I thought it only appropriate to put the name first in Irish, as the Aran Islands are part of the Gaeltacht: the Irish speaking regions of Ireland.
While Irish language classes are required in school (and all signs and public announcements throughout the country are in both English and Irish), the adults I’ve talked usually remember no more than basic grammar structures and a few words and phrases. The way these classes are taught (very grammar heavy, because Irish grammar is incredibly complicated, or so I’ve been told) leave people with an understanding of the structure, but no real ability to express themselves or hold a conversation, which is a shame.
In the Gaeltacht regions, however, Irish is the first language of the locals. While most speak English as well (although some older people don’t), Irish is the everyday language.
The Aran Islands consist of Inis Mór (Inishmore), Inis Meáin (Inishmaan), and Inis Oírr (Inisheer) off the coast of Galway, on the west coast of Ireland. And if you’re in search of quintessential Irish scenery, look no further.
There are only three ferries a day from Galway (and in fact, the port is not in Galway, so you have to take a bus about 45 minutes away to Ros a’Mhíl), although there are also ferries from the nearby small town Doolin, as well.
I took a 1:30 train from Dublin, and after a 2.5 hour train ride, a short break in Galway, a 45 minute bus ride, and an hour long ferry ride, I was on Inis Mór, the largest island (population about 830), by 7:30pm. Luckily it doesn’t get dark until about 10pm now.
The island boasts a handful of hostels, guest houses, and hotels, as well as maybe three or four restaurants/pubs that are equally filled with locals and tourists. One of the most popular is Joe Watty’s, where I found myself that first evening. After trying to order “the catch of the day” and finding that it was sold out, I settled for shepherd’s pie, which was possibly the most delicious (and hottest) that I’d ever had. It tasted like it had been made with bacon, instead of ground beef.
While the horse trap cart is one of the most popular ways to see the island, another easy way is by bicycle. After getting a late start (nothing on the island opens before 9 or 10), I set off with my bright red bicycle down the coastal road that would take me past a seal colony, a goat farm, and finally to Dún Aonghasa, one of the largest of the many ruins that are sprinkled all over the Aran Islands.
When I booked this trip, the forecast was for rain all weekend, but the sun was shining (although it was still chilly, of course, because it’s Ireland), and as the bike rental guy said to me, “ye’ll have the island to yourself today.” On my multi-hour ride, I only passed a couple of cars and tour buses, as well as several horses and carts. And while most of the time it didn’t really matter, I remembered to ride on the left!
After a leisurely ride about halfway down the island, I reached Dún Aonghasa, a large, circular, pre-historic fort situated right on the edge of cliffs that resemble mini (but still high) versions of the Cliffs of Moher. The initial construction of the fort dates to 1100 BC.
While the semi-circular walls ring one side of the fort, the cliffs drop off the other side. It was very strange to climb up the steps, enter through the doorway, admire the structure, keep walking across the open grass and walk right up to the edge of the cliffs. I gave a manic giggle of discomfort and immediately ran back to safety.
After resting for a few hours that afternoon, I walked to another fort, Dún Eochla, situated on the highest point of the island.
Now, the Aran Islands are COVERED with crisscrosses and mazes of stone walls. Some of these are still used for grazing livestock, but I’m not sure whether they’re ancient or whether they’re only slightly old. And while cows, horses, and sheep occupy the occasional pasture, most of them are empty. Because of this, however, it can be incredibly challenging to get around in places. The hilltop where Dún Eochla is situated is one of these places. I found myself in a grassy lane between two stone walls and was obligated to follow it, even when it began to wind away from where I was headed. Eventually I had to do some scrambling over walls to get where I wanted to go, but I tried to do it discreetly.
For my second full day, I decided to visit Inis Oírr, the smallest of the islands. Because of the ferry schedules, I could only spend a couple of hours there, but the island is only 3km long, so I figured I could still see most of what it has to offer.
The first ferry didn’t leave until 11:30, so I wandered around the town a bit and decided to drop into a small gift shop where I’d seen an espresso bar advertised. There was a tourist couple sitting at the counter and a local behind the bar. While getting my coffee, the man asked where I was from and what brought me to Ireland. I explained that I’m staying in Dublin for a bit studying music and doing some travel writing. The couple sitting at the counter leaned over and tried to ask a question, but after hearing that I’m studying the fiddle, the man behind the counter was so excited to recommend various musicians to me that they couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
After finding out that I’d never heard of Martin Hayes and Dennis Cahill, he replied, “Oh now, ye’re in for a treat,” and pulled a CD out of the stack on a shelf behind the counter. While he fiddled (actually, no pun intended) with the CD player, I turned to talk to the couple, who told me that they were from Arizona, and therefore “freezing.”
“So you’re the next Rick Steves?” the woman asked, before continuing, “we love Rick Steves. It was his guide that told us there was wifi here!”
“Well now,” the local man said, turning back to the counter, “if you hang around for a minute I might get the CD player to work.” I explained that I had to catch a ferry in a few minutes, so he wrote down the names of the musicians for me to look up myself, then said, “We expect you to come back and play for us, now, when ye get comfortable with it.”
“Alright,” I agreed, “In a few years.”
“It’s done, then,” he answered, holding out his hand. “What’s your name?”
I told him, and we shook on it.
The couple from Arizona told me that they wanted to read any travel guides that I publish, so I told them that I write for Huffington Post. They eagerly inquired about my last name, and knowing they’d never remember it or know how to spell it, I ripped the bottom off the paper with the fiddlers’ names and wrote down my own, before handing it to the couple. They excitedly told me that they’d be my new followers, we wished each other well on our respective travels, and I headed down to the pier to catch the ferry to Inis Oírr.
Now, I did have a bit of an embarrassment getting to the island. The ferry between the islands is much smaller than the one that goes from Galway, and I was sitting on the tiny top deck with a couple of other passengers. Most of the people were taking the ferry all the way to Doolin, its final destination, so the crew thought they were only picking people up at the islands and didn’t realize anyone would be disembarking. When I boarded the ferry at Inis Mór, we used a gangplank to the top deck, and I, unknowingly, assumed that would be the same at each stop. So, when we arrived at Inis Oírr, I was waiting to disembark, not realizing they were letting people on board directly to the lower deck (we were docked next to a staircase, so it would have been possible to get on or off at either level, which makes my mistake a little easier to understand). It wasn’t until we began to pull away from the dock that I realized I’d missed the stop. On a bus, or even a local train, I might have just stuck with it and gotten off at the next stop, but there was no way I was going all the way to Doolin! I ran to the lower deck (we were only a couple of feet away from the pier at this point) and up to one of the crew and said, “Oh my gosh, did I miss getting off?” So, yeah, they had to yell up to the captain and re-dock just for me. As I hopped off and ran up the stairs, they all began jabbering away to each other in Irish, presumably about me, of course.
So, it was with considerable chagrin that I began my Inis Oírr adventure (which mainly consisted of a lot of walking).
I would like to dedicate some photo space to the livestock of the Aran Islands, not only because there are horses, cows, sheep, and goats galore, but because they were all unusually photogenic (or perhaps it was just the landscape setting them off to advantage).
While day tours of the islands are popular, and undoubtedly easy, one of the brochures for the islands is right when it says that they “can’t be seen in just one day.” I was worried that three nights might be too much, but it was perfect.
Not only do the islands make a great place to detach from the world in general, but sometimes they also make it even easier and more effective by knocking out wifi and cell service all over the island (it’s accidental, of course, and is usually righted within a few hours, but for those few hours there’s absolutely no way to connect to the internet).
Going Out Your Door 
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