, the Bus Eireann #401 would work fine. But on a whim, I booked The Heron's Rest B&B on the Long Walk because I love that area. And heck, it was part of Ed Sheeran's "Galway Girl" video. I was proud of myself. My husband, however, two weeks later, took one look at the unit photos and said, "Uh, did you see the stairs?" Oh darn, he was right--the unit's steps would just kill me. My left knee constantly gives out without warning, and there I would be: dead at the bottom and my husband would be in charge of shipping my body back to the States.

After a Guinness, I'm sure.

Now I spent frustrated weeks "walking" around Galway on Google street view. I finally found another on AirBnb in the West End that would give us access to some of the Galway Trad pubs--The Crane, Monroe's--we never get to try. Our dates worked perfectly for that location's landlord because the Galway Folk Festival would be ending the night before we came and all her units would turn over for the next few days. We just had to decide which unit and we would be done. My choice was heartily husband approved this time. Note: I don't give the names of our chosen AirBnbs in my trip reports for several reasons.

It was around this time of planning that I subscribed to the online entities representing the Westport Folk and Bluegrass Festival and that Doolin Folk Fest. Wow--it was quite noticeable that the Westport festival had become more sophisticated in its online presence since our last visit--you can now easily find Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter links on their website's contact page. It was also quite noticeable that the Doolin Folk Fest link was more or less buried within the Doolin Arts website. Indeed, other than being able to buy festival tickets (available rather late online compared to Westport), deciphering the schedule at the Doolin FolkFest would be a continual problem.

I now linked up with more general social media. I was already a longtime visitor to The Session, a website devoted to listing Trad sessions all over Ireland. The website can be very inaccurate but sometimes can give a good pointer or two. I'm not a regular Facebook user, but this past year I did sign up for various Trad Music Facebook groups online--most importantly "Session City Galway" and "Traditional Irish Music Sessions in Clare". These pages tended to be updated more often.
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Sidenote: Somehow the Facebook page "Irish Musicians" led me to the Facebook page of Tony Kelly, where he posted a clip of banjo phenom Adam Kelly (his brother?) performing in Westport's Matt Malloy's in August 2024. The tune? "Catharsis", written by fiddler from Putney, Vermont, Amy Cann, who wrote it after an argument with a friend. I believe Amy Cann now is an instructor at the Upper Valley Music School in New Hampshire. Lucky students!

Sadly, if we had arrived in Galway one day earlier, we could have caught Adam, formerly with the famous group The Fureys, performing with his new group, Shillelagh Law, at Monroe's. Darn. Well, one can't plan for everything. Supposedly Shillelagh will be coming to the States in 2025-2026 and maybe we can see him then. Just don't confuse his new group with the American band Shilelagh Law (one "l") in searching for their bookings.

Please just skip this part if you aren't interested in Virgin Atlantic ATL-LHR Upper Class flight details. I only look at these types of details while I'm booking flights and choosing seats. For this trip, I swear I watched every available video on the Airbus A350-1000 Upper Class cabin produced in the last three years.
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We usually limit ourselves to carry-on overseas, easily done on AA and Delta First Class flights, but the Virgin Atlantic carry-on rules might not work for us. Delta and Virgin Atlantic have merged lounges and miles and often exact routes, but their rules on certain things are different, and I was unsure. I did know that if our landing was delayed the next morning, I had scheduled our second flight to Shannon (SNN) late enough that picking up baggage would not be the deal-breaker. Resolved: we would just check our luggage, a decision that prevented my having to deal with any persnickety TSA agent about the legality of my collapsible, blunt-tipped hiking poles.

We didn't pack any heavier than usual. We couldn't! We were planning on using buses in the upcoming days, and our "one roll-on" and "one convertible backpack" method has always worked like a charm for transport flexibility as long as we keep things light. The secret to traveling in Ireland, even in summer, has always been light layers. Daytime temperatures in our past June trips have ranged from the 50s to the 80s. We're talking silk long underwear, quick-dry Kuhl pants, and enough quick-dry short-sleeved tops and long-sleeved tops to last until our first washing opportunity. Add a thin sweater, a fleece jacket, a rain jacket. Toss in thin cheapie hats and cheapie gloves. Tuck in a "just-about-presentable" eating out outfit, which means I also pack a silk scarf or two and earrings and my husband adds a less dilapidated sweater and a collared shirt. I did add rain pants at the last minute; my husband refused. Done.

Prepared as we were, something we had no clue about was exactly where to check in. Online, I had to preselect meals via Virgin Airlines communications, but then check in via my Delta app. So I assumed we would drop bags at Delta. Once at the terminal, we found we could not create baggage tags at the Delta kiosk. A nearby agent thankfully noticed our confusion and directed us towards the official Virgin Airlines desks way across the floor. As we handed over our luggage there, the desk agent chuckled at our two small bags each. "Is this all?" "It's too much as it is!" replied my husband. Passport control and security went smoothly. Having CLEAR certainly was a benefit at this early evening hour.

