before i'd been to ireland, the mention of it conjured visions of green grass and thatched roofs. by the time i had gotten to sligo i could understand the green, it was everywhere, in every shade imaginable, but i had yet to see one bit of straw roofing. ten days in, i finally saw a thatched roof! it was ridiculously exciting, and looking back seems really sad on my part, but still, at the time, it warranted an entry in my journal.
and as you would expect, it was quaint. bucolic. made me feel like i had stepped back in time. but thatching wasn't the only thing ireland was going to serve up to boggle my 20th century brain. most folks on aran island lived without electricity - to this day i can't imagine my life without my kilowattage!i hopped a bus for westport with an aim to go to clare island. the weather didn't cooperate, so i spent a nice chunk of time at matt malloy's bar, an old fashioned irish pub, owned by matt malloy, of chieftan's fame. no matter what time it was, seemed there were always folks up for performing a little traditional music.
the next day it was still fogged in, so i gave up on clare and headed for galway and the aran islands.
caught the ferry (really just a small boat with an open back that seated ten or eleven people max). the seas were a bit wild and the ride was a rough one. it was here i began to believe i was prone to sea sickness. the fear of the return trip kept me on the island a couple days longer than planned, but that was alright, it was a swell island! i stayed at a hostel run by joel, a gourmand who happened to be a cousin of the great opera singer, jessye norman, a woman whose voice thrills me. he ran a pretty fancy restaurant, but let me use the kitchen to make my famous cheese souffle and as we ate the cheesy clouds, we talked food and music into the wee hours.
i woke up feeling revived and went off to explore the seven churches and dun aengus, the remains of a norman fort on a cliff edge. taking a breather from tourism, i sat in the common room at the hostel and saw a copy of the unbearable lightness of being sitting on the table, face down as if someone had been interrupted and would be right back. i put a slip of paper in to mark the page and began reading from the beginning, knowing that any moment the owner might come back to claim it. as i got more and more caught up in the story, i began to read faster and with a sense of urgency, the idea that i wouldn't get to finish it caused a little despair to well up. i couldn't risk it, so i didn't go to bed and finished the book by morning. the owner never knew that someone else had devoured their book.
"...there is nothing heavier than compassion. not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echos" - milan kundera
the following evening i ventured out to the pub for what was supposed to be a quick bite. it was so much fun, seemed like everyone on the island was there, that i ended up staying until way past dark. this isn't such a big deal in most towns, but on the island the houses were few and far between and most had no electricity, coupled with no moon the path i walked very carefully was doused in pitch black. as i made my way in what i hoped was a homeward direction, a man's voice boomed next to me,'evening'
i nearly jumped out of my skin. he kept on walking down to the pub, but i had to sit down right there in the middle of the dirt road to collect myself. i did eventually get back to the hostel, but i made sure that i always had my little flashlight on my person from then on!
the island was beautiful but a little beyond my budget, so i braved the ferry ride back to galway.
I love these stories, Lecia! I have never actually seen a thatched roof, although I hear that my cousins' town in Hertfordshire, England still has a working building with a thatched roof. I do think that there is electricity and heating, however.
ReplyDeleteStill neat that this is out there, tho'!