Doolin to Aran Islands

We left our car at Bredha's bed and breakfast and walked 10 minutes to the O'brien ferry. The first stop was to the smallest in size of the Aran Islands, Inis Oir, our stopping point was the next island, Inis Meain (Inismaan). As we docked a man waiting on the pier asked us if we were Geraldine's guests. Geraldine was the host of the Airbnb I had booked so we responded yes. He put our bags in the back of a European cargo van and we were off. Tomas never really introduced himself but through questioning I found he was Geraldine's husband and through the Airbnb website I found his name was Tomas. Immediately noticeable from the car were the stone paddocks that dominated the island. I later found out they were built ages ago to organize the livestock but also to remove the abundant stone from the earth to expose land for planting. 

Inish Meain, is the middle sized island of the three Aran Islands at 3.5 square miles by 2.5 square miles but is the smallest in population with 150 residents. The population peaked in 1841 with close to 500 residents and has been steadily declining since. There is not a lot of tourism. It is the type of place that will have you questioning life. Questions formed and debated by Joseph and I were:

Would our skill sets (medicine, agriculture, woodworking) be of greater value here?

Could we live in a place with one bar, no real grocery store and one or two "restaurants"?

How do they avoid inbreeding?

Why are there so many stone walls?

What do they do all winter?

Is it possible to be a troublemaker on an island with only 150 or so year round residents?

Can I live here?

Would I want to live here?

Our cottage was a little freestanding building behind the house of the owners, and was comfy, clean, warm, and peaceful. It was also stocked with fresh scones, fruit, and delicious Irish cheeses, and of course butter. Irish butter is served with everything you order. Geraldine showed us the ins and outs of our lodging then provided us with a map and hike to keep us busy. She also informed us of the three possibly open restaurants on the Island and asked us if we had brought food. For once, I had not lugged a full satchel of snacks with me. We decided to go on the recommended hike but first stopped at the one store of the island which also doubled as the post office and was owned by our hosts. It reminded me more of a convenience store that also happened to sell 50 pounds bags of flour, some fruit and veg, and meats. But we didn't come to Inis Meain for the shopping. We came for the culture-almost everyone here speaks Gaelic and some don't even speak English, and for the scenery. 

On our way to the store I encountered an old man walking his Clydesdale and looking as though he wanted to knock on a cottage door but having a problem with where to park his Clydesdale while he did so. I offered to hold his Clydesdale for him and he responded in mumbly Gaelic. I asked Joseph if he thought the man was drunk and he responded that the man didn't appear to speak English. On the mainland of Ireland it would be quite odd to not speak English so it hadn't even occurred to me that the man's only language was Gaelic.  

Living quarters of our cottage

Our cottage on the left

Someone's garden

A man herding cattle by motorcycle

 Our hike began by ascending a big hill not far from our cottage and soon all we could see were stone paddocks for miles around. Every so often a paddock would have a few cows, sheep, or goats, put there were far more empty paddocks than full ones due to the low population of the island.

There was a seat built into this wall.

A baby!

She was singing

A cow in a paddock. Note the intricacy of the wall.

Walls as far as the eye can see

At the end of the paddock hike we hit the ocean where would hike alongside the cliffs for roughly half the perimeter of the island until coming back to the main road which bisects the island into two. The whole length of the island is approximately six kilometers. 

Lots of cliff exploring

Tide pools

Nature's infinity pool

We took our time exploring the tide pools and examining the different types of rock. Geraldine had warned us not to "freak out" and think we had missed the road and to keep hiking until it became obvious where to turn back into the island. But about two hours into the hike we freaked out and found ourself in a never ending field of stone. By miracle no ankles were sprained. I've never seen a more vast collection of rock. It was like being stuck on the moon.

The moon

While I kept reminding myself of the tiny size of the island, it felt and looked as though this rock landscape went on forever. 

Proceeding with caution

On this entire hike we encountered only two other couples one of which we would later see at the island's one open "restaurant".

At the end where cliff meets the road.

The view from the road back to town

 Back on a real path we were hungry so we hunted down the restaurant which we located at the other end of the main road of Inis Meain.  The location of the restaurant was unclear so we asked a man welding something in his garage where to find the restaurant. He was able to provide the clues we needed. We arrived at a house with a chalkboard in the driveway indicating the day's menu. It wasn't so much a restaurant as a woman who cooks food in a room of her home and holds a health permit. The note on the door instructed us to ring the doorbell. After a few minutes wait an Asian looking woman opened the door and seated us in the dining room. We ordered soups with soda bread and egg salad sandwiches.

