Gaeltacht Islands

To the west of Galway are tiny coastal towns situated on bedrock shores that seem unbelievable and uninhabitable. We drove along the northern coast of Galway Bay towards the Atlantic. About 30 kilometers out of town, the road splits and we chose the leg that brought us to a small series of islands beginning with Leitir Mohr. The island is connected to the mainland by a long stone bridge and, after passing over it onto Leitir Mohr you no longer feel you’re part of the world. The buildings are ancient and far removed from one another.  The next stone bridge brings you to Garmna, which is more desolate, and the last bridge ends in Leiter Meallain, where we spent some time. The roads are narrow, barely a single lane, and it’s amazing to think about them being paved when there doesn’t seem to be two inches in a row of flat land that isn’t interrupted by crags. It appears that the glaciers receded on Tuesday, just before our arrival. There are huge boulders, The topsoil is shallow, it can be as little as six inches, but grasses and wild flowers take root in between those rocks and the contrast is lovely. The soil must be acidic, because hydrangeas grow here and the blooms are vibrant peacock blue and plum purple. On this last island in the string, it’s possible to drive a distance without seeing another person, although there are homes here and there, with captivating views of the ocean.  There’s no apparent commerce on the island and Chris and I wondered what people did for work.
taller than me, and more of every other size between that and a pebble. In some places, it looks like winter because the hills are capped in white rock that looks like snow from a distance.

It didn’t seem possible that there could be a brown sign on this pin prick of an island, but at the farthest point on Leiter Meallain there is a Heritage Center. It is one man’s collection of anthropological and sociological artifacts from the area that he accumulated over a lifetime. There are ration books from World War II and rosters from famine ships. There are photos and newspaper clippings and commemorative JFK decorations. There are squeezeboxes and wooden phones. And there is a charming young girl who is out there by herself manning the Heritage Center, who explained that there isn’t much possibility for work and while people come to the island to study Irish language because it is a Gaeltacht area, people are suffering the high level of unemployment. She pointed us in the direction of a must-see Tra (beach) and a Napoleonic tower on another island just offshore. 

We were able to walk to the beach from the Heritage Center, and it was a special little spot, with sand enough for several people to lay on with their toes in the surf, surrounded by craggy, impossibly grassy fields and there were horses all about grazing and neighing. Again, it didn’t feel like we were any longer in the world I live in but had been transported somewhere idyllic. Occasionally, you find yourself in a place that feels like a threshold and this was one of those: just special and quiet and natural and reminiscent of the geological past. 

The farther one drives on these tiny islands, the more narrow and less paved the roads become and I didn’t know if we would make it to the tower, but we got close enough to walk over the bedrock to see Golam Island and the tower that was built in case of a French invasion. On Chris’s tablet, it is possible to take 360 degree panoramas and this was a fun part of the world to play with that feature. 

We retraced our steps, driving back through these tandem islands until we were again on the mainland and continued west. Connemara ponies are famous and they’re everywhere here, like sheep in Donegal. That said, all the shops showcase Aran wool and the Aran Islands are just off the coast of County Galway, so one is never too terribly far away from a serious lot of sheep.

Chris commented today that he thought he would probably dream of trucks driving straight at him for months to come. He’s done a commendable job keeping us both safe, but we return the car tomorrow and I don’t think either of us will miss it. 

We ended our day with dinner at The Front Door on High Street in the Latin Quarter and had piles and piles of food, including a bowl of carrot and coriander soup that was rich and delicious enough to have served as the meal itself.  There is a lot of good soup in this country. I could eat it every day. Oh wait, I do.