Talking to the farmer at Polnabrone Dolmen, I realized that my hopes of getting to the Aran islands might not be all gone. But do I have time, though? I hesitated but couldn’t control my fingers dialing up the Aran Airways number. The Galway hotel owner did not hesitate at all. He refunded one night of my stay so I could stay on the Aran Islands. Just like that, I was on the 7 am flight to Inis Mor the next day.
9 o’clock seems too early for the sleepy island. Only the sun was working on draping the land with some rare and precious bright moments. The traditional hay-roofed houses and modern concrete buildings slowly felt the warmth from their slumber. Well, at least the convenience shop was open. Morning coffee and sandwich on the sunny dockside was definitely in order.
I rented a bike to take advantage of the quiet time. The small hills and pebbled road made for a challenging and rewarding ride around the island. But real jewels of this island were one better accessed on foot.
The Polna bPeist, or “The Wormhole,” is where nature worked its magic. On an Eastward wind day, the Wormhole showcased the raging Atlantic and its full power.
Incidentally, this is also a cliff diving venue for Red Bull. Not suitable for cliff diving, we opted to walk around the edge of the cliff to feel the raw power of the water smashing against this island. The angry Atlantic waves marched toward Ireland and poured towards the Wormhole unreservedly. Western Ireland got most of its wild and refined geographic features from this constant beating like the Cliff of Moher and the Wormhole.
Not wanting to drown myself(you do have around a 100% chance of drowning yourself on a day like this because of the draining hole down below). I posed for some pictures instead.
Exploring the area some more, we rolled on with the wagon. Slowly going back to the center of the town, we stopped to enjoy ourselves when we wanted.
With the powerful waves came the surfers. A Californian I met earlier especially brought his boards and wetsuit to enjoy the Irish waters. The local fisherman kept his on tabs and made sure the surfer wasn’t late for his dinner. I was put on the task of calling the Californian to dinner. By dinner, I think the fisherman meant Guinness, right? You always have to end a fantastic day with a well-poured Guinness.
An early flight flew the sleepy me out of the slumbering island the next day. Back to the rolling green I went.
The rolling green sent me on a journey passing by the Killary Fjords, through County Mayo to Down Patrick’s Head.
The Atlantic seemed to be at its most potent state at Down Patrick’s Head. The roar of the ocean waves could be heard miles away. The white foam stretched from shore all the way inward to the sea—steam formed as the air filled with separated water molecules.
Sitting by the cliffs, your chest pounds with each mighty clash of the raging waves and the seemingly immovable earth. But how could it be immovable? The caves carved out by the waves are proof of the shuttering formations.
But the Sea Stack seemed to stand out the most. It could not have been the waves, people thought. Some said it was a local chief; some said it was marauding pirates; some even said it was St. Patrick himself who split the stones.
Regardless, the Irish people recognized it as a significant spot to cherish and protect. The “Eire 64” signs stopped German planes from bombing this precious piece of land.
Also placed under protection was Queen Maeve’s potential grave in Strandhill of County Sligo. Regional historians say that the grave was hidden from the seaside view due to activities around the coastlines. From the Eastside, however, the view demanded respect. I hiked up on a rainy and foggy day. Upon arriving at the top, a vast black shadow appeared commanding the atmosphere of the hilltop. I couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the black shadow. Perhaps this is what the Queen intended: a power and presence that transcends life and death.
But the marauding pirates that the cairn builders feared are nowhere to be seen these years. Replacing the pirates are the equally adventurous surfers who dive head into the blue moving playing ground. I couldn’t help but join in as well.
