(The first, second, and third ledges.)
For me, the highlight of our trip to Ireland was our one-day adventure to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands in Galway Bay. These islands are supposed to represent traditional Irish life. "You'll see a field with just one cow in it, with horns," said our Dingle B&B host, demonstrating with her fingers to the sides of her head. "This is the old way." "We rode bicycles around the island," she added, "but it has to be a warm day for that."
I figured the island must really be fantastic, because heretofor we had not discovered a place this host had been. She had not been to fabulous Skellig Michael, which would have been just a day trip for her, and she recommended a hike to us, again noting, "I haven't done it, but I've been told it is very beautiful." Naturally, I was thrilled to find out she and her family had actually taken some kind of vacation - a partial day's drive and ferry boat to the Aran Islands.
The island is 9 miles long and 2 miles wide, and we too planned to explore by bicycle, sun or no sun. (Why heed a local's advice?) The sightseeing highlights of the island seemed to be Dun Aengus, a promontory fort, and depending on which reference you used, a natural feature called the Worm Hole (Poll na bPeist), where waves broke inside and filled an opening in a coastal ledge. An article I chanced upon on MSNBC.com shortly before our trip mentioned this as the real delight of the island, and someplace few people went.
Well, with over 5 hours on the island in between our ferry rides, and our trusty bicycle rentals, we figured we'd be able to see most of the island. We'd start with the lighthouse, then follow the road to the worm hole and Dun Aengus, finishing up with the seven churches, and returning to the starting end of the island to visit the world's smallest church if we had time.
The day did not start particularly well, with gloomy, cold weather and on and off rain. I was sorely tempted to join a minibus tour of the island instead of renting bikes, but weather never deters Matt, so off we went on brand new 18 speeds. As I soon discovered, my lady's bike, even with the seat as high as it could go, was no help for my long legs. It was a struggle to climb even the slighest hill, as I had no downward leverage whatsoever. The bike would have sufficed for a flat-land circuit, but we were heading to the high point of this island. I tried to climb standing up, but the rubber on the handlebar slid off with my hand and nearly crash landed-me in front of a group of French school children who were clearly amused by my colorful language while my husband pedaled on in front of me, oblivious.
I ditched my bike at the bottom of the hill to the lighthouse, prefering to hike to the top. The sign at the bottom reassuringly told us that the lighthouse was open seven days a week. We arrived to find locked gates and a decrepit shack with tourist brochures in another language splayed all over the floor, an empty soda refrigerator collecting dust at the back. Although at least the shack provided shelter from the endless wind. After Matt spent some time walking around the walls and taking pictures through the gates, I finally discovered that one of the locked gates was not locked at all - the mechanism wasn't holding anything closed. Possibly an oversight, or possibly consistent with many of the other sights we saw in Ireland - not much care taken to prevent entry, climbing, destruction, or encourage preservation.
The house at the bottom of the lighthouse seemed long since abandoned, but the china cabinet I could see through the open window held in-tact, if not dirty, plates of various patterns. It was too creepy to enter, and Matt had long since abandoned me, holding an even deeper fear of such places. The lighthouse itself comprised crumbling brick and ever expanding doorways, just one of many ruins we tip-toed through in the country.
Next stop: worm hole.
Although the MSNBC article said to ask a local in Gort na gCapall how to get to the worm hole, Rick Steves assured us that there were easily followed signs from that village, and the bicycle map pointed it out as well.
Naturally, when we spotted the low sign on a rock wall to that village, we pointed our bikes in that direction and pedaled onward. Heading closer to the sea (although you would really do that in any direction, I suppose), we entered a cluster of houses where the road split. No sign. We turned left, as the other fork seemed to just end in houses, and soon ran across some other tourists hiking down the road in their best rain gear. They had not been to the worm hole but suspected we were not heading in the right direction. We went back and took the other fork. At the end of that road, two potential trails ran between rock walls through the fields. We split up to try them both.
I had yet to see a local in this village, but shortly upon walk I came across a farmer. I worried he would be angry that I was tramping through his property, but I hoped for the best. "I'm sorry," I said, "but I'm looking for the worm hole. Could you point me in the right direction?"
To be continued...
Our destination.
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