Most people would be confounded by the sound of bagpipes wafting through the morning air, but for me, it is the music of my forebears, and my cue to drink whiskey and porter.
Most people would be confounded by the sound of bagpipes wafting through the morning air, but for me, it is the music of my forebears, and my cue to drink whiskey and porter.
As my comrades and I navigated the Richmond International Raceway’s parking lot before entering the venue, we could catch glimpses of what was in store for us, including, but not limited to, beer trucks, live music, food, and kilts as far as the eye can see.
Thus began my day at the 2014 Central Virginia Celtic Festival and Highland Games.
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After a bit of running around, I was finally in, and made my first order of business to acquire an Irish Coffee, courtesy of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in Richmond, VA. If the whole Catholic thing ever winds up not working out for them, they at least have Irish Coffee to fall back on.
The combined powers of coffee and Tullamore Dew were all I needed in a nice pick-me-up, and a judicious amount of brown sugar was sufficient for me to realize I had been doing coffee wrong my entire life.
Wandering around the grounds, I encountered all manner of fair-goers, from dignified blue-bloods boasting royal pedigrees to people that had perhaps seen Game of Thrones one time too many, and even some furry, four legged attendees.
The were more than a few Irish Wolfhounds who could easily moonlight as ponies.
After I finished my coffee, I made my way to the field where the main event was being held, the Highland Games. The games officially kicked off with several different national anthems, and a coalition of bagpipers and drummers on parade. The first event was the caber toss, wherein competitors pick up a 30 ft., 150lb. log, run a few yards, and then attempt to flip the log end-for-end.
Of all the giant, kilt-clad competitors, only one was able to accomplish this feat of strength. Throughout the day, other improbably heavy things were thrown, including including primitive sledgehammers and stones about the size of a basketball.
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Lining the throwing fields were tents housing representatives of clans hailing from all over the British Isles.
Stewarts, Wallaces, Turnbulls, Bruces, Campbells, and Leslies were all in attendance, among many others, each boasting family histories and origins wich defy the imaginations of most upstart American families.
Their “tartans,” patterns which distinguish clans, provided enough plaid to stock every Urban Outfitters from New York to Los Angeles.
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It was at this year’s Celtic Fest that I had my first encounter with haggis, Scotland’s most notorious dish.
For those who don’t know, haggis is a sort of sausage made by packing a sheep’s stomach with whatever you like. While I did not have the pleasure of enjoying it in the traditional sheep stomach packaging, I did get to have the innards, and I must confess, it was pretty good. It really was just like the inside of a sausage, except a bit saucier and with more good stuff inside.
What this stuff was, exactly, I’m not entirely sure, and I’d prefer to keep things that way.
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All in all, I had a rollicking good time, as I always do at the Highland Games. Good food, good music, good people, good times, all in one convenient location.
There’s not that many places where you can see massive men in kilts throwing trees one minute and then find yourself being regaled by a member of Clan Turnbull about spending New Year’s Eve in Edinburgh the next, all in the name of celebrating culture and heritage.