Boarding, however, seemed a tad disorganized. Usually Delta boarding is pretty organized if they have room to make clear lines. Virgin Airlines did have room to organize here, and yet their queuing made no sense. It would be a harbinger of the flight service. Every attendant seemed to be frazzled and unclear about what they were doing. Disconcertedly, our "Upper Class" seats on this Airbus A350-1000 looked as though someone had let a toddler loose with a hammer for an hour. My research videos had indicated there was a lot of wear and tear in these rather limited storage cubicles, but I was totally unprepared to see that sections of the wall in front of me were covered with gaffer tape. I was leery of testing the seat in case it refused to work properly. Thankfully, the seat worked--and it was quite comfy! I grabbed the Virgin Atlantic PJs offered in this section, changed, and settled in.

Because of the early evening departure, I had pre-ordered the Express Meal of a tomato bisque and toastie (soup was ok; the toastie wasn't me) instead of skipping all eating entirely. I ate while I watched a movie, "Across the River and Into the Woods" that kept me interested enough to order the cheese plate and a port while it finished. FYI--While the movie wasn't faithful to the Ernest Hemingway book, Liev Schreiber and a stunningly photographed, tourist-empty 1950s Venice, filmed during Covid, was totally intriguing. How ironic that a tragic event granted a once-in-a-lifetime cinematic opportunity. Movie finished, I then told the attendants I was out until landing and would not eat breakfast. I pulled down my oldie-but-goodie British Airways sleep mask, put my earplugs in, and totally zonked for at least four hours. Mission accomplished.
Note: My husband refuses to wear ear plugs. The door track on the restroom closest to his seat broke mid-flight. It took a loud passenger alert, two flight attendants and a lot of racket to fix it. I didn't hear a thing.

Passport control was swift (our ETAs, to my relief, must have shown up in the system) while baggage pick-up was a tad delayed. Still we were on track to make use of the Virgin Airways Arrivals Lounge that closes at 12:30 PM. The lounge is located via a corner elevator one floor up from Terminal 3 Arrivals. The decor in this small lounge is bare bones IKEA style. The service, however, is unbelievably good. Made-to-order coffee and cappuccinos magically appeared alongside constantly refilled water. Our selected Vegetarian Full English breakfasts were good, but we had other lovely options too. Full to the brim, I still had to walk over and test a fresh pains aux raisins and a pain au chocolat.

Time was on our side, and we each were able to take a long shower in a super clean room and put on fresh clothes.

As we left, my husband said, "Wow--that more than made up for being awakened by plane repair in the middle of the night!" We indeed had been spoiled rotten.

Onwards to Terminal 2!

Before we left our house, I had sent my husband concise written directions that included a lengthy, step-by-step of the entire walk from LHR Terminal 3 to Terminal 2. He dutifully watched it while I was still changing clothes in the Revivals Lounge, and thus for once, he did not question my directions as we took the Arrivals elevator down to the Heathrow Express level and made our way through clearly marked underground passages. I think it took us 8 minutes, but for some reason we were pretty fast. I'd count on a ten-minute walk from the lift down in Terminal 3 to the final lift up to Terminal 2.

Once we had self-checked our luggage with Aer Lingus in Terminal 2, something we did for all our flights in Scandinavia, our Aer Lingus AerSpace fare gave us entry to their Terminal 2 Lounge. We signed in, took a look at it, looked at each other, and walked out. The atmosphere was like church and the lounge had a steamy smell. The lively bar next door was full of groups traveling together, and we were soon invited to join one group at their table. Yeah, this was more like us. Our waiting time passed swiftly.

Boarding at Aer Lingus was simple and sensible, as was going through Customs at Shannon. I had always like this airport, and I was so happy that expansions really hadn't changed its vibe. We soon got a taxi to the Old Ground Hotel in Ennis at the airport transport desk.

Note: I was fine with just waiting for the Expressway #51 bus--we would only have had to wait 10 more minutes and our walk from the stop to the hotel probably was 5-10 minutes, but my husband said, "I'm done! Get a cab."

We set foot inside The Old Ground Hotel, and memories came flooding back. In 2003, my daughters and I stayed here our very first night in Ireland. The hotel and town were like a warm hug to us. While my husband would join us a week later, he never got that same initial experience. I happily would text my girls that he had reacted to the hotel and the town the way we had back then.

