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3/19/2009
In order to get to the Aran Islands, we had to catch a 10:30am ferry leaving a town about 45 minutes west of Galway called Rossaveal. So, backing off of that (and making some room for error), we planned to pick Craig and Dave up at 9:30 at Craig's just outside of town. Thus, we planned to get on the road by like 9.
The three of us left the parking garage at about quarter to nine with a set of directions that Craig gave Tom the night before.
We first crossed a bridge and came to a cathedral we’d passed the previous day, where Craig's directions began. They took us around the cathedral and over another bridge, after which we looked for the next landmark mentioned, but with no luck. At 9:05, we asked for directions, problem being that our landmark is a store called Dunne's and everyone we asked told us, very helpfully, about the 5 other stores closer to us than Dunne's. Finally, we drove back to the cathedral, called Craig, and told him to meet us at the Cathedral. At this point, it was 9:25pm.
15 minutes later, Craig called back to let us know they were leaving. Another 15 minutes or so went by and, sure enough, Craig and Dave came over the bridge...the same bridge we FIRST came over to get to the cathedral. They piled in the car and Tom started driving, luckily able to find the road out of town with relative ease. There was only one problem: it was now 10:00. We had to make a 45 minute drive in 30 minutes or we would miss the Aran Islands.
We tried to make the most of it. No one knew just how far the ferry was, so we just spent the ride perpetually "almost there."
At about 10:30, we started seeing signs for Rossaveal and finally pulled into the ferry parking lot at 10:45…only15 minutes late. Well done, Tommy Boy. I ran into the office and asked the old fella working if the 10:30 had left yet.
He said no!!! They were apparently waiting for the last of the daily busses from Galway, since they carry enough people that the ferry pretty much HAS to wait on them.
We started scrambling, as the ticket guy said we needed to park closer to the harbor (so not in the GIANT PARKING LOT in front of him). We continued down the road about 50 yards and saw…no parking. We did, however, watch a bus arrive. I jumped out again to hold the boat up if necessary while Tom found parking with the others. Unfortunately, the last time I thought we were parking, I'd been taking clothes out of my larger bag to put in my backpack.
That is how I wound up having the following conversation with an Aran Island Ferries worker while holding my boxer shorts:
Me: "Is this the ten thirty?"
Dude: "Yeah, ticket?"
Me: "I have a ticket, but there are four people with me" (there are, of course, no people with me as I say this).
Dude: "Get'm here."
Me: "Wait, so if I get on right now, does the ship leave?"
Dude: "No, there's another bus."
God love busses! Tom later pointed out the answer was probably supposed to be "The ship’s leaving whether you get on it or not!” At this point, I turned and saw the others running down the pier, overloaded with not only their bags but mine as well. I signaled for them to slow up and, shortly thereafter, we were all safely on the ferry at about 10:55.
When the ferry did leave, we embarked upon the choppiest mode of travel I've ever experienced. Once we left the tiny harbor and entered the greater Galway Bay, the boat began tossing like crazy while kicking up a huge whale tail of wake. More than once, I switched hands on the railing just as the swell hit and found myself wondering about temperature of the emerald water.
After about 30 minutes’ ride, we pulled into another pier that, to my recollection, was not the town of Kilronan on Inishmore, the largest of the three Aran Islands, where we were headed. I figured we were dropping folks off at Inishmaan, one of the other islands, but I asked a crew member just in case. When I said Inishmore, he pointed up the stairs and off the boat.
Having no desire to be on the wrong desolate island, I asked again. Once again, he pointed me up and over the gangway. I could tell I wasn’t the only one confused; in fact, a bunch of tourists were now discussing what he meant, as the landscape didn't look right.
Finally, a clearer speaker came aboard and announced that those going to Inishmaan needed to get off our ship, cross over another and head to the land; those bound for Inishmore were to move to the ferry just next to us. On our new craft, Tom and I decided we were tired of being outside on the boat, so we decided to find seats inside. Before settling, Tom saw the concessions open and made his way forward; ten seconds later, he called back to me with a huge grin on his face: “Dude, they have Guinness."
Guinness Count: 41
Not long after, we finally stepped down into the familiar port of Kilronan, where Tom and I cheerfully chucked our Guinness cans into the nearest trashcans.
Quite a few people got off with us, which made me nervous. I’d talked up the isolation of Inishmore and Dun Aonghasa, the island’s cliff fort and my favorite place on Earth, but the port alone was more crowded than I remembered.
We quickly found our hostel or, rather, our bar/hostel, the same I’d stayed in years before. Checking in, we were put in a room of four for everyone but Dave, while he kept his stuff with us and took a spot in a 16 person room. With lodging squared away, food was the next necessity, satisfied by a little sandwich shop attached to a grocery store, which served a delicious curry chicken sandwich. As we ate, we watched people passing by stop to pet an orange and white cat asleep on the wall nearby. A lover of cats, I finally went over to take a look, but returned almost immediately.
"Yeah, that cat has the plague."
The poor thing looked SO unwell. Red, puffy eyes, a nose that was WAY too big for any cat I've ever seen and a punch-drunk temperament. We all agreed not to touch it, but the food soon attracted it and we all cringed as it meowed at our feet.
