Day Twenty

Monday, July 13th, 2009

The Aran Islands are one of the most celebrated and famous parts of Ireland. The three islands just off the Western coast have been celebrated in myth and legends for centuries. They are also famous for their woolen sweaters—one of which I still sadly do not own.

The day started our less than spectacular: Waking up at 9 a.m. sore and exhausted from Tip to face the prospect of walking around all day in the rain. The one bonus was that the bus that took us to the ferry was a double-decker, so we all got to ride on the top. The rain was even harder after reaching the docks for the ferry, making all our moods that much better.

After the ride to the largest of the islands (Inis Mor), during which I very excitedly did homework, we took in the small little port in which we’d been dropped. I immediately spotted the Aran Island sweater shop, which I had a burning desire to visit. But we quickly found out that we would be going on a two and a half hour walk, followed by lunch, followed by another two hour walk. And the rain was only slowly starting to let up.

So you can understand why we stalled as long as we could. Everyone in our group suddenly had to go to the restroom while some others of us decided to hit up Supermacs since we wouldn’t be eating for another six hours.

And let me clear: When I say “walk” I really mean “rock climbing”. Along cliffs with a sheer hundred foot drop into the raging ocean. On slippery rocks.

After telling Abbie that should I die, I leave everything to her (and thus possibly providing her with motive to give me a well-placed shove), we set out on our journey. Our guide, some local archeologist, seemed to have some aversion to laid out trails, which meant most of the time we were scrambling over rocks and boulders and praying they weren’t slippery and wouldn’t move.

To provide you with a bit better detail, the Aran Islands have no trees, and the thin layer of soil that once covered the island has worn down over the centuries, leaving the entire surface rocky and difficult to traverse. We were able to get really cool pictures of the ocean and checked out some really cool ruins (including one of the supposedly smallest church in the world—it was about as big as my room in Chico).

We finally got lunch, eating in one of the few restaurants on the island. We then went on a shorter walk up to the ruins of a fort, once more climbing up the rocky, steep hills instead of taking the convenient path leading up. We got the opportunity to lay out on the cliff, poking our heads out over the dizzying drop to the jagged rocks and churning ocean below.

The day did clear up, even getting sunny around lunchtime (apparently the islands enjoy better weather than Galway…not that I’m jealous or anything). Eventually it was time to go and we walked back down to the fort to the waiting shuttle buses that drove us back to the docks and the ferry. We didn’t have time to visit the sweater market—something I’m still bitter about to this day. I can find sweaters in Galway…but it’s just not the same.

After returning to Corrib Village, a couple of us decided to go to a nearby restaurant called The Spudhouse—specializing in, you guessed it, potatoes. Baked potatoes of all kinds, to be precise. It was amazingly delicious and I can assure there will be repeat visits. After all, who goes to Ireland and doesn’t eat potatoes?

(Walking along the rocks, laying along the cliffs, STRAIGHT DOWN)