Home of the Fir Bolg: Phantom and Fairy Folk

I almost passed up my chance to go to the Aran Islands. I tittered back and forth between going or not--simply unfamiliar with the islands in general. As I contemplated, a woman placed a brochure in my hands. In so many words, the paper promised that the Aran Islands are often the center of Irelands folklore and ancient culture, stating: "When you see the ghostly shapes of the islands floating 30 miles out at sea like misty Brigadoon, you instantly understand why the sea battered and wind whipped Aran Islands have been the subject of fable, song, and film for thousands of years."

Really, who can turn that down?

So I rode a 2 hour ferry to the legendary home of the Fir Bolg (the mythical first inhabitants of Ireland), and was met, once again, with perfect weather--so much so that I've the worst farmers sun-burn (too red to be called a "tan") that you'll ever see. The Aran Islands are broken down into three major islands: Inis Oirr (Inisheer), Inis Meain (Inishmaan), and Inis Mor (Inishmore). These islands are the last outpost of the Gailic language, the only place left in Ireland who have clung to their original language--making English a second tongue to its inhabitants. There is something so deliciously defiant in that last stance--a grasp to its roots and history that should be wildly applauded.

Inishmore, the largest island, is a bit to big to make it around on foot, so I rented a bike. I thought, "How fun to ride the island coast on bike!" How not fun to realize much of the island is hills. I accidentally ended up near the base of the highest hill in the island, a sign pointing upward to a castle that was said to be at the top of the "hill." And, in tell-tale stubbornness, I set out for it because, well, I was there, it was there, were had but to meet at the top. Needless to say, I ended up walking the bike much of the way, as the incline was far too steep and the rocks far too bumpy--apparently THIS trail was for hikers. Only I would try to take it by bike.

Perhaps because I hit it early in the day, or perhaps because most don't care to scale the rocky incline, I ended up at the top basically alone. It was...at times I find there are far too few words in the English language. Or it may be that my vocabulary is far too limited. But breath-taking has been used, amazing is too trivial, and beautiful too mundane. It simply was. The ground was black stone that suddenly ended, dropping unexpectedly into sheer cliffs. Not a line, not a chain, not even a warning--there was land and then there was none. The waves smashed against the smooth rock face, shaking the foundation on which I stood and filling the air with a distinct crrraaaack, like rumbling thunder. White foam covered craggy stones and the cliffs, so worn in places by the unforgiving sea, domed like a bowl, washed clean by the powerful waves.

They put the Cliffs of Moher to shame. These should be the cliffs everyone should see--of course then they might lose their magic. There is nothing like standing at the very tip of the world, watching the white and blue waves beat the rocks, in pure solitude--the last woman on earth. No, this piece of earth isn't for everyone--it will be our secret--only the most stout and determine may enter.

I followed the crescent shape of the cliffs, climbing over stone walls that are over 4000 years old--originally when I saw all those carefully sectioned off areas, I assumed to early people, the Fir Bolg (if you indulge my imagination), were very concerned with what's mine and yours. But as it turns out, it was a method for tilling the earth--the stones were removed and, at times, used to build up flat land for agriculture. If anything, it also got the rocks out of the way for planting. The earth here is naturally rocky, some having to do with millions of years of volcanic stones smashing together and at times, the smooth black rocks jut upward, looking long like forgotten tombstones.

The going wasn't easy--not all of that rocky surface is firmly attached to the ground and some stones rock and sway when you step on them. But eventually I got close enough to Dun Bubhchathair--possibly the oldest of the Aran ancient forts. Having seen that, I made the treacherous return trip to my bike, not realizing how far I had come and at times having to cross too high walls and daring too far drops.

After having come up so far, the bike ride down was a bit of an adventure too. I decided to just clutch the brakes and HOLD ON as I went wildly bouncing over the rocks. It was fun, but I left the rest of the day trip to the comfortable seat of a horse drawn carriage.

Still more sunburned, I reached the shores of Doolin at around 6pm, just in time for me to start my trek to the Connemara mountains in Leeaune. By this point, I'm rather comfortable on the roads, even with the roundabouts--although near Galway I had my first experience with two lane roundabouts in which I can only hope I followed the proper procedure. Mostly I had to follow the signs because Wilson, (aka gps-man--I felt that after all the expletives I threw his way, we should be on a first name basis), tells you too late to make the turn. Wilson (pop-culture reference on the name!) is good for getting you into a city center--after that, he's rendered useless.

I am constantly amazed by the utter diversity of Ireland. No two counties are alike in any way. Kerry had its rolling hills and coast side, Clare was filled with a beautiful rocky terrain, but Connemara--oh, Connemara--what a sight to behold. I drove through the base of these mountains with the last of the white sunlight filling the valley and painting the mountains shades of green and blue and purple. It was completely different from the other counties, something about the hills on top of hills on top of hills are unique and ravaging. I was instantly in love. It was a jaw dropping beauty and only because the road was so narrow was I unable to take those pictures as I came into the valley. I regret that now--though the image will always be painted in my mind. I, at least, will know, even if I can never prove it.

So in love was I that immediately at the hotel I told them I was staying for two nights instead of one. But as I set out to climb a mountain in the Connemara National Park this morning, I found the beauty illy translates to photo. I am quite disappointed with these sets of photos, only because it seems nothing is captured--nothing sings like the landscape seems to do in person.

Climbing the mountain (or is it hill? Where does the difference lay?) was a rare experience. I set out early so there were only a few others on the trail. There were three different options to experience the hike, though I am my father's daughter, and if I'm going to hike a mountain, I'm going to go to the top--even if its a three hour trek and about 7 km. For the most part, it was simply an upward slope, wooden planks covering the areas where the bogs are too soft for feet. Only towards the top did the path deteriorate into jutting rock. It was a careful climb from there but I was determined and eventually I made it to the top.

Oddly enough, at the very tip was a pyramid of tiny rocks, stacked higher and higher on the highest stone--as if a tower to tribute the top. So I stood by that tip, inhaled the view, saturated myself in the wind and Irish sun, before heading back down. (Hiking is a funny thing, isn't it? You go all the way up only to turn around and come all the way back).

After that, I left to find Kylmore Abby, a once castle built on the edge of a lake. It is known for its reflection--the white stone castle is mirrored in the blue water and its a rather impressive sight. My travel book warned me that the inside was a let down, but I thought the guide perhaps jaded. But then, so perhaps am I because I found the inside hardly worth the time, never mind the 8 euro.

It was still early, but I was tired and I returned to my hotel where I now prepare for my hard day tomorrow--where I hope to conquer too huge historic sites in one day (I am, after all, running out of time. Six days until I return to Cork.)

PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=447351&id=794430163&l=9335add885