Okeefereport: Travellers Tales #3

Ireland is made from rocks and water. I see now how stupid was my query to Chris after his trip, “do the Irish still have those cute stone fences?” From what I saw it seems that the Irish have indulged their passion for piling up stones from time immemorial. In fact it looked like an addiction that could easily compete with that other of theirs ‘Guinness’. On the Aran Island of Inis Mor when we stopped on our cycle trek to photograph the sparkling nature I got into conversation with a farmer. In a voice so slow compared to this globe trotter, he explained that the beautiful rounded rocks Alice lays on, piled high in a gently curved cove were a gift from the Atlantic which if removed would be replaced for free by the same ocean within a year. So tactile are they that even I was tempted to stack them myself.

At the far and highest end of this island Cro Magnon Irishmen built Dun Aonghasa fort. With their backs to a very high cliff dropping to the hostile Atlantic at the top of a very steep slope made from naturally occurring vertical rock formations that are almost impossible to cross they piled even more stones into semi circular walls and ramparts to preserve themselves from their enemies. I’m sure this worked perfectly but I cannot begin to understand to what end these ancestor of O’Rielly wanted to preserve themselves in this most windswept barren waterless non productive zone where surely any enemy interested in the rest of this beautiful but barren island would have been glad to leave them as they happily ate and drank whatever sustenance that could be found.

Water is Irelands other great gift and is probably the reason that the land is truly so green. On our first evening in Galway when we made it to the River Corrib we were surprised to find it in contrast to the Thames a fast flowing rapid. Exploring further back upstream we discovered a weir holding back an ever widening mass of water at a considerably higher level that constantly pores over into the narrower lower Corrib. On our last day here we took a bus tour into The Connemara a wild beautiful landscape of lakes surrounded by precipitous hills whose peaks were barren rock. Water cascaded straight down from the peaks sourced from recent rains and even higher lakes.

Our driver was a comedian who should not give up his day job. He managed to keep us entertained with his stories and didn’t mind reminding us of the devastation wrought by the English Landlords. He took us to remote and abandoned abbeys showed us sacred sights, rock piles of course, that dated back millions of years. He took us to Kylemore Abby a still function Benedictine Monastery originally Kylemore Castle completed in 1868 by Mitchell Henry a wealthy Manchester industrialist for his wife Margaret. When she died in 1875 he built a mausoleum and accompanying miniature of Norwich Cathedral in the local green marble. A perfectly proportioned gothic cathedral with the floor area of a country church.

Enough now of all this tourist ancy pancy for I know that what all of you really want is the inside line on the food grog and facilities. Well if your looking for chicken wings or pizza you’re in heaven. If you’re looking for Irish stew or Cottage Pie it can be arranged but don’t even think about Beef and Guinness or anything fancier cos you must be dreaming. Come to think I, who have et out for most of my sixty four years, don’t recall ever having gone to an Irish restaurant. Yes you can have a Guinness or any other beer as long as we can find a glass that bears its title somewhere here and of course you can go, just back there, Underground? No , lordy lordy. The toilets if I remember and I don’t were quite OK and in the early hours of my walks there were ample opportunities just as in Stanmore. There didn’t seem to be many early risers in this town Two out of three isn’t bad don’t you think.

Most of the population in the streets of what was, I suppose, boutique tourist ville Gallway were tourists or students from the many local universities where I presume they issue diplomas in Irishness. Amongst these though were such ostentatiously Irish, Irishmen in rumpled tweeds cravats and bright yellow chequered vests who always amazed me to be just going about their business and not plants by the chamber of commerce to provide authenticity. They were prone to engage you in those partitioned private parts of pubs and one of them admired my hairdo but for the most part they spoke some foreign language.

In Gallway we spent three full days without packing and travelling and this was to set a record never beaten.

Unfortunately, as of now, our snaps of most of Aran Is. and our adventures in the Connemara are missing from our files so any of you whose interest is tweaked will have to content yourselves with the trash on Google.

There's no telling what people might do when confronted with so much rock