Full disclosure: Our room was comfortable but quirky. The bedding was beautiful and the bathroom was huge, but outlets were few and in odd places. The bathroom only had those bare-bones towel racks that fit under pedestal sinks. No towel bars on the walls. No shower door railing. No towel hooks. In fact, there weren't even toilet roll holders. But what the heck, it took only seconds to see that we'd sleep well.

We meandered downstairs and out to the connected pub, The Poet's Corner. A server saw us looking for any table that didn't have "reserved" on it, and she whisked one sign off. We must have looked hungry. Soon we were eating a lovely roast salmon with perfectly cooked vegetables. When we came up for air, we noticed that the room seemed to be full of locals, not tourists. Two young men sitting next to us said, "Are you enjoying your food?" We nodded. We asked if the people in the room were all tourists or were there locals here too. "This room is mainly us. The tourists tend to go to the dining room." My husband said, "Fools." They laughed.

It was bright as day out at 7:30 pm, but we knew we couldn't last. I was sad because I had placed this stop for a reason: I wanted to see uilleann piper Blackie O'Donnell, and he was scheduled for a 9 pm session that night at Lucas's Pub. Blackie, of whom I'll post a sample , has an international reputation, but the locals consider his real claim to fame is his tutelage of young pipers, often under the aegis of Piping Heaven, Piping Hell. He has been heavily invested for years in the Ennis Trad Fest, and it probably would be worth the trip to Ireland to attend that festival.

I told my husband that I knew Blackie often performed at Doolin's McGanns and McDermotts (you can find various old videos online), and fingers crossed, we'd see him in Doolin.

We did sleep well, so well that we almost missed an excellent breakfast. This room was full of the tourists--lots of golfers, senior citizen tour groups, and other groups. I found the corner where my daughters and I had met up with our cycle group all those years ago. The participants had been lovely people, and that week remains a joyful memory for my daughters and me.

While I showered and repacked (I admit I'm a slow re-packer because I need everything to be "just so"), my husband was content to explore the town. He came back in the room and said, "This town is terrific!" I smiled.

We were sad to leave, but Westport awaited.

Ahhh The Poet’s Corner. We have wonderful memories of eating delicious food, listening to some great music and sitting with some wonderful people. We were there for the Fleadh Nua many moons ago.

I am enjoying your report and realizing that I really want to go back!

Paqngo--How fabulous you attended the Fleadh Nua! I'm envious. We can never go places in May--family and work commitments. Thank you for the kind words. They motivate me to keeping plugging away here at the keyboard.
AZ

Talk about timing. We opened the door of the hotel and a van pulled up practically at our feet. It was Dave Woods, Tony Woods' son, ready and willing to drive us to Westport.

Someone had mentioned Tony Woods as a driver on a travel blog way back, and I managed to find all the contact info:
Company: Tony Woods Chauffeur
Mobile: +353 87 254 7511
Email: [email protected]?%20target=

Mary was the person who responded to my very first inquiry, and she gave me various prices for how I wanted the day to go. I had considered stopping at Athenry on the way up for a lunch break because we had cycled through there years ago and liked it so much. After discussion with my husband, we kept it simple--we'd just head to Westport.

FYI--I booked this transport in November 2024. Dave told me it was smart to book early because they provide for a lot of tours groups that block out weeks of transport. Dave was a great guy. He had recently left his job as an Ennis firefighter to drive full time for the business, plus he has a sideline as a hunting dog trainer. There were lots of things to talk about on our two-hour journey, and the time went fast.

We knew our room would not be ready at the Westport Plaza Hotel, but that wasn't a problem. We dropped off our luggage and headed up the street to our Westport "home"--Matt Malloy's. We happily settled onto our barstools and chatted away with the locals, feeling like we never left. Our hotel texted us the room was ready, and we quickly went back to unpack.

The Westport Folk and Bluegrass Festival has become even more organized than it was in 2023. Printouts of the festival line-up had been placed all over town, and the website itself broke the events down by day, too, for easy reference. Luckily, we had unpacked in time to make our way up to Blouser's, a pub we'd not been in the last time for a "Homecoming Session". I have to tell you that I have NO idea of who was performing. This tiny pub had only inches to spare, and we had to move our way to the very back of the bartop just to breathe. Seeing and even hearing the musicians was out of the question. However, the positive was that we were near the bar and quenching our thirst was pretty easy. I, a non-Guinness enthusiast, liked the fact that the Blouser's Session Beer exactly matched my tastebuds. Soon we were chatting with people from Scotland, Canada, Wales, and a few US States, all excited to be there.

