This post is part of a series detailing my trip to Ireland. You can view the whole series here.
The next morning was another early start, since we had to catch the ferry out to Inis Mór (Inishmore), the largest of the Aran Islands.
It was a bumpy (and sleepy) crossing on the way there, but by the time we arrived the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. On the island we met up with Bertie, our tour guide for the day, and climbed onto his little bus for the ride up to the top of the island.
After depositing us at the end of the road, Bertie left us to continue on foot on the path up to Dún Aonghasa (Dun Aengus), an old fort built right up to the edge of the cliff at the island’s highest point.
After spending some time up at Dún Aonghasa taking pictures, enjoying the view, and staying away from the edge, we walked back down to the tea shop for lunch. Just like I had 6 years ago, I ordered the soup and brown bread.
On the bus ride back down to the water’s edge, we briefly stopped at the Seven Churches, which is a site containing the ruins of just two churches.
The ferry ride back to Galway was much calmer, and Cigi and I spent most of it sitting in the open air on the top deck.
Back at the hotel we were joined by a seanachaí, or Irish storyteller. He travels all around Ireland, collecting traditional stories and legends from old people before they are lost. He shared some of those stories with our group – stories about fields that would trap people inside if they strayed into them at night, about being cursed by having the rats set on you, and about confounding the rats before they could work their ill will. He also told us stories about collecting these stories, and about the people he has met during his travels.
The stories were all spellbindingly told, and the seanachaí himself was a fascinating character, with thick glasses, long wild hair, and an even longer beard that was split right down the middle. Unfortunately, the room we were in at the hotel was brightly lit, huge, and freezing cold, which made it difficult to properly appreciate both the stories and their teller.
After storytime, we rushed off to the warmth and grease of McDonagh’s for fish & chips (with mushy peas, of course!).
Once we had eaten all we could, Cigi and I headed across the street to Taaffes for a pint and some traditional music.