fools and charlatans, they may get wise

I just got back from a weekend in Galway, and I had an absolutely lovely time. I left Dublin around seven p.m. on Friday, and the busride took about three and a half hours, which was enough time for a small nap and a couple of games of Sudoku. I arrived at my hotel late enough that the room they had saved for me was directly above their nightclub; luckily for me, I was so tired that I was able to fall asleep despite the unpleasant thumping. In a rare display of non-passive-aggressive behavior on my part, I actually requested a room switch for the next night; but apparently the sounds of the nightclub permeate the entire establishment, since I moved up two floors and yet could still hear the music. Methinks the hotel should reexamine their decision to have a nightclub onsite--this was the first time that Lonely Planet led me astray in housing choices, and it's probably because the version I was looking at came out before the nightclub opened.

Anyway, Saturday I took a ferry out to the largest of the three Aran Islands. It was absolutely, completely stunning, and it was so far removed from everything that it was exactly the anecdote to city-living that I had been looking for. The island has a permanent population of about 800; it also has ruins dating back several millennia, and thousands of miles of mortarless stone walls. When I got off the ferry (mercifully not vomiting like the girl sitting next to me, ugh), I procured the services of a man whom one could reasonably guess is something of an alcoholic, but since there are few vehicles on the island, it seems fine that he's a tour guide. He was actually a nice old man, and for ten euros he drove me and about six fifty- or sixty-somethings around the island. This, in my opinion, was much better than renting a bike even though it made me feel slightly lame; the feeling of lameness turned immediately to smugness when it started to rain on the way back into the village after visiting Dun Aengus, and the people on the bikes looked thoroughly miserable. Yes, I am meanspirited.

Dun Aengus gave me that rare feeling of simultaneous peace and euphoria that I've found in only a handful of other places; the last time, I believe, was either my trip to Hampi or to Fatehpur Sikri last September (can't remember which order those two trips occurred in). The overabundance of rocks definitely helps, since it always reminds me of my grandfather, and that in and of itself is enough to create a spiritual experience. But more importantly, I get the most pleasure and satisfaction out of places that feel like they could conceivably be located at the end of the world. Dun Aengus could legitimately claim to *be* the end of the world--for the people who lived there, at least, Dun Aengus looks out over what once would have been an unchartable and unknowable expanse of the dangerous Atlantic. The coastline of Ireland is visible from the island as well, but from Dun Aengus it would truly feel like the sun was setting every day over the edge of the world. Because of that, and because the weather was gorgeous like it had been made for me after weeks of rain, and because I was all alone at the edge of a cliff with the inexplicable ruins of a forgotten people crumbling behind me, I fell in love with the place more deeply than one would think possible from a mere twenty minutes between tour stops. I'm also determined to seek out other end-of-the-world places, since they are much more exciting to me than living cities.

The rest of the trip paled in comparison to Dun Aengus, but was lovely nonetheless. I enjoyed every bit of the time I spent on the Aran Islands, and slept the whole way back to Galway (probably because I mixed a pint of Guinness with an original-drowsy-formula Dramamine for the ferry-ride). Today, I took a bus tour of the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren. The Burren is so named because it's this half-wilderness filled with the same limestone rocks that cover the Aran Islands; the Cliffs of Moher are several hundred feet high, and drop vertically into the Atlantic below. It's rather amusing that I didn't get seasick on the ferry yesterday, but I almost got violently carsick on the bus today. I managed to pull it together, and the vegetable soup I had for lunch certainly helped. I had vegetable soup for lunch both yesterday and today, and while I would be hard-pressed to determine exactly what the ingredients were, they were both outstanding, so I foresee more soup in my future. I think that it's unfortunate that I enjoyed Dun Aengus so much, because it made the Cliffs of Moher rather anticlimactic; if I were to do it again, I would have spent the night on Inis Mor and just roamed around by myself, but conversely I am glad that I saw more of Ireland, so I don't think I wasted my time today. As soon as the tour got back to Galway, I found my bus back to Dublin, and was back in my apartment about four hours later.

I'm now wrapped up in one of the two Aran sweaters that I bought yesterday; it's a purple/mauve color, is rather oversized, has two unnecessarily-large toggles on the hood's drawstring, is absurdly comfortable, and looks somewhat ridiculous on me. I intend to wear it to dim sum all the time this winter so that I can embarrass Tammy with my unfashionable get-up. I need to take some time and plan out my next few weekends, since I enjoyed this excursion so much--but now, it's time for bed!