Unfortunately for Ali and I, poor planning and a constant drizzle made the trip less than perfect. Don't get me wrong, there still exists a certain magic when the mist drifts across the rocky landscape of the island and no less awe is felt when you stand at the cliffs of Dun Aonghasa, but it's more difficult to enjoy when your feet are soaked through and you're worried about making it back to town for the last ferry of the day.
So, when plans fell through to attend the Kinsale Food Festival (because I got a job and was working on Saturday!), Amber, Katie, and I decided we should still have some sort of fun excursion from the city. We decided on the Aran Islands and, since the weather forecast looked promising, I eagerly agreed. After I finished work on Saturday, we took the 5pm shuttle to Rossaveal where the ferry takes you across to Inis Mor. The boat swayed back and forth, the horizon disappearing and reappearing beyond the windows as it carried us out to the edge of Ireland. It was fully dark when we arrived and the lights of the tiny main town of Kilronan were all we could see. Luckily, our hostel's green building was easy to spot. We checked into our cozy room then went back out to track down some dinner. There are only a handful of restaurants in town, and half of them were closed, but we strolled through the unlit road along the harbor and found a hotel with a warm and inviting pub. The three of us took a seat at the bar, splurged on glasses of wine and salmon, and joined the locals in watching the Ireland vs Italy football match. It was a very pleasant evening (though the salmon wasn't herb-crusted, as advertised).
When we stepped out of the restaurant, however, the sky was lightly spitting on our faces and my stomach began to twist with fear. I was determined to have a rain-free day exploring the island this time around. I simply would not have it otherwise. I barely slept that night as I heard the rain pattering on the cobblestone courtyard outside of our hostel. The sleep I found was riddled with nightmares of waking to a stormy sky and crying with despair (I'm being a bit melodramatic here, but you need to understand just how distressed I was). My alarm woke us at 7:30am, all three of us groaning in protest as none of us had slept well. Amber pushed the curtain aside and revealed a thin layer of clouds across the brightening sky, but the rain had stopped! By the time we were finished eating our free tea-cornflake-and-toast breakfast downstairs, the sky was clearing to reveal patches of bright blue. I cannot even describe my relief.
While searching for the main road that would lead us out of town, we passed one of the many bicycle hire companies. The owner, with red hair and rosy, island-weathered skin, directed us to our route, but also took advantage of our situation by convincing us to rent bikes. I was hesitant since Ali's and my attempt to ride bikes last time had lasted all of fifteen minutes before we promptly returned the bikes and set forth again on foot. However, I remembered that this was our biggest mistake: believing we could walk the length of the island and back in time to catch the 5pm ferry. We never would have made it if a sympathetic tour van hadn't stopped and picked us up along the way. Determined to make this second trip a more successful one, I agreed to rent the bikes when the owner offered us three for the price of two.
Off we went! The breeze tousled our hair as we swept out of town on our new wheels, following the coastal road along the northern side of the island. The landscape was a patchwork of bright green fields and swaths of gray limestone, the lines of handmade rock walls the seams that held the island together. We had the road to ourselves; the first ferry of the day had yet to unload its passengers. There were no seals to be found on the rocky shores today, but the swans were gliding on a small pond beside the sea and I'd pretty much decided at this point that I wanted to stay here forever.
It took only 40 minutes to reach the base of Dun Aonghasa, where we parked our bikes (no need to lock them up here!) and walked the path up to the fort. The sun burst out from behind the clouds, turning the dew on the grass to tiny jewels and the endless sea before us to liquid silver. My insides quivered as I lay on my belly and peered over the cliff edge at the waves crashing below. In a word, it was perfect.
After taking our fill of the majesty of Dun Aonghasa, we continued on our route and paid a visit to another fort, Dun Eoghanachta, as well as the ruins of the Seven Churches before making our way back to town.
Not a drop of rain fell on our heads all day. In fact, it was actually warm. Back in Kilronan, we returned our bikes, partook of some fabulous seafood chowder and brown scones, and shopped in the Aran Sweater Market before reluctantly taking the ferry back to the mainland. On Inishmor, the true Ireland is still very much alive and I hope with all my heart that it remains that way for a long time. I hope the locals continue to speak Irish, weave their woolen sweaters by hand, and take their horse-drawn buggies to their neighbor's peat-warmed homes.
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