We mentioned before that it can be challenging to visit cities where motorhomes are discouraged or safe parking is hard to find. We heard about a park ‘n’ ride outside Galway and took advantage of the opportunity to leave the van in the company of others of its kind while we took the train to the city.
For once it didn’t rain and Galway was a delight, colorful, artsy, often whimsical.
We stopped in the visitor’s center for a map and a walking guide but we made no attempt to see all the sights. It was fun just to share the joy of a dry day with fellow tourists.
Galway embraces the new and modern but celebrates its history, too. Here’s a look at the original castle walls under the floor of the Aran sweater market.
We tried following our walking tour map but there were too many distractions to keep us on track.
Ah! A cheese shop! Maybe we can get something besides cheddar? But no, the shop was closed and we could only peer longingly through the door at what might have been a very big sale for the proprietors.
I don’t play chess and I don’t collect anything, but if I did I’d consider chess sets. They always catch my eye wherever we go and these are particularly fanciful.
By the time we left the park it was well past lunch time. Jack couldn’t pass up the Irish stew.
We finished the day with a visit to the museum and loved seeing these posters of Irish musicians.
I wish we could visit more cities as easily as this. One quick stop on the train and we were back home again. It looks like the bad weather is behind us. Maybe we’ll have summer after all.
After a day in a crush of tourists we were keen for some quiet time, and we followed the coastline looking for a small harbor or disused pier. The rain had swelled the waterways, large and small, and we followed this stream to the shore.
Despite the volume of water rushing to the sea it was low tide and the few boats in the harbor rested on their keels.
The cozy little town of Spiddal lured us with charming traditional buildings and a pretty little library.
As usual, the propane ran out in the middle of making coffee and while it was raining. After many years of swapping propane tanks Jack’s become a speed demon at the tank changeover.
Spiddal lured me for another reason, a labyrinth. My sister introduced me to labyrinth walking back on Block Island, Rhode Island, and I’ve been keeping my eyes out for others ever since. When I spied this one on the map a few months ago I marked it and hoped our route would take us close enough for a stop.
While Jack napped I slowly walked the small labyrinth and appreciated the changing views from the churchyard and out to the sea.
The pathways were narrow, little more than a foot’s width, and just following the twists and turns amounted to a meditation in itself.
My focus alternated between the closeup and the long shot, and for the twenty minutes or so that I walked I felt at peace.
I think if we ever find ourselves living in a house with a garden I might build a labyrinth. Pretty to look at, and a beautiful way to meditate.
This labyrinth is nearly hidden behind a church and next to the graveyard. I think the setting epitomizes the Irish landscape: a church, a garden, and the sea.
To be honest, after the Achill Island debacle I’m a little surprised to be sitting here in Escape Velocity waiting, on a blustery day, for a ferry to another Irish island. The plan is to hire bicycles to explore the small island. We can feel the motion of the ferry change, rising to the ocean swell as we leave the protected bay, or lough, as the Irish seem to call anything with water in it. It’s so familiar, like coming home for this old sailor.
I’ve never felt so popular walking down the long pier toward Inishmore Island.
It seemed that the whole island turned out to welcome and pitch their wares to their new best friends, like a pop-up carnival of balloons, bus tours, cotton candy, horse drawn buggy tours, hotdogs, and guided bike tours with every permutation imaginable.
By the time we reached land our sales resistance was at a dangerously low ebb and a bemused but whimsical older gent smiled and said, “Would you like to sit down in my shiny new Mercedes minibus?” Why yes, we would. It was far too windy for bike riding. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.
Soon we were on our way, just one happy minibus load of adventurous funseekers. It didn’t take long before it became obvious that the impossibly narrow roads were choked with tourists, backpackers, and optimistic bike riders, pushing their bikes in the fresh breeze. If there weren’t any serious injuries that day I would call it an act of divine serendipity. I confess that our whimsical driver seemed to take all this madness in stride. I was impressed with his wheel prowess. Turns out we were slowly weaving our way between the high tight stone walls, pinching in on both sides of the road, toward Fort Dun Alonghasa, built in the 1,100s BC on top of a high promontory sea cliff.
Like all high value venues the path starts out easy enough but as soon as you’re not paying attention bam, you’re crawling up over rocks at a ridiculous angle.
