The sweet smell of the sea in Kinsale

It's a treat simply to wander the streets of Kinsale soaking up the sights, sounds and smells, writes GEMMA TIPTON.

IN Kinsale, Street Day means that traffic is a little headachy (to match the hangovers) and parking a competitive sport. Once cars are safely out of the way, it’s a real treat to wander around soaking up the sights and sounds.

It’s Sunday, and on the waterfront, Mundo Capoeira are teaching the audience a few moves; as the same audience has just been learning hip-hop from Streets Ahead, who knows what bizarre form will emerge?

I queue for a hot dog, but end up behind a man who is buying six, for a horde of tiny kids, and a woman with five mouths to feed. Impatience wins over hunger for sausages, so I go to the next stall for a crepe instead.

It’s a beautifully sunny day, and blobs of dropped ice cream dot the streets as small children grapple with cones and artfully twisted balloons.

Over in the window of Fintan Lynch’s hair salon, Tom Campbell is attracting attention. He covers his head with clay, and proceeds to model himself into all sorts of animals. A woman walks by an auctioneer’s window, filled for the week with paintings of pretty flowers. “Don’t they just make you so upset?” she says to her companion, but I’m not sure if she’s talking about house prices or the watercolours.

Around the corner, the Half Naked Chef is doing something odd with a wok, but I’m heading up Compass Hill to catch Curious. This is a trio of women, whose play ‘On the Scent’ takes four audience members at a time on a scented journey from sitting room to kitchen to bedroom. Along the way we will eat chocolate, neck tequila, and watch one actress snort lines of chilli powder. It’s strange, arresting, and definitely curious. Later, I meet the three on the street, and we chat in the sunshine.

What does Kinsale smell of, I wonder? “The sea, the countryside and amazing food,” says Lesley Hill (the chilli-snorter). “We’ve eaten like queens.” The audiences were great, they add, although Lois Weaver (who performs in a low-cut negligee) says one group did nothing but stare at her breasts: “It was very disconcerting.”

They’re heading back to the UK now to work on their next play, ‘Gut Feelings’, which will be all about the stomach. “We’re moving down the body,” says Helen Paris, “although we’re skipping some of the parts.”

On Monday night, the hot ticket has to be Imelda May, playing Charles Fort. During the day the question around town is: “Are you going?”

Tickets have sold out, and queues are forming at temporary bus stops to ferry us there. May more than lives up to her star billing. It’s a fun and jumping couple of hours, as all Kinsale (plus visitors from around the world) join in the dancing: grannies and grandchildren together, with parents in-between. There’s a very brief moment of rain. “Typical,” says May from the stage, “just as I do a song about sunshine.” So she follows it up with a number about “talking to the man above” and the skies clear once more.

With Tuesday comes a mellower mood. There has been lots of (maybe too much?) dancing, drinking and rushing around trying to catch as much as possible.

It’s a bit like getting all the Sunday papers: you’re thrilled with the choice, but always feel guilty about not seeing everything.

So on Tuesday night, I take it easy as Theo Dorgan is bringing us on a poetry cruise around gorgeous Kinsale Harbour on ‘The Spirit of Kinsale’.

I meet Dorgan – seaman-like in a blue jacket and sunglasses – just as we’re setting sail. The weather is finally fabulous. On the journey he reads from a new book of poems originally published in a diary written for ‘The Irish Times’, about a journey from Cape Horn to the Falklands (or Malvinas as he calls them). It’s called ‘Time on the Ocean’.

“You can hear about my stormy voyages in the safe haven of Kinsale Harbour over a cup of Barry’s Tea,” he says “I can’t wait,” says Gemma (but I’ll bring a hip flask).

Kinsale Arts Week continues until Sunday; www.kinsaleartsweek.com