June 18-20, 2023

Inis Meain, the middle island, is a very different island than Inis Mor and Inis Oirr which are very organized for tourist visits with bicycle rental places, pony and trap rides, gift shops and cafes, etc. I knew that ahead of time and was happy to be the only passenger to disembark onto the island on the late afternoon sailing. I was met by my host’s lovely daughter who welcomed me at the pier with fresh baked scones (which made six as I had four with me!). Now a nurse working in Galway, and home for a visit, she grew up on Inis Meain and proudly gave me a quick tour of the island which I appreciated. Then she dropped me off at the very cute “200 year old renovated cottage” that I had been so looking forward to staying in. Before entering, she introduced me to Paisley, my donkey neighbour next door.

Cait oriented me to the cottage and lit a wood and coal fire before saying goodbye. It had been a pleasure to meet her but the moment she left I felt deflated. I loved the rustic cottage – I appreciate rustic and simple – but it was damp! Especially the bedroom where the mattress and linens were very damp. Why the heck didn’t I call the host and say so?! Aaargh! The couch and its afghan were damp. The chair cushions were damp. Every soft surface in the cottage was damp to the touch. Okay, time for dinner I thought and then I’ll feel better. I had brought some groceries as there is only one small shop on the island and it was closed on my arrival day. I boiled up a sliced carrot, a bit of broccoli and cauliflower, and some green beans as I hadn’t had any vegetables or even anything resembling dinner for almost a week. Then I read for a while on the damp couch and kept the fire up hoping that would help but it didn’t throw much heat. It was a long evening!

I climbed up to the loft where there was an unmade single bed beneath a skylight. A twin-sized duvet there was slightly less damp so I brought it down to the couch and decided to sleep there in front of the fire with all of my clothes on. It wasn’t very comfortable and I slept fitfully. I switched to the bedroom part way through the night but lasted only five minutes then went back to the couch. Awake at 3:58 a.m. I gave up on sleep, made coffee and toasted a scone, and read until the sun rose. Then, worst of all, my diarrhea was back. I felt devastated and exhausted and panicky and thought, “there’s no way that I can spend three nights here.” I started googling but then decided to take a walk to clear my head and calm down.

I walked past the island’s lovely church, and then Synge’s cottage, a summer home of Edmund Synge who was a well-known Irish poet and playwright. A trio of cows wondered why I was up so early!

I reached Dun Chonchuir, a large 1st century BC elliptical-shaped ring fort built up on the highest point of the island.

Once inside, it was surprisingly large. Some of the outlines of inner dwellings had been repaired and partly rebuilt in 1880.

Like many other ring forts, the outer defensive wall was stepped and terraced on the inside to allow access to the top and I climbed up carefully for more views of the interior space,

as well as views out over the island.

From there, I next visited a small ancient clochan which was half-hidden amongst nettles and brambles. Clochans, or beehive huts, are small stone dwellings with corbelled roofs. I crawled through the tiny door, less than a metre high and half a metre wide, and felt like a spoiled whiny baby to be so upset with my miserable night when I had had the comfort of a soft (though damp) couch, modern clothes, a hot shower and a hot breakfast! I imagined sleeping in here. People had to be so much tougher back then!

The sun rose higher as I made my way to the western side of the island past fields, a few farmhouses and old cottages (some with thatched roofs), and several walled gardens planted neatly with potatoes, grain, onions and greens.

Then I reached Cathair Synge, or Synge’s Chair, where the poet liked to sit and watch the large waves roll in from across the Atlantic and crash against the cliffs of Inis Mor. I could hear the loud roar today of those crashes from across the water and remembered that roar from a visit to Inis Mor’s Black Fort where huge waves had crashed hard against a perilous section of undercut cliffs. Huge storm waves of up to 14 metres can hit the western edge of Inis Mor and shift limestone boulders as big as houses!

I continued past Synge’s Chair, careful of my footing on the uneven and cracked limestone pavement. There was sea thrift to admire, pretty in the sun even though the flowers had faded to brown from their earlier bright pink, and fossils of shells and crab carapaces to examine. Then I reached the sheer cliffs of Inis Meain. What a sight!

Farther along the coast here there are several blow holes but it was best for me to turn back so I started the return journey to my cottage and enjoyed more views of the island as I walked. I spent a few moments sitting in the cool, silent, and symmetrical beauty of the island church which was now open, and I visited the ivy-covered barely-discernible ruins of the Teampall Seacht Mac Ri, an early Christian church. Beside it was the grave site of Saint Kennerg (St. Cinndeirge) who was the daughter of a King of Leinster. Her grave and a nearby holy well were sites of pilgrimage for centuries and were “held in great veneration by the islanders.”