With food done, we stopped by the Aran Sweater Market, where they sell the sweaters that the island is known for. We all passed due to the steep prices and, besides, it was time to make the trek to Dun Aonghasa. Walking nearly the entire harbor, we found the bike rental, where we were each given wheeled structures that may have once been bikes before losing a fight with rust and gravity.
Starting our journey meant biking up a hill out of town, followed by a hill rising up above the town, and then another one that provided stunning views of Kilronan Harbor and the mainland behind us and endless stone-walled fields before us. Unfortunately, Tom felt less inspired and asked me if I remembered how bad the ride was. I told him it kept going up for a bit longer and that, ultimately, we'd have to leave the bikes and walk up to the fort itself. Hearing this, Tommy tapped out, saying he'd meet us at the pub called American Bar that we'd passed on the road out of town. We made him promise that’s where he’d be this time and he said “Yep, just like last time!”
The remaining four of us biked through Inishmore’s sparse landscape, in which farmhouses rolled up out of nowhere as though lost with no idea how they ended up in the middle of nowhere. After a long ride, a downward slope sent us coasting along a beachfront, where several of our fellow visitors played in the sand. I recognized the beach from 2006 and thankful to be there after only 40 minutes of biking; if memory served, it took us two and a half hours to get there last time (thanks to a counterintuitive route still suggested by the maps provided with the bike rental).
The beach wasn’t all I recognized, however. As I mentioned, the last time I went to Inishmore, the island was quieter, probably because it wasn't St. Patrick's Day week. When I biked to Dun Aonghasa with my friends Kristin, Jojo, Christie, Cora, and Andrew, we were actually followed almost the entire way by a beautiful black and white dog we named Guinness. He ran beside us for miles, sticking with us even as we became hopelessly lost.
Three years later, I looked out over the beach and saw two tourist playing with an older, shaggier, but easily recognizable Guinness the Dog. I first recognized the demeanor. He ran about the beach, playing with everyone, switched his attention to whoever was closest. Then I noted the coloring; it really did seem to be the same dog. I was overwhelmed with the realization and when I told the guys, even they were pretty amazed.
Well, except Paul...Paul had needed a restroom for like 15 minutes. Luckily, a kitschy little base camp for Dun Aonghasa stood right near the beach with shops, restrooms, and, yes, even a pub. We took a restroom break, which I spent watching Guinness play in the sand. Then, ready to continue, we hopped back on our bikes and rode out of the little town, only to find bike racks a short distance away, as the rest of the path had to be taken by foot.
The walking trail led to a Dun Aonghasa admission building, a totally new part of the experience, as was the admission price. Having come so very, very far, however, we paid without complaint and started the long walk up to the fort itself.
Dun Aonghasa comprises three concentric semi-circular walls opening onto dizzying cliffsides that plummet into the Atlantic Ocean. It's gorgeous to see and experience, an old, mysterious spot that it vibrates with ancient energy. It sounds cheesy and it certainly vibrated less on this visit, with 20 tourists wandering the grounds, but it felt no less humbling to get on your stomach, crawl to the edge and watch the waves crashing below without so much as a caution sign.
Perhaps it was best expressed by Dave when he first crawled up to the edge: "oohhhhhhHHHH MY GOD! OHMIGOD!"
Sitting back and taking Dun Aonghasa in, I did get a little bit of clarity and peace. After all, this is the place I go to in my mind to find calm. That said, I was foolish to assume it would be exactly the same as last time. Part of the majesty of the place is the shock of discovering it's there in the first place. Between coming back to it and sharing it with way more people than I had before, I was less awed and more observant, enjoying the pitch of the cliffs and the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean when viewed from so high up.
As most visitors must, we reached a point where we'd either have to leave the fort immediately or stay entranced forever, so we took our leave. At the bottom of the path, we got on our bikes and raced down a wild, coastal route to Kilronan. The exhilarating ride got us back to the bike rental at 4:45, 15 minutes before closing. After the return, we found Tom at the American Bar, quite drunk after a day there. We joined him for a pint or two and regaled him with the journey.
Guinness Count: 42
Dinner turned out to be a chore; places closed even earlier on the island, including the grocery store. One restaurant was open from 3pm until 10pm, except for an hour from 5 to 6. At this point, it was 5:30, so we sat outside and waited until the place opened. Once it did, we tucked into well-made specialty pizzas and a burger for Dave, all delicious and worth the wait.
After that, we returned to the American Bar. I had one Guinness while we watched some basketball, but I started fading fast. Thankfully, I stuck around long enough to see three familiar faces walk through the door: Nick, Craig, and Sanjay, the other Virginia trio from WAY WAY back at the castle hostel. We said hellos and marveled at the odds of meeting once again anywhere in Ireland, much less in a tiny bar on a remote island off the coast. Despite this toast-worthy coincidence, I still had to call it a night, so I wished them well and slipped off to the hostel room, falling asleep at a positively raucous 8:05 PM.
Party on...Guinness Count: 43
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