Woman of Aran

Today was the first day that was somewhat disappointing, in spite of seeing one of the greatest sites on earth.

We began with the Cliffs of Moher, as spectacular as promised, and we caught them on a beautiful day and early enough that they weren't covered with tourists.  More time there would have been great.  Again, we have time to see, but not sufficient (for me) time to contemplate.

But I did have time at the gift shop to buy a tinwhistle, which prompted a buying frenzy in our group.  They were buying for grandchildren, but, me, well, I set up playing outside the land rover and earned 3 cents.

Then we were off to our ferry for the Aran Islands.  The water was rough, but I sat up top and got wet as we rocked and rolled with the waves.  That was glorious!  I supposed I should have been frightened, but it was invigorating instead.  One member of our party got quite ill, but dramamine and adrenaline kept me from feeding the fish.

The Aran Islands themselves were disappointing, however.  We were on the smallest Island, Inis Mor, and I was expecting a barren, rough landscape full of hardy folks looking like they belong in the Flaherty film.  Instead, we found many neat, rather newish cottages, and a host of men with buggies cajoling us to take a ride around the island for 10 Euro.  Pam and I bit, and we got a snotty young man who told us nothing, seemed irritated by questions, and was generally unpleasant.  The horsie was nice, though.

We were on the Island for 4 hours, and one and a half would have been plenty.

We were picked up by our guide and taken through Connamara to Clifden for the night.  There is a festival going on here, so music was everywhere.  We listened to a duo who switched around from banjo to guitar to fiddle.  Lots of fun.