After a few hours, we knew we better get food down us fast. Across the street was An File, a bar we had eaten at the last time. We each had the simply prepared fresh fish and fresh vegetables with many glasses of water. Restored to some sanity and sobriety, we crossed the street to The Westport Town Hall where the evening concert would be. Manning the desk was the festival founder himself, Uri Kohen. He's an unassuming, rather modest man, and I think a recent represents his demeanor well. He laughed when I told him our names to cross off. We were one of the first from overseas to buy tickets online for the festival.

The theme of the night's concert was "American Old-Time Music", consisting of three groups: Golden Shoals, Erynn Marshall & Carl Jones, and Nadine Landry & Stephen "Sammy" Lind. We were a little disappointed with Golden Shoals because the female half strangely only seemed to talk about the merchandise they were selling and she spent way too much time tuning every darn instrument she picked up. Erynn Marshall (who could flat-out "saw" on the violin) and Carl Jones were true Country/Bluegrass professionals. Nadine Landry is actually from Quebec, and their music naturally include Cajun and Acadian folk music, although she also sang an amazing Brazilian country song that we loved. Her husband Sammy Lind, Minnesota born, is a superb fiddler and would spend a lot of the festival leading seminars. The both have been part of the Foghorn Stringband from Portland Oregon and have a huge repertoire. There are several videos online of some of each group's performances that night, but I'll just post the ending "jam" of all three groups so you can get a flavor of our evening in . Tip: Try to get where they start on "Old Lonesome Road".

There were at least for venues we could go onto that night. Not us. We headed out of the hall with a "Direct to bed, no stops" mindset. But as we passed The Jester Bar,the sounds of a classical mandolin set against a jazzy string bass floated out. What? I pulled my husband inside and listened in awe. I asked a woman my age sitting on a stool who these guys were. "Liam Purcell and Cane Mill Road. Aren't they marvelous?" Liam looked like a kid in high school (fact: he is 22). After 10 minutes of listening to him and his fellow musicians, I turned to my husband and said, "I bet Liam has done Boston Berklee (yes, I would be correct) and his bassist has to have been trained in jazz (also correct)."

Sadly, we could not last their entire set. Jet lag--and age--was still presenting a problem for us.

OP's correction edit for end of post above:

"There were at least FOUR venues we could go onto that night."

I wrote up too many posts yesterday and couldn't proofread for the life of me by the end. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

We slept late again, and unfortunately, we missed the best timing for getting a bus out to the Achill Sound area and back. So today we'd head over to the much closer Croagh Patrick area and try to ascend the trail enough to get a view of Clew Bay. Our secondary goal was to test out getting and using Leap Cards.

Before this Ireland trip, I had tried to gather as much information as possible about Leap Cards from Ireland's official transport website, Transport for Ireland. I even started a thread on this forum to get advice. It became obvious that most tourists outside of Dublin don't use the card or just the Dublin Visitor's Leap Card. In fact, many potential tourists didn't understand the point of the Leap Card. My goal was to have a transport card that would allow us to hop on and off transport at will without digging for change. As I understood it, the Leap Card would accomplish that, plus it often would give us discounted fares on Bus Eireann (not Expressway) routes, and it could be used towards a variety of Irish transport. The Transport for Ireland website has often been unwieldy because certain links end up in dead ends and it took awhile to gather the right facts. While I originally planned to order Leap Cards from abroad (it's doable), I decided to wait until just before we'd have the opportunity to use one. I downloaded three apps to my phone: the TFI Live app, the TFI Go app, and the Leap Top-Up app to my phone before we left.

If you are wondering why Bus Eireann doesn't have contactless payment, well, that's a goal that's in the works and has yet to be uniformly enacted across the country, much to the frustration of the Irish tech-oriented populace. The last time we were here in 2023, not all buses had GPS trackers that allowed people to see where their much needed bus was on the route. Our Westport bus had been cancelled that day, but no driver stopping by on other buses could tell us or the poor souls dependent on this type of transport anything. I can say those trackers were certainly working this year--my Google maps could now tell me the delays or early arrivals in any direction.

I was determined, wisely or not, to test Leap Cards today. After looking for Leap card purchase venues near us on my phone, I sent my husband to the nearby Westport Post Office to get ours where he also put five Euros of credit on each. We grabbed rain gear, I tucked in my collapsed hiking poles, and away we went up to Mill Street to catch the next Bus Eireann #450 towards Louisburgh.

We stepped onto the bus, laid our cards on top of the machine, told the driver "Croagh Patrick", she nodded and said quite clearly, "Murrisk." The cards worked. I sidled into a window seat, and my husband sat on the aisle at first. As we approached the Westport Quay, we started looking for our rest stop of the previous year when we had walked out this way from town, and for some reason, we just did not pay any attention to the remaining stops. At the actual Westport Quay stop, the nice lady driver excited and a rather gruff male driver got on. My husband decided to get another window seat in the back, and I could understand why--the view of Clew Bay is just so wonderful on this route and why look left at all when one can be looking right. But this all really doesn't explain how BOTH of us could miss the Murrisk stop.

