After a long day of visiting the Hill of Tara and Trim Castle (look at my previous posts about them), I hopped on a bus due for Galway. It was a lot like the MegaBus in the States - the bus just pulls up to a sign on the side of the road and the passengers scuttle on with printed-out tickets in hand. As I learned, these busses stop at what seems like every town with a population of more than 8 on the way. The ride was fine, though. I put in 5 Euro and 3 hours and I was at the very west of Ireland (my stream of consciousness really is tempting me to start talking about the west Ireland idyll that a lot of Irish modern artists that I've been learning about use as their suject matter, but I will resist that temptation until later).
We pulled into the bus station at about 10:15. Our hostel was across the street, how convenient! What was the name, you say?
You would've thought I just made that up if I didn't provide a picture.
Snoozles was great. It was really new and clean. It was cheap, and for the first night, I knew everybody in my sleeping room. Second night was a different story, where it was 1 I knew and 2 Germans. They weren't mean Germans though, so all was well.
The big agenda item for Saturday was taking a ferry to the Aran Islands, specifically Inishmoor. Flatmate Greg and I caught the first bus from Galway city to the port to catch the ferry (the others caught the next). From there, we took at 40 minutes ferry ride westward (Go West, my son!). I was expecting some memorable sights on the ferry, but did not find the best of the day. Here's one looking back at the main (is)land of Ireland.
The first thing to know about the Aran Islands is that life there is tough. They've been sustenance fishing and farming communities forever. Irish is still the main language spoken. The weather makes Dublin look like Dubai, EXCEPT the day I was there. It was 75 and sunny, which is warm when you plan ahead and have several layers on your body. Nowadays, thanks to the pastoral idyll that (especially) Irish-Americans long for in their former homeland (that coincidently, their ancestors left because it was the opposite of idyllic), it is a pretty popular tourist destination.
Tourist or not, Inishmoor is gorgeous. Within a very small space, there are beaches, cliffs, moonlike landscapes, and dazzling green pastures.
The big draw for me was the fort, Dún Aengus. That meant renting bikes for 10 Euro and riding to the other side of the island. As the crow flies that's about 3 km, but as the sheep walks, it's a lot more (read: it's pretty hilly). It was an exhausting ride for not riding my bike in over a month and having a mediocre bike.
Some views on the way from the port to the fort.
Okay. At this point I'm going to start throwing around a lot of adjectives, but they probably will not be able to describe the fort. I'll throw all the spaghetti at the wall, and see if any sticks.
The Fort (or what's left of it) is a semi-circle at the very edge of the island. From the edge, there is a 295 ft cliff down to the Atlantic Ocean. There is nothing beyond the cliff until the horizon. The next parish is Boston. After I got over my fear of being near the edge of the cliff, I just laid looking out on what may as well be the end of the world. Some of the words that come to mind are: beautiful, spectacular, gorgeous, humbling, breath-taking, huge, vast, sheer, blue, crashing, anxiety.
Words don't do this view justice, and neither do pictures, but I tried words so I might as well try pictures too.
Nearly the whole island from the west
Straight down from the cliff. I had my camera strap wrapped around my wrist because I was scared it would disappear and land in Cuba.
My entry to the Minnesota Irish Fair Photo competition.
After quasi-meditating up there for a few hours, I headed back to the port to find some foods to nom and take the ferry back to Galway. That's where I had the delicious seafood chowder that was featured in my post about food. I also purchased a handmade Aran wool sweater.
After a much-needed shower, we started to celebrate my 21st. I wanted to go to a noted restaurant called Mustard that looked just like my kinda place. The sample dish I was teased with was crispy duck pizza with plum sauce. But because the bottom (and most of the middle) fell out of the Irish economy 18 months ago, it had to close. We went to a place called Milano nearby. It was very good and served some classy pizzas and salads. Flatmate Ethan and I split a goat cheese chicken salad and a four seasons pizza (high-quality pepperoni, sardines and capers, cheese, and mushrooms quadranted off).
It was really good, but I was disappointed to learn that there is also one in Dublin.
After dinner, I celebrated the anniversary of my birth at Taeffe's, the Quay (which is a very famous pub), and the King's Head pubs. I sampled some traditional music, cheesy cover bands (Freebird? Really?!?!?), and several kinds of beers.
I made it back to Dublin safely on Sunday afternoon and had another great birthday dinner at an uber-hip restaurant called Gruel. It was also uber-great. I'm going to be going back.
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