I woke up early to hear rain falling on the sky light in my Doolin hostel room. It was a very gray, blustery, and wet day so, after my breakfast, I packed up, donned all of my rain gear, put the rain cover over my big pack, and started down the road for the 2 km walk to the Doolin pier to catch my ferry to Inishmore, the largest of the three Aran Islands.
I love this photo of the cracked limestone rock, looking towards the pier.
Here are ferries, waiting for their busy day of taking tourists to the islands or to view the Cliffs of Moher from below (although the Pirate Queen on the left looks like a fishing boat), and then my “ferry”, the Rose of Aran, a bit rusty looking!
What a crossing! The Rose of Aran loaded an alarmingly large number of passengers. Almost everyone squeezed into a seating area in the hull that had no windows, and I immediately decided to head back out onto the deck, despite the rain, as it felt somewhat claustrophobic inside and I didn’t want to be in close proximity to anyone who might get seasick! It was great on deck! I set myself up in a corner of the stern and hung on for dear life as we swayed up and down big swells, with waves crashing all around. It was a madly fun, rollicking, rolling ride, though the pictures don’t show it!
We got to Inishmore and the weather had mostly cleared up. I decided to take a tour bus (van) to the other end of the island to get the lay of the land and to visit a few places, and then the driver would let me off mid-island at my airbnb, Cliona’s house, which he knew because there are only 900 permanent residents on Inishmore. The principal source of income on the Aran Islands used to be fishing, but it is now tourism and up to 3000 people can visit Inishmore a day in the high season.
Bertie was our driver, and he was quite funny and boyish and fun. He grew up on the island and pointed out his parents’ house, and where he went to school. The Aran Islands are the eastern-most part of the Burren landscape of limestone pavement. The island is long, low, and rounded, and criss-crossed by a crazy maze of dry stone fences that divide the island into small, family-owned pastures for cows, horses, a few goats, and the occassional lovely donkey!
Bertie pointed out several of the last remaining thatched cottages on the island, and one in serious disrepair! There are many remnants of old stone cottages, as well other abandonded houses, left empty as some islanders emigrated and never returned.
We stopped at the peaceful ruins of St.Brechan’s Church, built in the 8th century.
And then we visited Dun Aengus, the remains of what was once a huge, circular, iron age stone fort. It is the largest such fort in Europe, and the site encompasses 14 acres. The fort is perched at the edge of the cliffs, 300 feet above the sea. Half of the fort has fallen away into the ocean as the limestone cliffs have eroded over time. Built around 1100 BC, there are the remains of at least four concentric dry stone walls, which are up to 4 metres thick in some places! In the centre, there is a rectangular stone slab platform, and it is a very scarey feeling to stand on it and near the edge of it, with the Atlantic waves crashing far below.
It was very exciting being up so high, and so close to such a precipitous edge. What a place to live! I can’t imagine any woman, even an iron age one, arriving at such a wild, windy, and rocky land and saying, “Oh, this is the place! I want to live here honey.” It was probably the men who just started stacking rocks!
After my van tour, I met my airbnb hostess, Cliona, and her two lovely daughters. This is my room! There’s a view of the sea from my bedside window, as well as a view of the ruins of an 8th century church, dedicated to Saint Ciaran.
After settling in a bit, I walked the 2 kilometers into town to rent a bike for my next day on the island. I cycled back towards my accommodation along the lower coast road, and ended my exhilirating day by having a quiet moment at a beach that has a small colony of seals, and is backed by a small wetland.