Folks, just so we're clear, there's a monitor overhead that SHOWS the stops. Google Maps on my phone was working just fine. The driver certainly announced the stop, but his gruff voice did make the actual word "Murrisk" incomprehensible.

A half minute after that stop, the lightbulb went on in my head. I turned to look for my husband, who was absolutely clueless as to what had happened. He came up to my seat, found out, and went up to talk to the gruff driver. There was nothing we could do but ride to the end of the route, around 10 minutes away, because this was the only bus that would be taking the route back to Murrisk. In the meantime, the weather took a turn for the worst, and scrambling up a rocky path in possible driving rain became less of an appealing idea. We agreed to ride back to Westport.

In the meantime, I tested topping off the card with the Leap Top-Off app mid-ride. Easy peasy. Just make sure your NFC setting is operating, place the Leap Card behind your phone, your balance shows up and you can top off right there with a credit card.

Back at the ranch...
We hopped off the bus in Westport feeling like the old fools we were. I looked up the street and said, "There's the Clock Tavern. I've always wanted to see what the inside of that one looks like." Little did I know how that decision would impact our afternoon.

As we last left this story, my husband and I arrived at the Clock Tavern, seeking solace in beer for our utter elderly failure in approaching Croagh Patrick. The place was empty except for two people at a small table near the bar watching a hurling* match.
*By the way, I love hurling. I have no comprehension why it's not the most popular sport internationally. It has it all.

I obviously have digressed.

We looked around where to plop and there were two window nooks. I love window nooks. I chose one.

It would end up being the RIGHT one.

My husband had gone to the bar, brought a beer over to me and returned. He had settled in with the bartenders at a corner, chatting away. Fine. I was catching up with my daughters back home on the phone, and I noticed a couple of musicians walk in. Were they playing here? They sat at the middle-of-the-room table. Odd. I knew sessions rarely started in the middle of a room.

My husband came back with a beer refill, all excited. "This guy (the tallest bartender) is an NFL fan. I told him I'll talk about our home NFL team only if he can explain the reason Cricket even exists as a sport."

He went back to the bar. Okay, I had a Kindle book to finish, and I was fine. More people started filtering in. Maybe something was happening here. I looked at the online Westport festival schedule. Oooh--there was a session here at 5 pm: Freda Hatton, Julie Langan, Declan Askin featuring Brendan Butler. But where would they be playing in this space? At first, the incoming crowd assumed it would be in the opposite window nook. Then the musician clientele told me it would be in the area right next to my nook.

Alarmed, I signaled my husband to report back ASAP. We had to establish a beachhead so we had sight and hearing lines.

Just when we thought we were grand, in walked this crazily dressed woman with a cane with a man with a white seeing-disabled cane. She plopped him down at the end of our table, laid down some Euros, and said, "Here is the money for his beer. He is totally blind, he's deaf in one ear (she didn't tell us which ear), I'm leaving for a bit, and he needs to save me a seat for when I return." Our jaws dropped. She exited.

Well we had been raised God-fearing Golden Rule people. My husband got him a beer, and we started a conversation, trying to figure out which ear was operable. He was a sweetie, and we really warmed to him. We would protect him with our lives (his wife, not so much).

We soon arranged the seating a tad to accommodate him better. Thus came into action "Our Table Rules". Just so you know, I'm a great enforcer. One of my horrible high school duty teaching assignments outside the classroom as a new young teacher was monitoring the "smoking room" in the 70s in a high school. Yeah, "smoking rooms" in high schools were was a thing. I had had a knife put to my neck and didn't even waiver (I still have no clue why I didn't waiver). That perhaps explains why when people who didn't look as though they would be considerate of "our guy" approached, my husband and I could so easily rebuff them with "saving space." But a sweet-voiced young woman asked if she could sit with her aunt, we explained the situation and asked if they were willing to sit in certain seats. Their faces showed utter compassion. For sure they were admitted.

They asked if the husband, who had been delayed could sit and we said sure. "We're just trying to make sure no one is disrespectful." When he arrived, he looked A-OK. In fact, he took extra special care of "our" guy.

A woman closer to my age leaning against the corner, overhearing all this, said, "I think I could pass your rules." We laughed and said, "We think you could too." She sidled into the corner after we gave her the drill on the hearing arrangement. Our judgement was well founded. Her husband entered the bar, and she explained the situation. He magically manifested a stool and would for the entire session preserve the blind guy's ability to hear. They were both from Cork.

I'm tearing up just thinking about all of this. The early evening would become magical.