The view from the yard of the restaurant.

Joseph waiting on our lunch

We chatted up the cafe owner and discovered she was from the Philippines and had met her husband, an Aran Island native while he was vacationing in the Philippines. Since moving to the island in 2003 she had perfected her soda bread which Joseph confirmed. She was now an excellent Irish cook. We asked her how she liked living on the Aran Islands and she stated she preferred the summers when it was busier and warmer.

The house containing the restaurant with the menu in the driveway on a chalkboard.

Other attractions on the island included an ancient beehive hut with a hole in the roof for peeking down and pre-Christian forts.

Crawling inside the beehive hut.

Beehive hut from the outside.

This appeared to be used as someone's garden shed. 

Another view of the town from the main road

Writer John Synge's Cottage

While walking through the town I saw a man in his neatly plowed yard shoving seaweed into the soil. I asked him if he was using it as fertilizer and what he was growing. He responded that seaweed was organic fertilizer and that he was growing potatoes and onions.  I was impressed with his concern for organic methods of gardening. We had discovered through talking to Irish people from Dublin to the remote Aran Islands that sustainability and conservation of resources was on the forefront of people's minds.

Later in the evening we walked a short distance to the only bar in town which our host had told us had good "toasties". A toastie is a grilled cheese. The bar had a coal fire going which surprised me by how smokeless it was. Due to a population of about two trees on the island, most people burn coal. It turned out the bartender and owner of the pub was the owner of one such rare tree and had an Ash tree in the back. A row of old men were seated in the bar watching a hurling game and speaking Gaelic only. Joseph enjoyed a Guinness and a toastie and I enjoyed the ambience.

Coal fire in the background. Old guys are on a bench to the left.

Afterwards we retired to our cottage where we read books until we fell asleep about the native wildlife and history of the Aran Islands. 

In the morning I took a quick but hilly run.

I don't believe this crew sees many runners. 

Then we packed up and Geraldine came out of the house to bid us good bye. She inquired if we had enjoyed the hike and when we told her we loved it and had done the whole thing she seemed impressed and remarked "fairplay to ya". This is a uniquely Irish saying which roughly translates to "good on you" or "cool".  Tomas took us to the ferry so that we could proceed on with our journey. It was raining and we were early to the dock so we sat and the car and chatted with Tomas while we waited for the ferry. Joseph and I grilled him for information. According to Tomas the population of Inish Meain is 150 "on a good day". Everyone we talked to, including Tomas had met their wife off island. Tomas's wife, our host Geraldine was from Connemara, Ireland. The bartender's wife was American but the bartender had not mentioned this because Tomas told us, he doesn't talk to people much which is a funny characteristic for a bartender. I asked Tomas how troublemakers are dealt with if they even exist and he said "we deal with it in our own way". 

Population is a problem on the Island and my rough estimate was that it was about 60% natives and 40% imports. Most of those imports were spouses to natives but there were some other immigrants. For example, the woman who staffs Tomas' shop was from Dublin and just happened to fall in love with the Island while on a vacation. Always interested in the price of housing I asked how much she paid for her rental cottage and he estimated 50-60 euro per week. We also discovered that Tomas had built the apartment we stayed in from the ground up which was particularly impressive given that there is no Home Depot on or near the Island and no trees with which to build. Joseph and Tomas discussed the building of things and electricity and Tomas told us the the three Aran Islands are actually involved in some sort of "experiment" where they are given subsidies for housing insulation and solar panels to save on energy costs. Materials for building our imported from Galway.

Tomas asked about scaffolding in America because he had heard that there was some dodgy scaffolding permitted which led to a discussion on the strength of spider's webs. "If we could just get enough spiders.." Tomas trailed off. 

Our ferry arrived and Tomas stepped out of the car to get his daily shipment of newspapers for the shop.

My luggage amidst the day's news.

And then we boarded the ferry back to the mainland and bid Tomas farewell.

So could I live on Inismaan? I don't know. It was a tad bit isolated and I'd really have to like those 150 people. That said poking around for the day was one of the most unique experiences of my life and I'll fantasize about returning for years to come.