Walking:Holding

Image courtesy of Rosana Cade http://rosanacadedotcom.wordpress.com

I bought a ticket to Walking:Holding, because when I read the description of this one-to-one experience I had never heard of anything like it before. It was being hosted in Cork as part of the Home Festival, curated by Ruairí Donovan.

I like to challenge myself to do uncomfortable things now and again (I once held a tarantula to try and rid my fear of spiders) and holding hands with strangers and walking around in public was pretty high up on my uncomfortable list. Also, I’m pretty shy at talking to new people…what were we going to talk about? Would there even be talking? What had I let myself in for?

I booked the very first spot of the day, so that I wouldn’t spend my whole Saturday fretting, and so that it might be a memorable experience for the performers, too.

From the meeting point at Gulpd Café in the Triskel, I was led to the starting point by the organiser, and told to close my eyes, breathe deep three times, then open my eyes and the performance would have begun.

I opened my eyes to a striking shaven-headed woman, Rosana Cade, the piece’s creator, walking towards me with a smile. She asked me if there was any particular way I hold hands with someone in my life, and she told me hers. We intertwined our fingers and walked down Patrick Street.

So there I was, holding hands with a girl on a Saturday afternoon in Cork – the busiest time of the week in the city, with the lovely sunny spring weather adding to the amount of people around.

For the first time in my life I noticed people look at me because of who I was holding hands with. People were furtively eyeing us up with a trying-not-to-be-seen ‘I wonder if they’re a couple’ glance. I realised this must the experience of same-sex couples on a regular basis, in a country where homosexuality was only decriminalised 20 years ago.

Then Rosana linked me with the next walker – Jo, a petite Indian girl, who told me that friends of the same sex hold hands in her home country, and it is only seen as a sign of friendship, Lucy Furr, a showstopping and charming drag queen from South Africa in a decked in silver paint, furry white outfit and pearls, a laid-back bearded gentleman in a tracksuit top and jeans whose name I can’t remember, and Dublin-based artist Veronica Dyas, who led me to my final destination of Bishop Lucey park. With all performers I had a friendly conversation – Rosana had said I could talk or be silent if I wished.

Each transaction questioned the way I hold hands, and what it means to me. Each person stopped with me beside a mirror or reflective shop or car window to ask how our reflection made me feel.

I realised that holding hands in my world is only done between couples, or when taking care of a child. I link arms with my female friends, my sister and my parents – but I would never hold hands with them, I only hold hands with my boyfriend. It’s strange that something so small that we do can have such a strong significance.

And peoples’ reactions? To be honest, I had been anticipating more of a reaction. I was expecting at least one derogatory comment during the whole experience. But all we got was a ‘How’ya’ from two teenage boys when walking down Paul Street with Lucy, and a few giggling tweens on Castle Street. 

It is nice to know that the people of Cork are more accepting than I thought – or maybe I’m the one that is too easily shocked.