The session started. The man from Cork told me Brendan Butler was from Cork, and that Brendan knew Bluegrass front and back. Brendan had usually played with a group at the White Horse in Cork. Brendan's voice is certainly a Bluegrass voice, and while I don't have our session's clip, is a pretty good sample of his vocals and his strumming ability if you are interested. It's so obvious he had spent time in Kentucky.

The rest of the musicians were wonderfully talented and so generous to each other. My new Cork buddy told me this was a prime group. Soon musicians finishing from other sessions across town were joining. The music thus would vary from a wall of sound to an absolute hush as one lovely vocalist after another would do haunting solos. At the table, we all kept looking at each other saying, "Aren't we lucky?"

The best was yet to come. The Cork wife told me to get her husband's attention. "This young woman next to me has an astounding voice. Can you ask them if she can sing?" Obviously, my new Cork friend had connections. We pulled (dragged) the niece out from behind the table, and lo and behold, her voice held the floor. All of at the table were so proud of her command not only of the room but also of the musicians. Our table members were wiping tears away right and left.

Too soon, the session came to an end. Why? It was time for the evening concert to go on stage at the Westport Music Hall.

I'm attaching a pic I found of the night. Sorry I don't have a sound clip. You'll just have to believe me they were all great. But then again, we did drink a lot of beer.

And yes, the wife came back for her husband, just barely in time.

While we were holding down the table at the Clock Tavern, eight other Saturday events had been held throughout town, which a quick peek at the 2025 Program page can show (I hope the link works long enough to be useful to any readers) and four others would be held after the evening concert. My new Cork buddy told me that he was very interested in the 10:15 pm session with Blue Weed, a group from Italy of all things! I hugged both him and his wife goodbye because I knew we would not be staying awake long enough to see them there. I was truly grateful to them for sharing their knowledge of Irish Bluegrass, their insights into the local musicians, and their kindness.

We barely made it in time to the Westport Town Hall, a spit from the Clock Tavern, for the evening concert. First up was Sylamore Special, a young group from Arkansas. They were superb musicians, but at the end of their set, my husband and I looked at each other and agreed there was something missing. I still don't know quite what it was. My husband would later say, "They were like vanilla ice cream--great if you don't like flavor." Maybe that was it. To each his own.

Next up was Liam Purcell and Cane Mill Road. There was nothing missing from them. Liam obviously could play anything with strings--and his group had a rock band energy. His bassist Jacob Smith, will be leaving the group to set up family life back home, and it was a wonderful thing that they granted him center stage for "Summertime", of which I have a clip . We got a kick out of "Helen of Troy-Pennsylvania" My husband was thrilled that when the group is not on the road they are in Nashville. We hope to find them there on one of our road trips.

Finishing the night was Seth Muldar and Midnight Run. My husband said it was like watching those great country TV shows of the past of which The Glen Campbell Show had been a musical standout--every song was better and better.

We complimented Uri Kohen on the way out. A lot of effort goes into finding and selecting the groups, and he and his team had brought over some gems from the United States and elsewhere.

In search of food--we had not eaten since breakfast--we made it inside Apache Pizza just before closing. On the way home, I marvelled at how many evening entertainment venues there were in this small town that were NOT a part of the festival. On our short walk back to the hotel, we passed Lofty's, Danny's and the over-23 club, The Castle Late Night Venue, which would close at 2:30 am. We could hear the bass pounding through our room's well-insulated windows, but as you might imagine, nothing could prevent us from sleeping.

We got up late again, and over breakfast, we thought we plan out the last day of the festival more carefully. We almost could make the "Gospel Hour", a free event that's traditionally held in a local church, but because of renovations, was being held at the town hall. My husband nixed that. Sylamore Special was performing at the Clew Bay Hotel, but we had had enough of them. "Hey, how about returning to Blouser's?" I asked. "I'd like to see what that place looks like without people! From what I could see through bodies, it's sort of cute." There would be a session at 2 pm. I had no clue who the performers, Tim Rogers & Friends, but since this seemed to be more of a Westport-oriented group and we had done so well with local musicians the day before, I was up for it. My husband agreed.

While my husband was taking a shower, I looked up Blouser's on my phone to check it out a bit more and happened on a super old classic Guinness commercial filmed there that I thought I'd share . Someone would later tell me the commercial actors were all locals. Apparently, the pub used to be named "Pat's Pub" and was known for having an operating fireplace, something I sure had not been able to see through the mass of bodies on our Friday visit.

