Parking was a snap, Butler's chocolate had a kiosk in the station, and the train was only a wee bit late. We found a foursome of seats in the modern train, and settled in to enjoy the landscape. As we were seated in a car with all the others in our tour (surprisingly few), I was faced with the inescapable reality that I am American. And a tourist.
I was immediately jarred by the sound of an American accent, from which I have been shielded these many months: the woman across the aisle was talking about the west coast towns of Portland and Chico. I know these places well, and was immediately transportred there via her words. And yet I found I didn't want to be pulled there, not yet, at least, as if traveling to California in my mind would rob me of these last few drops of Ireland. And so I turned my head, rather than join in the conversation, and drank in the Connemara ponies and stone walls between the fields as they whizzed by the train window.
We were only six for the Aran islands, and as we waited at the bus stop for our shuttle to Connemara aiport, we discovered that the honeymooning couple were on the same delayed flight from San Francisco as my mother. We also learn that the fresh bride is nervous about the 12-minute flight to the Arans (for which we must weigh in). But the flight is delightful, barely skimming the water, and before we know it, we are cutting a corner across the grassy bit between the landing strip and the Inishmor terminal.
The rocky island is chock-full of minibusses and bicycles ferrying tourists around on narrow lanes. We are in the Gaeltacht, and note that while they speak English to us, they chat to each other in Irish. We are clearly outsiders.
After waiting 20 unscheduled minutes for our minibus, we are given precisely seven minutes to visit Seven Churches, and by the time we've located the page in the guidebook, our driver is honking. No mind, we've bigger fish to fry, namely Dun Aenghus, the cliff-bound fort at the edge of the world. We join the hoardes hiking up the rocky hill, and bask in the sun and fresh Altlantic breezes.
We make our requisite sweater purchases, catch our flight and bus back to Galway, where we have a few minutes to grab a small feast for the train ride back. We are tired, in a good way, and strike up conversation with an extended family visiting from the midwest of the United States. They are on their dream vacation, and with one day left, hope to catch a legendary Irish rainbow. The little people surely hear them, and oblige, with not one, but two photo ops of rainbows over green fields.
