After two days of adventures I am back at the Hostel. Just catching the bus was an adventure the first day, as one must stand in the road to flag the bus down at Doorus Cross, not being a regular bus stop. Also, it is on a curve, so that the bus driver can only see you at the last minute. And the tall hedges hide the bus so I don't know when it's coming, and had 3 seconds to decide if it was the bus I wanted or not.
After all that, I was one of only two riders all the way out to Doolin. OK, enough about the bus. I had a bit of a walk to find the ticket office for the ferry. The town is way up the hill and out of sight from the pier, but there is a nice golf course in between... I had booked a ticket the day before, as is suggested on their fliers, and now had to find the office to get my ticket- There were at least four ferry companies near the pier...Doolin Ferries, Doolinferry, Doolin Ferry, and The Doolin Ferry Co. I finally tracked down the one, but in the end they all charge the same and there was no big crowd looking to go out on a cold windy day. I thought I had a ride to the big Island, Inis Mor, which has all the 'places of interest' on it, and a side trip on the way back to view the Cliffs of Moher from the sea. Turned out to be wrong on both counts.
The island destination was one of the small ones, Inis Oirr (or Inisheer). A big lopsided rock with lots of cottages, birds, and a few horse-drawn wagons/buggies. Getting there was exciting as the swells were getting bigger and the ferry had to get out between breakers from one direction and swells from another. It was on the way that I met a loud red-haired fellow with a lovely young girl- Paul and his daughter Hayley. They were both friendly and invited me to join them.
We walked the island raods and found most of the landmarks- The ruins of O'Brians' Castle (15th century) the signal tower dating from the Napoleanic wars, and the remains of a 10th century church in an old cemetary.
The ride back was even more rock and rolly. We had watched the captain dash back to the dock to get his rosary just before we took off, so thought maybe things were a bit iffy. It was bad enough that it turned out the side trip to see the cliffs was cancelled. Unloading at the small pier back in Doolin, small children and people with strollers were having an especially bad time with the ramp which was rolling back and forth and pitching with the big waves.
We had acquired another member for the party, a young woman from New York, and the four of us found a pub and had lunch, or drank beer. Paul was interestd in Doorus House, so decided to give me a ride back and check it out. Eventually the plan developed that I would go with them to tour the Connemara the next day, when they would stay at the hostel before heading back to Dublin, and Holland. Haley wanted to watch the Spain-Holland Football game in Holland, which is where Paul is living. Haley is spending a few weeks with him before going home to South Carolina. Like me, Paul had discovered that flights to Ireland tend to be a cheaper way to get between the US and Europe, and so had included a tour of Ireland in his plans for his daughter's visit.
The second adventure was to drive around the area north and west of Galway for a day- the Connemara is a wilder kind of place, with large expanses of land lacking the piled rock fences, and rock houses, that are so endemic most places. The mountains are breathtaking, with interesting and unusual shapes,and sheep were everywhere. We stopped at Aughnanure Castle, near Oughterard. The castle (or old Irish tower house) was part of the O'Flaherty clan's domain in the 1500's before England took over. The castle was fixed up a bit, so walking through gave an impression of the rather austere living conditions with not much space, giant fireplaces, and rudimentary 'plumbing' (a recess built in to a corner of the castle, collecting waste from several floors). Surrounded by rivers, in the woods, I thought it was quite pretty.
Driving through mountains and woods, around large peaceful lakes, I am reminded that very few lakes are open to noisy motorized recreation here. In fact I have yet to see one. I was also admiring piles of peat that had been cut from the turf- and now I am curious about that whole process. It is turf, aged and compacted under the boggy pastures, that somehow transforms itself into fuel. It has been used for many centuries- and is still widely used in stoves- to heat homes. The anaerobic properties of the conditions that create the peat also preserve oragnisms- like the many sacrificial humans that were buried in the bogs over the centuries, and still turn up looking pretty good.
Forests, other-worldly landscapes, a fjord...we followed the coast for a ways, from Clifden through Ballyconnelly and Roundstone, and this landscape is different again, like one huge rock garden next to the sea.
Now I can rest, back at the hostel, between cleaning and check ins- taking it easy on a rainy day.
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