Resuming:
On Monday afternoon we took the coach for Rossaveal where we caught the “Island Ferry” to Kilronan (Cill Ronain), Inishmor.
Upon arrivin, around 1:30pm we were immediately bombarded by men of all ages trying to get us into bus/car/horse and trap to take the tour of the island. I haven’t experienced that sort of in-your-face hard selling here before. But, the Aran Islands main income is now from tourism so, sadly, everyone has to make a buck. We walked past them all to a chorus of enjoy your stays, because our B&B was visible from the boat (big “Pier House” painted on the front of it in red), about a two-minute walk away. When we entered to check in, the girl at the counter was on the phone, speaking a different language. After listening for a second, I guessed it was Irish, since this is supposed to be the last refuge of the dying idiom. Matt says, “Was that Spanish? I thought I heard an uno momento”. The girl laughed, as she confirmed it was Gaelic. That was only the first of the many times we were to hear it spoken beautifully here. When we found our room, we sat and watched the waves role in from the bay outside our window before walking into town to see what there was to see. We went to the tourist info place because they are always the most reliable for maps and general recommendations. Matt and I found ourselves looking at each other quizzically when we heard the shop girls mixing and matching English to Irish like the were D.J.s mixing the groove. I swear I heard one of them end a string of Irish with “girl”, as in “you go”.
We got our map and figured out what we could see of the island that afternoon. As we exited the Tourist Info center, we passed more tour guides, waiting to be engaged. I have wanted to do the horse and trap thing since we got to Dublin, so we jumped, gracelessly, into one. It was only after the first 15 minutes or so that we realized we hadn’t a clue as to the cost of this jaunty ride. Matt was in shock since we is usually very warry of things like this, so before going on we figured out if we could afford the current outing (we could). All we wanted to see that afternoon was the eastern portion of the place, as we decided to bike the rest the next day. We meandered (the horse was prone to stopping to admire the views along with us) along the coast road, slowly ascending to a ridge, passing along the way Arkin’s Castle, built in 1587, and later occupied by Cromwell who added on to the dilapidated hull by taking rocks from other buildings nearby, like a round tower and a holy well up the hill. They don’t call him a conqueror for nothing.
The main thing we aimed to see is called the Black Fort (Dun Ducathair, said doocaher), a promontory fort dated to the Iron Age. We discovered that our guide (whose name we discourteously neglected to get) had never lived off the island; although it has become the custom for many to grow up on the island, go explore the world (or at least the mainland) before returning to their birthplace (and birthright, as it is close to impossible for outsiders to buy property here). The island accent is curiously like the east cast of the USA, also. More Maine than New York, but definitely easterly. The horses hooves couldn’t take the weight of the cart on the trail to Black Fort, so our driver dropped us at the foot of a road (generously called so) and gave us the following directions:
“Walk until you come to the end (it ends at the cliff), turn left and walk along the cliff. There will be a rock wall with a hole in it, go through, jog to the right, continue along the cliff and you can’t miss it. Should take you about an hour.”
With that encouraging start, we began. It wasn’t long before I realized I was wearing a skirt and VERY unsuitable shoes. Strewn with two to three inch rocks shaped like axe heads, the road was inhospitable to say the least. My shoes were in tatters by the time we returned. At the cliff edge, Matt and I began to feel very alone in an unfamiliar and hard place. I had read about a “work hole” near the fort that basically is a big hole in the cliff caused by the pressure of the water in an underground cave, and didn’t want to stumble into it. After a while we sighted the outline of the fort, and decided that we were close enough to sate curiosity, and turned back. Plus I really had to go to the bathroom by then.
As we reached houses again, we gathered a canine following and a hunger in our aching bodies. We are NOT fit people. We found a restaurant called the Aran Fisherman and fed on fresh fish caught locally and recently. Ordering crab claws meant that I received about 14 claws and couldn’t help being the messiest person in the establishment. We then stepped next door to catch the 9pm showing of Ragus; the islands twist on Irish dancing and music. We even bought the album, but what can I say, we are tourists after all. For taking place in what felt like a high school gym, it was an excellent, and energetic show.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the following days adventure.
Cheers
The Aran Islands:
“48 Kilometres out into the Atlantic from Galway City are the Aran Islands, consisting of Inishmore (Inis Mor), Inishmaan (Inis Meain), and Inisheer (Inis Oirr). Many islanders are Gaelic-speaking and large numbers of students of the language visit these rugged barren islands every year.”
That is how the postcards describe this place, and it’s as good a start as any. Truly, the place defies description. I was wrong about the “many people are not in residence year round” part, that is the Blaskets (the islands that hold the westernmost point title). Actually the Aran Islands have a population of roughly 1200 annually, of which 900 live on Inishmore, the Island we stayed on.
