Wednesday, April 11, 2018

In which we venture to the Isle of Man.



Recently my theater group traveled to the Isle of Man to take part in a festival, where we spent a week exploring the island by day (come rain, come shine) and taking in plays (and performing our own -- with much success) in the gorgeous Gaiety Theatre (the jewel in the Manx Heritage crown) by night. We left Hamburg after a very cold, snowy, rehearsal-filled Easter weekend, and were about knocked off our feet by great gusts of wind and rain while descending from the puddle jumper that brought us to the self-governing British Crown dependency in the Irish Sea between Great Britain and Ireland ( -- in case you're not up to date on your geography, now you know).

Our first and most photogenic excursion involved a bus ride through rolling, green hills to the west coast of the island and the little town of Peel, known for its castle (see above), which looms majestically over the seafront on its own, well-connected island. T'was quite a sight indeed, but what delighted us most upon arrival (other than the glorious weather) was a little beach along the bridge to the castle where all the shells in the little bay seemed to have gathered. Mostly scallop shells ("queenies" are a local delicacy) in various shades of pink and mauve and orange, some of them quite perfect.




After much oohing and aahhing and pocket filling, we took the little path around the castle and played and picnicked upon the rocks, and even caught sight of a seal schmoozing nearby.





From there we took a stroll up Peel Hill, slipping and sliding on the trails, still wet from the rain the day before, more or less successfully enjoying the view while trying not to fall in the mud.






The natural conclusion to such an adventure was ice cream, so we found ourselves a Manx "Whippy" or two and made our way back to the bus, detouring to a church along the way.

Unfortunately the weather the next day was not nearly as enjoyable, but we tried to make the best of it and bussed south to Castletown, where upon learning that Castle Rushen was closed for renovations, we made a cupcake detour and then continued south to Port Erin.



Dogs were everywhere to be seen -- oh, my heart's joy -- but the cats made themselves scarce. I only saw one Manx cat, known for their natural lack of tail, while on the island. It was friendly and fearless and happy to say hello.





It was still raining when we got to Port Erin, but we took a walk along a coastal trail and down to a rocky beach anyway before warming up in a café and heading back to Douglas.






The brilliant weather returned the next day, though we only experienced it on the walk along the promenade and beach to the theater, where we spent the day building our set and doing a tech run before our performance that evening (the teaser for which you can see here).




The next day was mostly spent recovering from the excitement of the day before, but a couple of us had a spontaneous adventure stroll out along Douglas Head and down Marine Drive, a road hugging the coastline with impressive cliffs and thorny, golden gorse.








After the final show that evening, the prizes were awarded and all the participating theater groups got together and performed silly sketches that went late into the night.


On our last full day, we took the electric railway up to Snaefell, the tallest point on the island, hoping hoping hoping for a break in the clouds to see the six kingdoms and the wild, rugged panoramas that are so stunning when not swallowed in mist. Alas, no luck, so we wandered around in and out of clouds atop the mountain, singing silly songs and imagining the views that were out there somewhere. 


On the way back down we stopped in Laxey and had a look at the largest working waterwheel in the world. There we also saw a mini steam engine chugging along nearby, not to mention lots of sheep and springtime lambies.




The weather cleared once we'd gotten back to Douglas, and some of us returned to the road on outskirts of town to catch the last rays of sun. The quay reflected and shone in the evening light and we improv'd a super-condensed version of our play in an abandoned amphitheater above the sea. 









Before catching the bus to the airport the next day, I spent some time watching the dogs on the beach, many of which were eager to make friends, much to my delight. Honestly, I don't think I have ever seen so many dogs in one place, and after a week's worth of walking up and down the beach, I left the island convinced that all the Manx did all day was walk their dogs along the shore -- and all of them warm and friendly, humans and dogs alike. Indeed, it should not be called the Isle of Man, but rather the Isle of Happy Dogs. In another life, I shall retire there, and my footsteps will join those of my neighbors' up and down the beach, dancing amidst the plethora of pawprints.