Thursday saw us wake up and drive out of Galway to the ferry at Rossaveel which took us to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands. If Ireland is a land of green and stone, the Aran Islands are the epitome of what it means to be Ireland. The last remnant where Gaelic is the chosen tongue, Aran is the westernmost habituated part of Europe (a spot on the Dingle peninsula is farther, but not inhabited.) The land is dominated by row after row of piled stones which make up dividing lines between farms, pastures, etc. Windswept and barren, the island hosts about 700 people and a few thousand sheep, cattle, and horses.
The main historic feature is a 4000 year old ring fort named Dun Aengus. (The island holds 3 of them, actually.) The fort sits at the highest point and on the edge of a sheer 300 foot cliff.
To get around the island, we took a highly entertaining minibus tour with a quite lively, often manic stream of consciousness verbal diarrhea.
Afterwards, we drove to Trim, north of Dublin, arriving after dark (better for viewing the well-lit Norman castle from 1180!
Happy Arthur's Day!
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