By Emily King

I am not afraid to admit that I am jealous of Americans who hold true to their cultural backgrounds. They just seem to have so much more fun than “the mutts” that is, those of us who claim wacky fractions: “Well, I’m about a quarter German, an eighth Welsh; I think like another eighth Turkish…or is it Romanian?”  

Sadly, I am one of those Americans living with a heritage-identity crisis. I’m a red-head, enjoy a good Irish whisky, and can pull-off green; so despite the fact that my parents have only acknowledged that Celtic DNA may be part of our genetic make-up, I have decided to embrace the culture as my own.  

This is how it came to pass that I headed up to Flagstaff, AZ to be with “my people” at the Arizona Highland Celtic Festival a few weeks ago.  As usual, I called up my trusty sidekick, J, and convinced him that there is nothing better than bag-piping and corned beef in a cool climate.

Upon our arrival in Flagstaff, we went straight to the old town where we were greeted by live music in Heritage Square. We strolled around listening to the bluegrass band, people-watching, and basking in the wonderful, homey feeling of the small-town.

Later that night, J and I decided that we wanted to experience Flagstaff’s nightlife. This turned out to be more difficult than we had anticipated with the college crowd gone for the summer. Finally, after much wandering and listening intently for the hum of voices and loud-music, we discovered that the place to be that night was at the Flagstaff Brewing Company. While neither of us is particularly crazy about country music, the combination of the energy from the locals, the passion of the musicians, and probably the drinks in our hands moved us to get involved in the most fun “rockabilly” dance party I have ever seen.

The next morning, we headed back downtown for a quick breakfast at Le Creperie, an outdoor crepe stand J saw the day before. He was insistent on returning because he saw that several of the crepes contained Nutella. Let’s just put it this way, if Nutella were a drug, J would need to be in rehab. Luckily, Nutella is a perfectly legal and delicious substance and the crepes at Le Creperie are the perfect canvas for Nutella and the array of other toppings available. Tucked away in the northwest corner of Heritage Square, Le Creperie is a little taste of France. We sat under an overhang and listened to a man sing French songs as he strummed his acoustic guitar. Sunday mornings don’t get much better than that.

After visiting “Little France,” we decided that we should get a move-on to another part of Europe and our reason for visiting the little mountain town in the first place: The Arizona Highland Celtic Festival. We had a fabulous time ducking in and out of tents full of leather and scary-looking weapons. J was set on buying a kilt until he found out that they aren’t exactly the thrift-store deals he is used to. We watched a family, or should I say “Clan,” of Celtic performers play fiddles and dance. This was by far the highlight of the festival in my opinion. These young men and women would rotate between playing their fiddles and dancing and were outstanding at both. I will even admit that their rendition of “Amazing Grace” brought a tear to my eye.

Our next stop was the bag-piping competition. This was incredibly exciting to J because the pipers were in full, traditional uniforms (yes, it was an army of kilts). We watched the teams march and play their songs as the judges weaved in and out of the pack taking notes. Again, we were frozen in amazement. My people sure are talented!

With my cultural cravings fulfilled, it was time to fill my stomach. I smelled corned beef in the air so I made my way over to the food area. I ordered the corned beef platter which consisted of sliced corned beef on rye, pickled cabbage, cheese, and the standard side of potato chips. I couldn’t care less about the bread so I dove into the succulent corned beef and came out with a satisfied tummy and some very greasy hands.

Unfortunately, we missed the formal competition of men in kilts throwing heavy metal objects (trust me, I’m still in mourning), but the festival itself was worth the 2-hour drive from the valley. I have to say that although I have traveled this planet and this country far and wide, Flagstaff remains one of my favorite destinations. Aside from its small-town charm and the rugged beauty of the surrounding natural wonders, it is one of the most artist-friendly communities I have been to.  Whether you’re pining for the warmth of a small town, looking for an outdoor adventure, or want to bask in a community that embraces the arts and diversity, Flagstaff should be an entry in your vehicle’s GPS.

And so my friends, until next time, live well, eat well, and keep your appetite for adventure.

Emily