Spring break, part two!

I met Alvan at 8am and as we walked into downtown Galway, he told me all about the different historical aspects of the city.  We ate at a cute little café, where I was actually able to eat a real breakfast for the first time in a month and a half!  I had an egg, toast, bacon, sausage, and a pot of tea; it was wonderful.  After we ate, we took a jaunt to the pharmacy to see if I could get my antibiotics over the counter, but the lady told me that she couldn’t give them without a doctor’s prescription; after that, Alvan led me around a little more of Galway.  We walked down to a river to show me the old Spanish wall that is randomly by the Galway Museum.  We saw three or four snowy white swans swimming happily in the river and it made my heart glad.  I love swans, with their long necks and inquisitive looks.  We also saw a bird that disappears underwater to catch his fish and it always amazes me how long he can stay submerged before coming back up for air!  (We later looked it up and decided that it was called a Shag.)

We then set off to find the travel agency so that we could get tickets for the bus to Inis’ Moor; we got there and the lady told us that we had better run if we were going to catch the bus.  Alvan and I ran full-tilt and since the lady had rung the driver, he graciously waited for us as we came in, red-cheeked and breathless.  After about forty-five minutes on the bus, we arrived at a dock and got onto a ferry.  It took a rather long hour to get to the Island, but Alvan and I talked and had a good time.  When we stepped off of the boat, the wind cut us to pieces!  Alvan needed money, so we walked to the one grocery store on Inis’ Moor and found the ATM.  Walking back to the dock we found a bus driver who was kind enough to escort us for the day.  We ended up being the only two on his tour, but it made it that much more special.  I couldn’t stop smiling and Alvan kept looking over and grinning about how happy I was.  Our tour guide had a beautiful lilt to his voice and I was content to just sit and listen to him and Alvan talk.  The amount of knowledge that was bouncing around the van was absolutely mental!

We drove up to this cliff and he dropped us off so that we could walk and look over the water.  The place where he dropped us off was very cute; it had some Aran sweater/wool/gift shops and two little restaurants, only one of which was open.  The two of us followed the stony path on our way to the top; I don’t think I can describe it well at all, so the pictures will have to do.  But here is a short journal excerpt from that day:

“Ireland; the snarled shrubbery entwined with the yellow flowers of the windbrush change this green and stony land into something magical.  As you stand on the crest of Inis’ Moor, the crashing of the waves sound below and you feel like a spec; a spec on a rock, a spec in Ireland, a spec in the universe.  It’s a feeling of insignificance and yet a feeling of complete dominance and power.  The bitter wind bites strong and hard as the snow is whipped directly into your face.  Somehow, as you look across the ocean, you don’t mind the unpleasantness of the weather; looking down to see the foam of the waves be dashed on the bottom of the cliff is a rewarding sight.

The rocks that jut out from the sides of Inis’ Moor are covered with bright green, dull green, orange and brown moss.  In some of the crevices, you can see tiny daises peeking out their heads as if to inquire whether springtime has arrived.  A lone dandelion has stubbornly stuck his proud head up to show his singular yellow color among the forty shades of green.  Despite the harsh elements, this lad continues to brave it out and show the world that he is not afraid of what may be thrown in his path.

As if to mock the lonely estate of the dandelion, the path winds down the Inis’ Moor cliffs and is suddenly surrounded by the brightness of the windbrush.  Substituting for sunshine, the thousands of little yellow flowers compose beauty in a tangled way.  The bushes are very tall and follow up their pompous air with spines that cover every part of their stem; under the guise of protection, these spines help classify the plant as a farmer’s worst nightmare.  It seems as though the windbrush gloats as it arrogantly covers both sides of the path for yards.

A step is not taken without a stone under your foot; acres and acres, as far as your eyes can possibly ever see, there is stone.  Mixed with grass, mixed with cattle, mixed with more stone…stone.  Used to build walls and create buildings, used for good luck; these stones have managed to last for centuries and positively reek of history.  If they could speak, the amount of stories would be endless.  Wars, famine, love, sickness, heartache, toil, blood; loyalty.  Imagination can hardly begin to recreate such tales, but the ruggedness of the rock taunts you as if to ask whether ye can hit the right facts or go completely awry.

And yet, it is here among the taunting rock, crashing waves, arrogant windbrush, and colorful moss that there is a special kind of peace.  You need only glance once and you are captured, enraptured, and home is redefined.  For the very first time since I left my childhood home, I have found a place that begins to run in my blood and tie me down.  Never in my life have I found a place that has been able to kidnap my heart like Ireland has; never again will I be in possession of my entire heart.”

Not that I could capture the beauty in my own words at all, but I hope that gives you a little peek into the world that I was beginning to explore for the first time.  I'll post the next installment later!