Limerick-Aran Islands Trip

The time we spent with Sam and Co. exploring the Aran Islands was great fun. A carefree afternoon spent wandering the ruins at the highest point of the island more than made up for the arduous trip required to reach them. 

Knowing from the moment we walked outside that the day would be one of those sunlit rarities that make the Emerald Isle shine, we grabbed our gear and headed for the bus station, intending to see one of Ireland’s more inaccessible landmarks. In total it took about 2 hours of busing, no small amount of foot-slogging across Limerick and Galway, a ferry ride, and one order of poached eggs with toast to reach the Aran Islands. 

By the time we arrived, there were only 3 hours left until the last ferry returned to the mainland, leaving only that short time to take in the wild splendor of the island. I would certainly agree with the bike rental company’s assertion that their sturdy cruisers are the best way to appreciate the sights in as efficient a manner possible. The idea of reaching the highest point of the island and climbing atop the ruins that waited there bewitched me for some reason, and I led a charge up the hill that left us breathless and sweaty in the uncharacteristic good weather. It took nearly an hour of steady, hard riding to reach the turn off for the ruins, and still we faced a trek on foot up to the summit itself. An opportune flat tire on one of the bikes offered a respite from the climb, and I whipped out my new guitar (I had lugged it all the way from Limerick, and so intended to make the most of the effort) and picked at it while we waited. Sitting on top of an abandoned gatepost playing nothing in particular while the others chatted a small distance down the hill, I looked out over the view toward the distant Cliffs of Moher. The thought came to me, that I was pretty well pleased with my life at that moment, despite some earlier stress and unpleasantness, and found not a trace of regret for the effort I had made to reach that old stone gate. 

The rest of the time until the ferry’s departure was taken up with clambering about the ruins, a joyous race down the hill to the harbor, delicious mint ice cream, and the purchase of a warm blue-green woolen fisherman’s sweater (such as I have always wanted) to ward off the damp and cold that would no doubt soon replace the too-good-to-be-true summery spell. 

After another few hours of travel, we returned to our base at the University of Limerick, utterly exhausted. If you know me, you know how I generally care little for nightlife, especially after a long day traveling, however there was an International Student night at the campus pub (yes, an on campus pub, a wonderful thing indeed) that our hosts were very keen to attend. Rest would have to wait. As usual, I ended up enjoying myself more than I thought possible, receiving a bizarre jet-lag induced burst of energy that led to hours of dancing with enthusiastic Irishmen, and a load of good general fun. Only as the party began to wind down around 1:30 did we schlepp back to the room and fall into bed. 

The next morning we took leave of the ever-hospitable Sam and taxied down to our hotel in Limerick City. Check-in was scheduled for 2 o’clock, but the receptionist allowed us to store our luggage behind her desk while we wasted time in the city. We played guitar in a nearby square for a few appreciative locals (the kids especially enjoyed us for some reason, and a lovely older woman sat on our bench and quietly listened until we were driven inside by the cold), and bought bread at the Milk Market (an outdoor market which I can not begin to describe except to say that it was, in every way, a street market not to be rivaled for size, bustling activity, or quality of wares), before wandering the streets for a time before returning to the hotel.

Our room was a palatial suite, enormous and beautiful (or perhaps it just seemed that way after the dorm room which had been our previous habitation), complete with both a bath and shower, and in room tea-kettle, not to mention the traditional Irish breakfast that comes standard in the room fee. We thought we were hungry, but yet were defeated by the endless spread of sausages, toast, eggs, pudding, potatoes, mushrooms and more that the waitress placed before us. We’ll be comfortably installed here until the 21st, at which time we travel to meet my brother in Dublin for a short rendezvous. 

If you ever stay in the Boutique Hotel in Limerick, in room 214, just be sure to avoid hitting your head on the sloping roof over the windowsill where the tea-kettle is located. Seriously, watch your head. I think I cracked my skull while making tea the other morning. 

Pro-Tip: If you like fries, (chips being the preferred local term for them), come to Ireland. I do not exaggerate when I say that everything is served with chips. Everything. My lasagna came with chips. Pasta and fries for dinner. Its great.

Also, it stays light very late in the summer, due to the country being so far north. So far, the sun hasn’t been setting until nearly 10 pm each night. Ketchup tastes different here (better, in my opinion). Often times, things seem to be the same as home, and I find myself thinking that Ireland and the US are nearly identical in many ways, but then something happens to throw me out of that manner of thought. Its quite fascinating, but a little confusing at times. I like the feeling. Culture shock is ok by me.