Galway and the Western Coast of Ireland

After having an amazing weekend in Dublin, I needed to rest on the train to Galway. Dublin is on the eastern coast of Ireland and the city of Galway is on the western coast at approximately the same latitude. I was looking forward to the train ride. For one, because I love the soothing yet exhilarating feeling of being in a steady moving vehicle. At the train station, I bought myself a magazine and prepared to soak in all I could...after all, these magazines weren't at internationally imported prices.

Harps and I melted into our seats for the next 3 or some hours to Galway. I don't think I've ever had such a relaxing train ride. When we got to town, we booked a hostel and restauranted. Over quiche and seafood chowder, Harps and I tried to plan the rest of our itinerary. Whatever we had planned at the time did not pan out. It was nice to fly by the seat of our pants and change our minds at the last minute if need be.

Now on the western coast with the sweeping Atlantic wind and rain roughly jerking around our umbrellas, we trudged out to the grocery store for food in order to save money. After seeing the price for our train tickets, then picking our jaws up off of the floor, Harps and I had made a pact to eat and sleep cheaply from now on. Thus we entered an "already decked out for Christmas before Halloween" mall/grocery store. For the first time in a while, I saw Pop Tarts on the shelves. I almost bought some but refrained, keeping my obsessive splurging to strictly English magazines.

Our tight budget and shite weather didn't keep us from venturing out to the local cinema. We actually had such an urge to see a movie, that when we walked to the first one and realized there wasn't a movie playing for another 2 hours, we marched off to the other theater...such was our craving for endless selections of movies in English. We passed a creepy cemetery boasting several Celtic crosses sitting under a full moon. Harpswell wanted to come back to have a look around on Halloween, the next day. We never did. But we did see a movie called "Last Kiss" about several couples who all have crises about the people they're with. Just as scary I guess.

The next day, we didn't have a chance to explore Galway in daylight, because we hopped a bus and a ferry to the Aran Islands that morning. A bright sunny one at that. The islands lie off the coast of Galway and Harps and I had our minds set on a day spent seeing the island by bike and having a picnic somewhere. Both of our wishes were granted. The bus ride was very scenic taking us past several square patches of wild green field, old cottages cut out by stone wall upon stone wall. These stone walls could have been built by a young pair of siblings who found it appropriate to spend their afternoon stacking stones upon each other just for giggles. The landscape had such an authenticly Irish look to it.

Harps and I both dozed off on the rocking cradle of a ferry that gently took us to Inis Mor, the biggest of the Aran Islands. All of us disembarked, an amalgamation of tourists from all parts of the world, gradually splitting off onto different parts of the island. Tourist vans beckoned for us to climb aboard, but we had our mind made up to take bikes around for the day.

But first, it was onto the Aran Sweater Market. My interest had started out with me feeling a little chilly, especially as we were voyaging further out into the Atlantic. The sweaters were originally hand-sewn by fisherman's wives to keep their husbands warm while out at sea. Sounded like just the remedy for goosebumps. Immediately upon walking into the store, we were overwhelmed by the strong scent of sheep's wool.

Outside a calico cat quietly crept around an upside down metal bucket. Small ships bobbed rhythmically in the bay.

Both Harps and I found the sweaters of our dreams and made a purchase. Mine being a dark green cable zip up with hood. Our sweaters paid for themselves by the end of the trip and are continuing to pay for themselves as I sit wrapped warmly in mine typing this. Some nights in hostels that bred odor only capable of being created by men and their dirty feet, socks, and clothes, I would have to use my sweater as an extra blanket (one that I could wear) after literally being forced to open a window and air out some of that intolerable stank.

We made our way to the bike rental with bags in hand. The guys at the bike place took our bags and watched 'em for us while we hopped off on our bikes. At first we couldn't ride without stopping every few feet to marvel at some little forest path, abandoned church, or tempting blackberries on bushes near the road. A car slowed next to us and at first, we assumed he was going to tell us to get to the side of the road more...but such not is the Irish. This man slowed to simply tell us to enjoy our ride. Not two minutes later, a woman walking opposite us on the street chirped out, "Nice bit 'o weather we're havin', enjoy the day girls." Quickly enough, those perma-grins returned to our faces...becoming even wider after discovering a green downhill path leading to a secluded rocky beach.

I had packed our tomato sandwiches made from soda bread that crumbled pathetically before you could get a taste, a can of Pringles, and some apples that morning at the hostel. Harps had stopped at the island Spar and retrieved some Kit Kat's as a surprise. We munched on a stone ledge looking out onto one of the most magnificently natural and peaceful beaches I have ever seen. Behind us, cows grazed and wandered up to their fences curiously at our arrival. The grass in their pastures was unlike most greens...it was vibrantly emerald colored, to the point where it did almost sparkle. These cows were in pasture heaven.

We continued to ride and stopped to observe animals. There were the two cows that appeared to be speaking to us in loud moos, the gorgeous white horses that could have been unicorns so magical was the surrounding landscape, and the swans floating languidly on a sharp blue mirror of a lake.

Harps and I never made it to the famous cliffs of Inis Mor, because we had been too sidetracked with our beach and didn't have the time, but in the end we both agreed that it had been a memorable Halloween.

That night in Galway, we walked the streets and had some pints of Guinness, costumeless except for two green sparkly "things" in our hair. It was a lame attempt at a costume compared to the rest of Galway, who had certainly taken Halloween very seriously. Not too many original costumes, but the people we did see were decked to the nines. We were a little too weathered from a day of biking to take part in much of the festivities, so we headed to the hostel, and rested up for Killarney, the next day.