The Aran Islands

It’s raining in Galway today. While it’s a bit of bummer, I am grateful for having had the opportunity to explore the Aran Islands yesterday while it was fairly bright and warm.

The Aran Islands are comprised of three islands that rest approximately 25 kilometers off the western coast of Ireland in Galway Bay. It is home to roughly 200 people. The islands belong to the Gaeltacht, an area of Ireland where Irish is the predominant language. During the summer, teenagers from all over Ireland come to this region to study Irish in various immersion programs. The small community that calls the Aran Islands home leads a more rustic and “traditional” lifestyle. In addition, the Aran Islands are known for their rugged beauty and as home to some of Europe’s best-preserved prehistoric monuments.

Individuals I spoke with on the mainland told me that I could learn a lot about Irish folklore on the Islands. Apparently many of the elderly residents still believe in fairylore. Still, I wondered how “authentic” the rustic way of life could be given that so many tourists flock to the Islands to see, what many call, a living museum.

I took a ferry with approximately 100 other people across Galway Bay to get to the largest of the three islands, Inishmór. Like me, they were armed with cameras and smart phones. (OK, I don’t own a smart phone, but I digress.) As we sailed, I noticed one woman reading a Kindle. A Macy Gray song piped through the boat’s speakers as we docked.

The moment I got off the ferry, I, along with the other visitors, was approached by older men with vans offering tours of the island. There were other folks offering other kinds of tours: bike or horse buggy. One couldn’t help but notice a large restaurant called the American Bar, and several gift shops… one, an outlet store!

I wanted to make it to Dun Aengus, a prehistoric fort built at the edge of a cliff approximately 100 meters above the sea. I only had four hours to explore, so I opted to take a van along with other tourists. For 10 euros, our driver would show us around the island, give tidbits of information, drop us off at Dun Aengus, and return later in the day to show us the island’s seal colony before returning us to the ferry landing.

The drive around the island was like nothing I have ever experienced before. The van zoomed around dirt streets the size of alleys. The driver told us that these were two-way streets; he shared them reluctantly with cars going the opposite direction, cyclists, horses, and carriages. I don’t know how we made it around without crashing into anyone, or horse, for that matter.

Along the way, I jotted down some of the anecdotal information he shared. Here are some the figure he gave us, in the order in which they were given. On the Aran Islands, there are...

• four pubs.
• three Catholic churches.
• one supermarket.
• two policemen.
• one bank that is open two days a week.
• 85 students that attend one of two primary schools.
• one school for secondary education.
• only 80 sheep.
• four ring forts.
  

It’s very difficult to come up with words to describe the scenery. First, imagine predominantly dark greens of varying shades filled with mazes of stonewalls, about four feet high. The walls are made of limestone, and are not cemented in place. Essentially, they can be rearranged. The stonewalls create very small field-like enclosures for livestock to graze in. I asked why the land was filled with these stone “fences”. I was told that farmers built the “fences” this way so they could take down the borders of their fields and move the livestock around as they saw fit. Nothing permanently etched in stone makes for farming cattle easier in a harsh climate. Makes sense to me.

We drove past small crumbling cathedrals once used by Dominican monks, and a small cemetery with large tombstones of Celtic crosses. Next, we drove by a house made for a leprechaun. (Yes, really. Apparently there is a man on the island that likes to make these homes for the wee folk in the winter.) And we passed large, open tubs sitting out in the middle of fields, some filled with water. Their purpose? To collect rainwater for the cattle.

I couldn’t quite figure out where I was… not just geographically, but time-wise.

Finally, we arrived at the Tourist Bureau where we could purchase tickets to the trail leading up to Dun Aengus. What else was at this stop? Two restaurants, a snack stand, and about four gift shops. Elderly men with thick wrinkles and yellow, snaggleteeth smoking cigarettes, were lined up with their horses and carriages waiting to take tourists on a ride on one of the many paths circling Dun Aengus.

The horses were beautiful. Calm, compact, and strong, they took care of themselves while their drivers either waited in the carriages or sat on the other side of the path. One dark brown horse fed itself out of a bag of hay.

I asked one man missing a front teeth what kind of horses these were. He responded, “They’re a dying breed.”

I asked what the dying breed is called, and he answered, “I don’t know, but it’s dying.”

This struck me. It almost sounded like a joke.

“What kind of horse is this?”

“It’s a dying breed.”

“What’s the breed called?”

“I don’t know, but it’s dying.”

Anyhow, I continued on up the path to Dun Aengus. It was a somewhat steep walk, and the path was largely made up of giant rocks of black limestone.

The path and the fort are a photographer’s dream. The ancient limestone walls - about four meters thick - enclose rocky land filled with long, soft green grass. Also found within the fort? A ledge at the place where the sidewalk ends. You know, the one that Shel Silverstein wrote about? The land just comes to a halt and, after that, a huge plummet into the Atlantic. People lied on the rocks at the edge of the fort and stared down into the ocean. A truly unbelievable spectacle.

Archaeologists still question how old the fort is, but their best guess it that it was built during the Iron Age. While the fort was used by the original inhabitants for defense from invaders, it was also probably used by druids for religious ceremonies.

After taking a ton of pictures, I hiked back down the path.

It took some time to find the van and driver as, he was apparently driving other people’s vans and taking different groups of people up, down, and around the island. (The others in my group were not happy.)

Once we did track him down, and were nestled in the vehicles, we made our way back to docks. Along the way we stopped at the shore where the seals rest. Much to my chagrin, the seals were not there. The tide was too high. However, we were lucky to spot one gray seal bobbing his head up and down in the waves. In an instant it was easy to see why seal-lore abounds in western Ireland and other British isles.

My ferry departed Inishmór at 5pm. Pop music from the 1970s was playing on the speakers this time… I think it was the Bee Gees. I, along with the other tourists, was heading back to the 2011 that I know.

Since having come to Ireland, two people have told me that the Aran Islands is their favorite place in the world. They love the wondrous beauty and isolation. However, the skeptic in me wonders how isolated the islands really are. At what pace are things changing on Inishmór? Have some things been left static in time to build the islands’ tourist industry? I read in another book that the only real way to experience the Aran Islands is to stay overnight and go about once the tourists have left. Sounds reasonable.

I should have asked the toothless man with his horse at Dun Aengus about the community. Perhaps the conversation would have gone something like this:

“What kinds of people live here?”

“They are a dying breed.”

“What kinds of people are dying?”

“I don’t know what they are, but they’re dying.”