Back at the cottage I was tired and still feeling a bit discouraged but definitely calmer. I decided that I would tolerate one more night in the cottage and leave a day early to travel to Athlone in order to be able to do a boat cruise down the Shannon River to the monastic settlement of Clonmacnoise – another much-anticipated activity that I had not yet been able to book as the cruise dates did not match my itinerary. I considered finding different accommodation on the island for the night, but as everyone knows everyone I did not want to embarrass my hosts with talk of a damp cottage! I washed a load of laundry, had a few crackers with cheese and an apple for lunch, and visited with Paisley as I hung up my laundry on the line.

Then I headed out to visit the rest of the island’s sites and sights. It was turning into a gorgeous day, windy and sunny and fresh, and although I was very tired I was also happy to be here. I walked past village houses towards the eastern side of the island and uphill on several narrow flowery lanes to arrive at another stone fort, Dun Fearbhal.

Unlike most ring forts this one was built in a square shape rather than a circle. A teenager was installed upon the wall enjoying the beautiful view of the island down towards the old pier and beach. From Galway, he was visiting his grandfather and said that he loves coming back to the island often and that this fort was his special place. I could see why! Like so many of the people I had met in Ireland he was open and friendly and sincerely interested in who I was and why I was there. I loved talking to him but didn’t linger so that he could enjoy his quiet time in his favourite place on a beautiful afternooon.

I started to make my way down hill, heading towards An Tra Mor, the beach below.

On the way down I could see the remains of Cill Cheannannach, an 8th-9th century church surrounded by grave slabs. (In the bottom left corner of the photo is an example of the kind of trough that the farmers here build to hold water for their cattle. The inclined plane of stone adds to the volume of rain that is able to be collected on an island where there is little surface water available.

This small early church would have had a wood-framed roof and the only natural light inside would have been from an open western door and the small eastern window.

Here is a view looking back at the church and up to the square fort.

And then I neared this amazing beach and the turquoise-coloured sea.

From atop some limestone boulders, and zoomed in, I could see a father or grandfather watching over two boys playing in the sea. The beach was surprisingly immense.

I walked out onto the sand and started down the length of the beach.

This was my view forward more than halfway along,

with views back to the father and the boys. What a beach!

I sat on the sand for awhile, gazing out to sea, and watched several terns fishing for their supper. Then I carried on, off of the sand and onto a section of limestone pavement where three oyster catchers were very upset with me as I walked along. They circled and complained and were likely nesting in the area so I tried to look as harmless as can be. A good-sized flock of cormorants weren’t happy with me either and folded in their outstretched wings and retreated to the water when I tried to approach for a photo.

I continued on along the coastline wanting to get to the dune-backed beaches that I had seen from the ferry but the limestone pavement ended and the shore became bouldery and hard to navigate in my fatigued condition (it would have been fun otherwise!). So I returned to the pavement, once more annoying the poor oyster catchers and cormorants, and then I rose up above the beach to a beautiful area of grasses and wildflowers.

The views here, near and far, were spectacular and I felt both elated and exhausted at the same time. While down low taking photos I really should have given in to the temptation to just lay down and have a sleep on the soft grass in the warm sun!

I started to head back towards my cottage but decided instead to turn and continue in the direction of the dunes,

and I was happy when I spotted them in the distance.

Luckily I had asked Cait about the dunes and she had driven that way and pointed out a white arrow on a post which marked a lane that would lead me around to the far end of Inis Meain’s small airport runway and into the dunes. It was so beautiful!

The wind was waving through the tall grasses and it was a joy to walk on the undulating narrow path. Several side trails led to the bouldery shore,

and then finally one led me to this gorgeous sand beach. Wow! I wanted so badly to walk to its end to see what was around the corner,

but I was just too tired so I sat for a few moments and watched a fisherman in a currach as he pulled up and then tossed a lobster trap back into the sea before continuing on. Look at the colour of that water!

It was definitely time to head back and the last site that I wished to visit on Inis Meain was thankfully located directly on the way back to the cottage. Here are photos of the Carrownlinsheen Wedge Tomb, also known as the Bed of Diarmuid and Grainne. Dated at between 4000-2500 BC, it is the oldest known human-built structure on the Aran islands.

I returned to my cottage and forced myself to eat a small meal. Fewer veggies (which my tummy had not liked) (Paisley enjoyed getting most of my carrot), some instant rice, and a can of sardines for some protein. I brought my clothes in off the line as well as two bath towels that were now fully dry and would serve as buffers between me and the damp mattress and duvet. I had decided to sleep in the loft on the less-damp bed and would just have to be very careful coming down the ladder in the middle of the night. I was worried about my lingering illness, but happy with my long day on Inis Meain, and I went to sleep long before the evening light had faded from the sky.

And the “lost romance” in this post’s title? I can’t tell you how many times I have googled “Irish cottage for sale” in the last five years or so. Now, I must admit, reality has trumped romance. Although, …. I know that there are ways to keep those old cottages free of damp. Perhaps a little romance is left after all.