After our lovely drive through the Midlands and the West, we finally arrived to the city of Rossaveal where a ferry makes several daily runs back and forth to the 3 Aran Islands that straddle the mouth of Galway Bay in the Atlantic Ocean. This was an incredible treat for both of us (Patrick had never been there yet either). To give a little history and insight about this must-see attraction, the Aran Islands are pretty much made of limestone rock and form a natural break in the water. The largest of the 3, Inishmore, is the most tourist-oriented and was our destination. It is 9 miles long and 2 miles wide with a population of 800. These islands have, mind-boggling, been inhabited long before recorded history and still contain pre-Christian remains. Another very noteworthy fact is that the islanders speak Irish daily here - this is known as the Gaeltacht (although pretty much all inhabitants were bilingual English speakers as well). It is one of the last places in Ireland where the ancient Celtic language is preserved. As a matter of fact, the Government evidently subsidizes people to live there and to retain and teach the Irish language and traditions.
After a 40 minute ferry ride we docked at the Island's pier. The bad news was that it began to downpour on us. Our previous luck with the weather had run out. It was miserable, cold and wet. Of course, Patrick had scoffed at me packing a small umbrella stating that no one uses them in Ireland. Well, when we found out that we had a 20 minute walk to our B&B would you believe that P actually accepted that dumb umbrella of mine after all??? If that wasn't funny enough, it turned out the umbrella was on it's last leg and broke, blown inside out as P cowered under the pelting rain. ha ha ha!! I took out my camera to record but didn't get too far as my battery died :( See below
As we kept walking (and uphill) to our Bed & Breakfast hostel suddenly a car that drove past us, stopped. We ran forward and jumped in. A kind but sweaty bohemian-type woman about my age coming back from yoga took pity on us in all that rain and drove us the rest of the way to our hostel. So kind. I had never hitched a ride with a stranger before :) Our B&B, the Mainistir House, was economy budget, but colorful with pink, lavender and teal painted walls. Dripping wet, we checked in at the front desk with the owner and supposedly creative and imaginative chef, Joel - a gay Frenchman of African descent.
Well, if one knows me or reads my blogs they know I get along with and enjoy gay men's company. And they 99% of the time adore me. But not bitchy queens. Joel was just that. Bitter and bitchy, he didn't greet us, but took our money and told us where our room upstairs was with a most disinterested air and turned up his nose, not wanting to be of any help, when we asked questions such as what pub plays traditional Irish music at night. We finally retired to our room where we were elated just to get out of our wet clothes. Upon that I commented to P, "Did you notice how bitchy the owner was??" He agreed that had I been perhaps more cleaned up, I would have gotten my usual reaction from a gay man. Our mood was not enhanced by the continuous pouring rain. Patrick, especially was quite broken up about it stating that is was the worst day of our trip to rain so - because the Islands are meant to be walked and cycled outdoors - they aren't as up-to-date on modern conveniences so there was nothing to do BUT be outdoors. I pleaded with him to keep a positive outlook that hopefully it wouldn't rain the next day, but our night was definitely ruined. We didn't dare step outside in that black rain. There was nothing else to do but go to bed - at 8pm.
The next morning, still jet lagged, we awoke very early - before anyone else in the hostel and on the entire Island for that matter. But the good news: it stopped raining! Knowing it could start again at any moment, P rushed me grabbing his camera. Now that we could actually see things and we loved it! The Island was full of small fields separating each other by stone fences called "Famine Walls". These essentially were limestone rocks piled on top of each other during the years of the Great Potato Famine as labour so to earn money for food by the government. The Island was completely delineated by these rock walls. I gazed at them thinking of the hard, physical labour from starving, weak hands and bodies that made these walls many years ago. It was very humbling.Within these rock-walled properties would usually be some old, abandoned, rotting shelter alongside a newer, more modern one (undoubtedly helped paid for by the Government subsidizing). I mean, the Island is wild, windy and beautiful in it's bleakness, but who would voluntarily live there? - we pondered. Evidently it has long attracted artists, writers, filmmakers, philologists and antiquarians. And that was evident in the artist colonies and shops that we walked past that early morning just past dawn. Interesting to note: we saw no sheep on the island - just cows and horses in the pastures. I point this out because a huge tradition from the island is the Aran Sweater - a traditional sweater knitted from sheared sheep wool and then dyed. First used long ago by the island fisherman, the sweater is made up of different stitches which each family had to represent their own individual sweater.
After a medium walk and P taking tons of early morning pictures, our rumbling stomachs made us return to the hostel. Upon entering we were hot and thirsty and there was a large sign clearly stating, "Free cold drinks" with some arrows pointing to the dining area. We definitely were up for that and I saw Joel at the front desk scribbling on some paper. I approached but patiently waited for him to finish writing. That said, he made me wait a LONG time - to the point that it was awkward. He obviously didn't want to deal with us and seemed clearly irritate by our presence. In fact he never looked up, said good morning or anything outside of raising one eye to look NOT at me but at the small sign next to me that said, "Reception hours 9am - 9pm." It was about 8:30am and he was making it quite clear that he did NOT have to help me with anything at the current time. He even left his post without saying a word and I followed him, slightly annoyed myself at this point, "Your sign says, 'cold drinks'.." I started only to be rudely cut off with a queeny roll of the eyes and muttered, "No!" We couldn't believe his rudeness and vowed to never recommend anyone to his B&B ever. Gay snap to that!!
After a bland but free breakfast with a bunch of noisy French families who kept stealing our toasts in the toaster - we left again this time to rent bikes at the pier. This is the major tourist thing to do. I love riding bikes and rarely do so - although some of the hills proved to be a little tough for my old man. We set off on the small road that goes around the entire island and stopped off at places, buildings or ruins of interest. The island was definitely beautiful - very different than all the other more modern places on the mainland. But I wouldn't stay for more than a day and a half there. One doesn't need to. Within a few hours we had biked to everything worth seeing and had leisurely taken our pictures. It was fun and definitely worth the hard work when we had the ascents to peddle or walk our bikes up.
Inis Mor has 4 perfectly preserved Celtic stone forts. My favorite was the spectacular triple-walled fort of Dun Aengus. It is supposedly one of Europe's finest prehistoric monuments dating somweher between 4000 and 1000 BC. (CHEEENGADOOOOOHH that is a long time ago!!!) Sitting on the edge of a 200 foot terrifying cliff that drops into a turbulent but gorgeous sea crashing against the rocks far below - the fort was breath-taking! I am not good around heights and it amazed me that they don't put up some sort of barrier to stop people from slipping to their deaths! Even Patrick was somewhat nervous sitting on the edge of the cliff. I mustered up the courage to get on my knees and peek over the ledge to snap a picture of the crashing Atlantic far below. YIKES!Alas, our long day came to a close with a stop at the pub for P's pint and the last ferry back to the mainland. Click on slideshow below!
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| Ireland - Day 3 - Aran Island |
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