Let me tell ya a little about the tourist industry that has replaced fishing as the livelihood of the islanders…. there are 3000 bicycles on the islands, rented out daily to tourists (Matt and I each got one) at €10 (I just figured out how to get the € sign…) a pop. You do the math. Okay, I will: 30, 000 a day incoming, nothing but profit. And that’s not including the extra €10 deposit they retain if, say, you forget to lock up your bike and someone (usually a local) happens to pick it up and use it to get from point A to point B (no threat of the bikes actually leaving the island since the guy who owns all of them also owns the ferries). They will lay it down on the side of the path when done “borrowing” it, and businessman Martin (pronounced Marchen) drives around at the end of the day recovering his bikes that lay about dotting the island. Then he keeps your deposit…. your fault for not locking the thing up. We were forewarned, and so asked for a lock (they are free anyhow).
More later….
“48 Kilometres out into the Atlantic from Galway City are the Aran Islands, consisting of Inishmore (Inis Mor), Inishmaan (Inis Meain), and Inisheer (Inis Oirr). Many islanders are Gaelic-speaking and large numbers of students of the language visit these rugged barren islands every year.”
That is how the postcards describe this place, and it’s as good a start as any. Truly, the place defies description. I was wrong about the “many people are not in residence year round” part, that is the Blaskets (the islands that hold the westernmost point title). Actually the Aran Islands have a population of roughly 1200 annually, of which 900 live on Inishmore, the Island we stayed on.
Let me tell ya a little about the tourist industry that has replaced fishing as the livelihood of the islanders…. there are 3000 bicycles on the islands, rented out daily to tourists (Matt and I each got one) at €10 (I just figured out how to get the € sign…) a pop. You do the math. Okay, I will: 30, 000 a day incoming, nothing but profit. And that’s not including the extra €10 deposit they retain if, say, you forget to lock up your bike and someone (usually a local) happens to pick it up and use it to get from point A to point B (no threat of the bikes actually leaving the island since the guy who owns all of them also owns the ferries). They will lay it down on the side of the path when done “borrowing” it, and businessman Martin (pronounced Marchen) drives around at the end of the day recovering his bikes that lay about dotting the island. Then he keeps your deposit…. your fault for not locking the thing up. We were forewarned, and so asked for a lock (they are free anyhow).
More later….
The Salmon were indeed running….
Matt and I wandered up to the Galway Fishery on the far end of the River Corrib where we spotted several large salmon running upstream, leaping out of the water in a struggle towards their spawning grounds, seeming to fly up the weir. We stood transfixed watching for a while until one of the fisherman on the nearby bank (about ten feet away from our lookout) hooked a “big ‘un” and signalled for the fishery man to come with the net. When he came out from behind the large glass wall where he monitors the river (and fishermen), and shuffled down long and slippery stone steps to stand where he could more easily snag the steadily incoming (and belligerent) fish.
Then he thwacked it on the head with a big stick. I cringed a little, but enough for the fisherman to notice:
“Aw, get used to it!”
I told him that its not like I don’t eat fish, I think they’re quite tasty…. It’s just that sound. I don’t relish watching anything die, even if I am going to get sustenance from consuming it. Call me crazy.
Anyhow, it was fascinating to watch the whole process unfold before us.
1. Fish struggling towards procreation upstream
2. Fisherman struggling with hooks caught in the flotsam and jetsam
3. Fish avoiding the dangers of the weir only to be snagged by the fisherman
4. Fish hauled out still kicking, certain in its struggle against the Man
5. Dinner bagged
We eventually found Gabriella (Netzer, Eric from Colorado’s sister, who is still living in Galway) and met up for a pint. We had a great time meeting and chatting with some of the Friends from the local congregations, not to mention seeing her again after 3 ½ years. We actually met up with her again today, when we returned from The Aran Islands, but that is another story….
And one best told on a full stomach, Yup, dinner time again :)
From ferry to coach to train to taxi, to internet café...home awaits us. Dublin, that is….
Matt and I wandered up to the Galway Fishery on the far end of the River Corrib where we spotted several large salmon running upstream, leaping out of the water in a struggle towards their spawning grounds, seeming to fly up the weir. We stood transfixed watching for a while until one of the fisherman on the nearby bank (about ten feet away from our lookout) hooked a “big ‘un” and signalled for the fishery man to come with the net. When he came out from behind the large glass wall where he monitors the river (and fishermen), and shuffled down long and slippery stone steps to stand where he could more easily snag the steadily incoming (and belligerent) fish.
