Aran Island

September 9-10, Inis Meain and Galway. We met Peter Conneely at our Galway B&B, Herons Rest, and it turns out that he is a native of the middle of the three Aran Islands, Inis Meain (Maan). Without bias we believe, Peter assured us that we were headed to the right island, and indeed he was headed there himself, so we all took the same ferry out.

Our Burren friend Tony Kirby had previously confirmed our choice of islands. It turns out they were both right in confirming the original suggestion made to us by Charlie Shackleton in Simon Pearce's restaurant back in Vermont. (Bear with us, this all comes together in a while.)

The small ferry (no cars) made its way to the island relatively peacefully, and though it was crammed with people, essentially everyone but us was headed to one of the other two islands. We got off with a few locals, including Peter who went off to find his uncle and cousins and help with the cows.

Unless you are a poet or the playwright J. M. Synge, it is hard to write about Inis Meain. It has its own sleepy charm, stoney ruggedness, timelessness, and remarkable beauty. We'll let the photos convey all that and more (photos to be added when we return home). Of all the islands it has by far the fewest tourists and the least development, and it is the most culturally intact. Some Irish families send their kids to Inis Meain to learn Irish, which everyone on the Island speaks. It was fascinating to listen to several Irish conversations underway in the Island's only pub while a recent hurling match was replayed on the TV there with the announcer's play-by-play all in Irish too.

We saw on the island the same black donkeys, yellow sheep, and giant cows we saw on the "mainland," but the new and fascinating thing was the intensive grazing method made possible by rotating the cows among the small pastures defined by substantial stone walls. I think the islanders here understood the Allan Savory grazing method long before Allan.

Peter made several good suggestions, but his best was that we cast our frugality to the winds (not hard--this is the most windy place we've ever been) and eat that evening at the Inis Meain Restaurant, the only upscale thing on the island and a "destination" treat for Dubliners and others in the know. The meal was both expensive and wonderful. There are only a few tables and during the inter-table conversations, we were asked where we were from. When we said Vermont, they beamed and said "Simon Pearce and his family!" And when asked how we came to be on Inis Meain, we said we were sent here by Charles Shackleton, descendent of the famous explorer Ernest, and they beamed again. As all the guidebooks say, the Irish are very friendly and welcoming. They have treated us well.

The trouble started Saturday evening when word went around that the weather was expected to be so extreme the Sunday afternoon ferry was being cancelled (a rarity we were assured). Thus this morning we made fast to the dock and caught the early ferry back to Galway. The seas were already up, and it was a rough trip. The winds are getting stronger and stronger as the day passes here in Galway.

lovely day on Inis Meain

ancient stone and communications tower

The Inis Meain Restaurant - before the crowd