I’m sure that 3,500 years ago the road up to the fort made sense but let’s just agree that in the last 3,500 years some deterioration may have occurred.
Marce found a fast track around the worst
The queue, laboring slowly up the long hill began to take on the feel of a deep breathing religious procession or pilgrimage of penance.
It’s funny but I never had that thrilling feeling of standing where ancient man has stood. I don’t know, it might just be oxygen deprivation.
The original dry stone defensive ring is D-shaped and contains quite a large area.
Spectacular views from the fort.
Well we don’t want to turn Mr. Whimsy’s smile into a frown now do we? We have very little time for lunch so it’s time for our descent.
Don’t know how I missed this explosive cairn creation on the way to the fort.
This tin whistle busker was good enough that for a moment I could forget about my sore feet
You know how there’s aways someone on a tour bus that can’t seem to get back to the bus on time? Well this time it was Yours Truly but I have to admit the shepherd’s pie I had for lunch was well worth the dirty looks our fellow happy passengers gave us as we clambered aboard a few minutes tardy.
Soon we found ourselves again squeezing between the impossibly tight stone walls in search of a venue called “The Abbey.” This is Ireland, there’s always an abbey. Driving around the island it’s easy to imagine a tough rocky life.
There were small plots of land, mostly rocks and the odd patch of grass, delineated by dry stone walls with random gaps to, they claim, bleed off wind pressure.
It’s a popular stop and Mr. Whimsy had a spot of bother weaseling the big van into what passes as a proper parking spot here on Inishmore Island. Down below us was, more or less, a beautiful 15th century abbey.
By this point our driver’s wry smile was missing and all we got was “Gotta go, let’s get in the van.”
We passed a supposedly typical Inishmore homestead built for “Man of Aran,” a 1934 film by Robert Flaherty about pre-modern life on the island. It was a landmark (and somewhat controversial) film, and if you’ve got the time it’s well worth watching here.
Back in town we joined the throngs admiring the classic fisherman’s sweaters and resisted the temptation to buy. Where in a campervan would we fit one, let alone two?
We spent our last moments on Inishmore with coffee and cake and wondered about the changes a place as beautiful and as tough as this island would make in your life.
On the way back to the ferry the harbor was at low tide and that changes everything.
An unfamiliar sensation woke me shortly after 6:30am. It was the sun, not seen for days and certainly not in the morning when the warming rays make it so much easier to jump out of bed. And jump I did, throwing on my clothes as quickly as I could, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Ireland it’s that you don’t waste a minute of good weather, for surely the gods could change their minds at any moment and it’s back to the drizzle and damp. Or lately, pelting downpours and ferocious wind.
Escape Velocity parked alongside the sea wall, sheltered from the wind.
I happily walked Bunowen Pier snapping photos in the morning light until the dark clouds rolled in and chased me back to the van as the rain resumed in earnest.
It’s laundry day, and we drove about an hour in the gloom along the coast to an outdoor launderette. We love these conveniences where we can park right beside the machines. It’s almost like doing laundry in a house; no schlepping involved and the clothes go right back in the closet.
The rain stopped unexpectedly while we navigated another of Ireland’s one-lane stonewall-lined roads toward another quiet pier at the all but abandoned Cartron Harbour.
We’re always mindful that we aren’t a nuisance to local fisherman, so I asked the gentleman getting out of his car if he thought it was okay if we stayed the night. He not only assured us we’re fine on the pier, but he regaled us with local lore and shared his photos of the fine fish he caught in these parts. We hope we ooh’d and aah’d appropriately.
Our friend’s brother returned from picking blackberries along the shoreline and wanted to take a closer look at Escape Velocity. We’ve learned during our various journeys that the freedom of self-contained travel with no set schedule or destination is a dream shared by many. We’re always happy to evangelize our chosen lifestyle.
After Tom and John went home we put on our hiking shoes and set off along the rocky path around the point, grateful for the break in the weather.
We wondered when this rock wall was built and how they managed to move and place these giant boulders.
When we turned the corner we could see the Aran Islands on the horizon, just as John told us we would.
Escape Velocity is a speck in the middle of the picture.
Jack returned home while I tramped through the brambles picking berries for tomorrow’s breakfast.
We expect rain again soon and throughout the night, along with high winds. We’ll have a cup of tea and watch the tide come and go and come again.