We left shortly by 11:30 am so we could get a seat or at least a wall to lean against. Our plans turned to mush when we found that Blouser's was closed. Say what? I checked Google. Hmm, Blouser's opened after 4pm on Sundays, unlike other pubs in town. What to do? My husband said, "Stay put." A young woman opposite us leaning on one side of the door smiled and silently nodded. OK--we took up positions on the other side of the door. Soon, we had a comedy routine going. Whenever anyone approached, we'd alternate saying "It's not open." Most people would leave. Some would actually try to argue with us. "All the pubs in town open at noon on Sundays" would be the typical statement. I had my "hours open" listing ready on my phone and would flash it. They'd move on. Thus when the doors finally did open, we three were the first through.

The three of us quickly chose our table, the one that formed a peninsula just opposite the session. The young woman was expecting her husband at some point, and she took the head of the table and plopped her purse on the right. My husband and I chose the "smooshed against the wall" side. I could hang our daypacks up there. We were good. Our pints were ordered and I looked around. Well, it was just as small without people as it was with people. Wow. It was super cute.

It turned out that our door co-sentry was an American, something I could not tell by the accent. As the afternoon would go on, we would find out she was a Northwest USA girl who met had met her Irish husband near Belfast. When illness struck his family, he returned to Westport and took her along. She now considers herself to be a local, and I think her accent has adjusted beautifully. She looks Irish (and doesn't have one drop). We would later find out her husband is a local musician, and I'm ashamed to admit I never did find out which genre he specialized in or even what instrument he played because another wonderful young lady had just seated herself opposite him.

This new arrival was older than she appeared. She had teenage sons, and she told us she had handed off responsibility for them to her husband and family for a few hours so she could take this session in. I could not place her accent at all. She had to be a local--she seemed to know everyone in the bar--but the vowels sure didn't line up. It turns out was an Aussie! She had married a local and had returned with him here to raise her family.

In walked--I know you are expecting this--the crazy lady and her sweet husband. She went to take a seat between our American and our Aussie and thank goodness, the American said, "I'm saving this for my husband. I'm sorry." The crazy lady then looked for other victims. My husband told the women, "You just escaped a bullet" and he related our experience yesterday. But this is where I must feel guilty. What if my husband had been struck with these medical conditions? Should I just let him stay home and languish? Surely, I myself would become dependent on the kindness of strangers. I knew my husband would later reflect on his inclination, too. Luckily, the crazy lady had found a spot for him in a window nook, a safer spot for his sight limitations anyway.

Soon musicians started entering. I found one of the official session pictures here. This shot was taken before more fiddlers, more banjo pickers, and more mandolinists joined the event. Tim Horgan is the red-bearded, bespeckled man in the black T-Shirt. Leaning over the half wall is Brendan Butler. Although he would join the instrumentalists later, this perch would be perfect for his Bluegrass voice to shine. You can spot railroad-style capped Sammie Lind and his co-musician, bandana-scarfed Nadine Landry, at the table. I think that's Sammie's twin brother over his shoulder. I'm not sure of the others. My husband did get the intel from our American friend, but of course, forgets anything that isn't about finance and numbers (believe me, he remembers every number FOREVER), so he's been no help in informing me. In a few minutes, fifty more people would enter the door, and the musicians Erynn Marshall and Carl Jones would come in to hover over the group.

I asked our American friend was she was drinking because it was in a bottle, not a draft. I had seen the name emblazoned on all the festival T-shirts and had not put it together. "It's Mescan. It's a local brewery with Belgium-style beer. The owner is such a great..." and just then, the doors opened and all outside light was blocked by the sheer mass of a tall, big white-bearded man. "Speak of the devil!" our Aussie friend exclaimed. It was brewer Cillian Ó Móráin himself. He hugged our Aussie, and kissed our American and settled at the table. I guess the American's husband's saved seat was immediately given up, and I could see why. Cillian was a warm, outgoing person.

As more and more people squeezed in, our sightlines were lost but this time, our auditory abilities were still darn good. Our only problem was that we could not get another beer. There was no physical way to the bar without picking up people and tossing them to the side. Our Aussie friend spotted my husband's money out, and she said, "Do you want me to order?" He said, "Confirmed. Add your next order to our bill." She nodded, turned slightly around, and immediately got the attention of the bartender. It was like magic. My husband was in awe (and he's good at getting a beer anywhere, even in the middle of the Turkish countryside where no one, including the bartender, spoke a word of English). She said, "I used to work here."

Do we lead a charmed life or what?

The music was picking up. The crowd parted a fraction so that Erynn Marshall could clog dance a tad. A tourist from Sweden near my husband turned to us and asked, "Is this Irish dancing?" My husband said, "Ask her. She knows." My husband's theory about my knowledge base is that I know everything about anything that cannot make money. OK, this time, I actually did. I knew clog dancing shares a lot of its roots with Irish dancing, but it also has English roots from the wooden shoes, the clogs, that English mill workers wore. Remember, so many of those mill workers had poured in from Ireland and Scotland, too. Some people insist the dance form has Native American and African roots too, but many historians say those are influences over the years rather than its roots. I told the American that Clog Dancing schools, aka "Clogging", are just as common in some areas of the USA as Irish Dancing schools in other areas. The shoes are different (nope, they are no longer wooden), the loose posture is very different, and the percussive strikes are different.

