It was not what I
expected to find. Fields of stone. We had a day trip to
one of the Aran Islands on Friday. Patricia had some work to do out there and I
tagged along. It was an opportunity to see the place and I didn’t want to miss
out.
I had built myself up
for some level of disappointment. In my vision, the island would turn out to be
a series of fields, much like any corner of the West of Ireland, except running
down to the ocean on all sides. It was so much more than that. It was remarkable
in very many respects. I’m glad we went.
Inishmaan is the least
visited of the Aran Islands, apparently. Most of the people on the ferry stayed
in their seat when we docked there. They were holding out for the bigger
island. This was us, though. An aluminium gangway dropped onto the dock and off
we went.
First impressions were
of a sort of an other-worldly Beckettian place. This had a lot to do with the
strangely-shaped concrete sea defences which bound the little harbour. Like
huge Jacks (remember that game… with the ball and the ‘things’?) interlocking
in seemingly random arrangements. They seemed more appropriate to Vladimir and
Estragon perching on them rather that the elusive Playboy and his head-damaged
Dad.
Because this little
island is J M Synge country. He spent five or six summer’s there and his fine
play ‘Riders to the Sea’ is soaked in island and ocean lore.
While Patricia did her
work, I walked up along the coast to Synge’s Chair. It’s a rocky perch on the
edge of a steep incline down to the sea. From there you can enjoy the view of
the adjoining island and, beyond, the wide Atlantic Ocean. Next stop; America. I
gave the only other two visitors some space to enjoy the place by
themselves and then it was all mine. I sat and enjoyed the view and ate some of
a large bag of spring onion and cheddar cheese kettle crisps that I’d brought
along. Then I re-read a bit of Sally Rooney’s new novel, ‘Normal People’ which
I like very much. It was a sunny/cloudy day and it was lovely to watch the
clouds skid across the sky and the little boats make their way from island to
island on the white capped waves. The only downside was that the stones to the
back of Synge’s alleged perch are rather high and I expected to be accosted at any moment
by more visitors. I never was but that didn’t stop me from being hyper-aware of
the possibility.
When she was finished,
Patricia and I walked the island. Rain was promised but it kept away, apart
from a drop or two, and the sun was a regular visitor in the sky. We spotted a
little sign offering lunch and climbed the little hill it pointed to. It turned
out to be the home of a very nice European couple who offered us their bench
seat in the garden and plied us with vegetable soup and brown bread with
raisins in. The garden overlooked the ocean and it was all quite perfect. After
we’d finished I brought the bowls and glasses into the kitchen and the woman
said that I was kind and that my mother would be very proud of me. An unusually
intimate compliment for a simple lunch transaction but welcome and a little
moving nonetheless.
The event of the day
was probably the cow and the narrow walkway.
There was a fort to be
seen on a hill and, when we reached the top of it, there was a farmer man there
on his quad bike with his sheepdog. Patricia knew him from her previous visits
to the island and we chatted a while. He asked us were we going up to the fort
and we said we thought we might. “Only, I’ve put a cow into the path the eat
the grass. You can go past her. She’s an old girl and she won’t pay any heed to
you.” We confirmed that a visit to the fort was not a priority for us but the
guy seemed conflicted that his cow was stopping us so we decided to go on up. As
we walked up the tiny lane, stone walls on either side, the farmer man stayed
at the end with his dog so there was no opportunity to sneak back. We had to
see it through. The cow was half way up the path, standing with her rear towards us. Brown, massive, and copiously
horned. I would guess that her girth took up seven-eighths of the width of the walkway
I encouraged her to walk on and we tailed behind but she must have found a rich
vein of grass because she stopped and would not move again. I squeezed past and
Patricia squeezed after.
We found a flat rock
and stopped there to have a flask of tea and admire the view over the island.
It was lovely but there was always the knowledge that we had to deal with the
cow again on the way back. We are simple town-folk and not overly accustomed to
livestock.
On the way back down
the path, the cow had barely moved and was now facing us with its horns. It
seemed much more interested in us now that we were approaching face on. The
farmer was long gone. It was just her and us. There was no point in hesitating,
we had to get past so I lead the way. With a quiet word about how very well she
was looking I stepped forward and inched along between the stone wall and the
cow’s huge solid flank. There was a feeling that a nudge from her would pin me
against the wall and I wasn’t sure how things would go from there. Anyway, I
got through. I looked back and could see that Patricia was having some doubts
and, man, I didn’t blame her. Still, there was no other way out of there, it
was the cow or nothing, so I needed to move things along before the situation
deteriorated further on account of being thought-about too much. I gave Daisy a
gentle slap on the rump and she ambled forward towards Patricia. There suddenly
didn’t seem to be enough room for them both.
“Turn sideways,” I
said and Patricia did. The cow rumbled alongside her. “Now sidestep.” She did.
Then we were past and the cow was just a big brown arse up the pathway. We left
her to it.
We walked all the way
back down to the ferry and were too early as we almost always are. That was
okay though. It wasn’t raining and the sea and the breeze made acceptable company for
a while.
If you do ever go to
Inishmaan, make sure you view the Harry Clarke windows in the little church there.
Their effect is simply stunning against the island light.
The thing with the
island is the possibilities it evokes. The place itself is scenic, untamed,
wild and beautiful but, ultimately, it’s just a place. It’s how it plays on
your mind, that’s what will stay with you. It’s a place onto itself, a law onto
itself, a microcosm of the entire world. It could become everything you love or
everything you hate. A tiny universe with many possibilities.
The island is a feast
for the eyes but it is also a shared dessert and an expresso for the mind.
I look forward to
going back again, some fine day.