Then he thwacked it on the head with a big stick. I cringed a little, but enough for the fisherman to notice:
“Aw, get used to it!”
I told him that its not like I don’t eat fish, I think they’re quite tasty…. It’s just that sound. I don’t relish watching anything die, even if I am going to get sustenance from consuming it. Call me crazy.
Anyhow, it was fascinating to watch the whole process unfold before us.
1. Fish struggling towards procreation upstream
2. Fisherman struggling with hooks caught in the flotsam and jetsam
3. Fish avoiding the dangers of the weir only to be snagged by the fisherman
4. Fish hauled out still kicking, certain in its struggle against the Man
5. Dinner bagged
We eventually found Gabriella (Netzer, Eric from Colorado’s sister, who is still living in Galway) and met up for a pint. We had a great time meeting and chatting with some of the Friends from the local congregations, not to mention seeing her again after 3 ½ years. We actually met up with her again today, when we returned from The Aran Islands, but that is another story….
And one best told on a full stomach, Yup, dinner time again :)
From ferry to coach to train to taxi, to internet café...home awaits us. Dublin, that is….
Matt and I arrived safe and sound in Galway (again by lovely rhythmically rocking train) yesterday morning. We found our BB only to be told that the daughter of the house had scheduled us for the following weekend. So, they had a room left for us, but it’s cramped, and PINK. Oh well, its cosy and has all we need. I can tell you I’m gonna miss the morning fry at B&B’s when we got home….
We strolled around the cobbled pedestrian only shopping streets (aptly named “Shop Street”) and through the medieval feeling narrow paths, eventually (took us about three yards) finding a pub to watch the match in. Turkey v Korea, for third place in the World Cup (Turkey won). We spent most of our afternoon in this relaxed patter of wandering and watching. Today’s Match had Brazil beating Germany for their 5th World Cup title.
Today, much the same, we found the other interesting historical sights in the town of Galway, such as the Lynch memorial window. This little ivy shrouded crumble of wall is a monument to the “stern and unbending” justice of Galway’s former Mayor James Lynch, who in 1493 carried out his sentence against his own son by hanging him from this window (since no one else would do it, for fear of retribution from the family in charge of the city) as penalty for the murder of a young Spanish man who absconded with Walter Lynch’s (the son) girlfriend. I guess he seriously didn’t want to come across as partial or nepotistic. The Lynch Castle is now an AIB Bank in a really cool façade.
Before coming here, I hadn’t realized that the popular pub name “The Kings Head” referred to the act of cutting off the King’s actual Head. The one located here in Galway, was presented to the Axe-man executioner who beheaded King Charles the First by an appreciative parliament. Crazy.
Now, we are off to see the Salmon Weir Bridge, to find out if indeed the salmon are running. You’re supposed to be able to see huge shoals of salmon making there way upstream to the spawning grounds from April to early July (now). The weather has been pretty turbulent today, and I don’t know how that affects there habits, but we’ll still try to see them. And later, probably eat them :)
Tomorrow afternoon we take the ferry to the Aran Islands.
We strolled around the cobbled pedestrian only shopping streets (aptly named “Shop Street”) and through the medieval feeling narrow paths, eventually (took us about three yards) finding a pub to watch the match in. Turkey v Korea, for third place in the World Cup (Turkey won). We spent most of our afternoon in this relaxed patter of wandering and watching. Today’s Match had Brazil beating Germany for their 5th World Cup title.
Today, much the same, we found the other interesting historical sights in the town of Galway, such as the Lynch memorial window. This little ivy shrouded crumble of wall is a monument to the “stern and unbending” justice of Galway’s former Mayor James Lynch, who in 1493 carried out his sentence against his own son by hanging him from this window (since no one else would do it, for fear of retribution from the family in charge of the city) as penalty for the murder of a young Spanish man who absconded with Walter Lynch’s (the son) girlfriend. I guess he seriously didn’t want to come across as partial or nepotistic. The Lynch Castle is now an AIB Bank in a really cool façade.
Before coming here, I hadn’t realized that the popular pub name “The Kings Head” referred to the act of cutting off the King’s actual Head. The one located here in Galway, was presented to the Axe-man executioner who beheaded King Charles the First by an appreciative parliament. Crazy.
Now, we are off to see the Salmon Weir Bridge, to find out if indeed the salmon are running. You’re supposed to be able to see huge shoals of salmon making there way upstream to the spawning grounds from April to early July (now). The weather has been pretty turbulent today, and I don’t know how that affects there habits, but we’ll still try to see them. And later, probably eat them :)
Tomorrow afternoon we take the ferry to the Aran Islands.
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