Soon, Erynn Marshall and Carl Jones and Brendan Butler were seated at the session table. I had no idea how they were fitting all these musicians in (just think about the elbow room needed to "saw") because people were still coming in the door. But it the sound sure worked. We loved it as they effortlessly played their way through so many Bluegrass standards and wove in some classic Irish Trad intervals.

Way too soon, the session started winding down. One by one, fiddlers were departing. I knew the festival's Square Dance had started at 4:30 pm at the Clew Bay Hotel, and I was interested in seeing it, too. We thanked everyone at the table for our lovely afternoon and skedalled.

I'm going to try to insert the picture from the previous post rather than link it:

I was quite inspired by your last trip report from Ireland, and I'm enjoying this one as well!

rosalicious, I'm glad you are enjoying it and I hope you can make use of some of the information on your next adventure.
AZ

We dutifully trotted down to the Clew Bay Hotel for the Square Dance. First we made use of the rest rooms, then we shelled out the 5 Euros at the door. Sammy Lind and others were providing the music, and there was some enthusiastic dancers in the room. We found seats and soaked up the atmosphere. My husband leaned over and asked, "Are you feeling this?" I told him I wasn't. I was surprised neither of us were enjoying it. So we left.

I consulted the online program. "We could try to hit our Cork buddy's fave group, the Italian ones, Blue Weed, at 6 pm at McGings. My husband said, "I think we need food--and water--more now." Agreed. We headed over to where we had gotten some sobriety in 2023, JJ O'Malleys. We were in luck that they could seat us under the stairs just outside the bar. We practically inhaled our salmon dishes, and downed glass after glass of water.

Our intention at this point was to cross the street to Matt Malloy's, settle in the middle room where visiting musicians often set up a spur-of-the-moment session, and then go on to attend at least the first half of the Sunday concert, "That Folky Thing" at the Yard Bar, for which we had tickets.

Our plan just wasn't to be. Two musicians with an amplifier (!) had settled into the corner of the middle room. I mean, who wants to sits two feet from that? And what incoming acoustic musician in search of a session wants to be with them? We had a beer at the entry bar, thought about life, and decided...

We should just go home.

So I'm sorry I can't report more. We were just done in.

Tomorrow we'd head to Galway.

When are the dates for 2026? The next festival will be June 4th to June 8th, 2026. 2026 will mark its 20th Anniversary.

When to buy the tickets? I bought our tickets online as soon as they became available in February 2025, but I had watched the festival's Instagram, Facebook pages like a hawk for months, and of course, I used the website* constantly while the festival was ongoing.
*If I recall correctly, the festival website wasn't there in 2023, and its online ticket sale methods were a tad clunky. The current website and the newer 2025 ticket method worked beautifully once a few initial kinks were worked out.

How much do things cost?* The highest priced event in 2025 was a "Combo Ticket", which could get you into the three Westport Town Hall nightly concerts for 80 euros. We only bought the Friday & Saturday combination for 45 euros, plus we bought tickets for the last event Sunday evening at Matt Malloy's for another 20 euros. These events were all sold out before we landed in town. Still, there were various other smaller events that only allowed payment at the venue's doors for between 5 and 10 euros.

*Note: You could easily attend this festival without buying a single ticket to anything. The whole town seems to be invested in the event, and in 2025 Blouser's, McGing's, Clew Bay Hotel, McCarthy's, Jesters, The Clock Tavern, The Cobbler's all held the free** in-between sessions throughout the festival. Any other pub in town that holds Trad sessions throughout the years is likely to have spontaneous sessions of the visiting musicians, too.
**A Reminder: As with all pubs with music, you are expected to buy a drink while you listen. No one is going to pressure you, but it's good manners. It could be a soft drink. You could nurse a pint for an hour or so. You just shouldn't take up a seat and/or standing room as a freeloader who displaces seats or room for paying customers. And you are expected to chat to your neighbor--it's Ireland! So don't be rude!

Do I Need a Car to Attend All the Events? While the festival is going on, you don't need a car unless you stay out of town. If you were to take a look at a Westport, Ireland map, most of the events take place between Bridge Street, James Street and The Octagon. Nothing is that far away from each other but you just need to know before you go that Westport is hilly. If you are staying out near the Westport Quay, a combination of taxis and the Bus Eireann #450 should work just fine for you. I found a parking map that might be helpful if you are forced to find a bed too far away.