Connemara (Conamara) : an undefined region that takes up part of the West coast of Ireland, including parts of County Mayo and Galway. Full of beautiful landscape and includes some islands off the coast. Also the region that has been extensively studied by cartographer Tim Robinson, an Englishman who ended up moving to the region because he was captivated by its nature and its history.
Robinson has done extensive research and technical work in the area ever since living there. He published a three-volume study on the area entitled Connemara. I've read parts of the first volume, Listening to the Wind, which takes on a multi-faceted approach; it includes the oral history of the region, the geography, the biology / botany, the language, the tradition, the people. Stories of the ghosts who linger in local bogs because of an innocent stroll one evening that had a horrific end, giving the original Gaelic names back to certain places (toponymy is something I take great interest in), the different types of mosses that exist around Roundstone… the man seems to know every detail about this one region. And his presentation of it all makes quite the read.
The bit I read acted as my pretext for my weekend trip to the region. It only really distinctly applied to a few places, but within these specific surroundings, I couldn't help but hear Robinson's words ring true.
Our first weekend trip planned by the coordinators of the NYU program (over the weekend of Friday, July 6th - Monday July 9th) was such a success. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there, and hope to recount it as best I can.
Our first destination was Galway City: a charming metropolis which I believe is the largest city in the Western region of the Republic. Thus, it can come off as almost kitschy and quite touristy. This was especially the feel when we visited, which happened to be the last weekend of the festival celebrating the Volvo Ocean Race of 2011-2012, which never makes stops on the West coast of Ireland because the waters are so dangerous. In fact, Galway City itself is a fairly 'new' city compared to others in Ireland, because there was never any significant Norman invasion in the region due to these dangerous conditions that define this coast, unlike other parts of Ireland whose cities are filled with tales of these invasions. A local at the festival grounds by the waters (which some friends and I hit up for some food cart seafood paella of glory) said the race will probably never come to Galway again, thus they had been celebrating since the previous weekend with food and festival rides and crafts and music along the port where the racers were greeted.
Perhaps my favourite part of our only few hours in the city was stopping into the shops, where I learned that the village of Claddagh used to exist within what is now the city's limits. Claddagh, then, of course, was the birth place of the famous jewelers, who created the iconic Irish symbol found on all types of jewelry, but original meant for a ring band. I have had one for quite some time, and never take it off, and also associate a weird sort of taboo with it, based on of course, the tradition of how it is worn. Another store I stopped in was Ó'Máille, which has the largest collection of traditional, hand-knit Aran sweaters in all of Ireland! I of course ended up talking to the owner and knitter herself, prompted by the Milwaukee Irish Fest sticker I saw behind her small register (this is one of the strangest occurrences I remember also happening on my last trip to Ireland, four years ago with my family... funny that it was repeated again this time 'round, which makes me suppose it isn't so strange after all). I explained to her that I was from there, and when she asked "which part?" I was startled. She said she knows Milwaukee and Chicago very well, for she visits often to see friends. She has even been to Irish Fest a few times to teach knitting classes!
After Galway, we headed to Cleggan to take the 40-minute ferry ride to the island of Inishbofin (Inis Bó Finne, or the Island of the White Cow). The island has a population of about 200 inhabitants, which apparently becomes about 250 in the summer or on weekends, something our group of students helped make possible in our time there. We stayed at the only hostel on the island for two nights, and frequented one of the maybe three pubs on the island those two nights. We got to know some locals, but mostly the visitors; the other large group that was not our own was a stag party who were on our same ferry, drinking cans of beer and presenting their sign of "what happens in bofin..." for all the boat to see. They set a sort of comical and sarcastic tone of "bofin" being the sort of Vegas of Ireland that created several quips throughout our time there... what happens in 'bofin, man... stays in 'bofin.
I never saw any purely white cows... but the regular kinds, along with sheep and horses were plentiful in the rocky hills of the isle. The rocky hills I got to know very well. On one of our days there, we took a five hour hike across what felt like the entire island (but wasn't really, since it was only part of it, but included strenuous ups and downs and a lunch break), with the local celebrity of the place, archaeologist Michael Gibbons, who knows the territory just was well as Robinson does. I learned so much and got to experience the rocky and grassy and bog-filled terrain of Ireland in a way that I will never be able to experience ever again. It was truly incredible. I was lucky to have my camera battery die this day, of course... so I ended up taking most of my photos on my iPhone, which didn't turn out too bad. I will make a separate post of photos from this trip.
Inishbofin was a sort of magical place and experience overall. It was everything I wanted Ireland to be in my travels here. The people, the landscape, the accents, the animals, the water, the wind, the ruins, the food (I had the best mussels ever in my life at the local pub), the smell, the sky, the rocks, the coast. Everything was right and everything was beautiful. I am lucky to have visited the place, and most definitely recommend it for anyone doing any travels on the West coast of Ireland.
On Sunday, we departed the island and took the ferry back to the mainland and then made our way to Roundstone, which Robinson writes about thoroughly in his text. We stopped at the local and fairly renown pony show, where we got to see some beautiful horses and prized sheep. We spent only a short time there, but it was a nice experiencing, being able to see and be another spectator at a local tradition.
Afterwards we made our way to Milltown Malbay in County Clare for the annual Willie Clancy traditional music festival, a sort of informal festival where the pubs in the town have live music each night by groups of people who gather and sit in the musicians booth (no stage in any of these places) and play music while everyone in the pub drinks their pints and stomps their feet along to the traditional tunes. The first pub I stopped in gave me a twinkle in my eye, surely. Everything was so genuine and real. This is what traditional Irish music was all about. I stood next to an older man who started a conversation with me by asking what I was drinking (a pint of Smitwick's with a head of Guinness, a trick I had learned just moments before, in the same pub... HIGHLY recommended!). He then continued to name the song they were currently playing, and I asked him more about traditional Irish music and how he knew so much. He said that the man who was playing the accordion, whose fingers were a blur from his quick and seemingly effortless movement, taught him, his sons and his grandsons also how to play. After finishing his pint, he held the empty glass in his left hand and rapped the sides with a silver ring he wore on his right, adding a sort of additional percussion to the sound of the band. I felt like I was in a movie (it reminded me of a scene in the documentary The Rocky Road to Dublin [which is also a traditional song] where a man starts playing spoons to add to the music in a pub). I visited other pubs within the same night, and always enjoyed the atmosphere, and, of course, the music.
We spent the night in Doolin and then headed towards the Burren to see the ancient portal tomb, upon the amazingly shaped rocky terrain that sort of defines the area. Afterwards we visited the Cliffs of Moher, which never disappoint in their majestic beauty. Then, we took our bus to Clonmacnoise, an ancient monastery located in what is essentially the center of Ireland. Much of it is still preserved, and one can tell it must have been a glorious sanctuary in its heyday. I am a fan of visiting old and current monasteries, churches, and the like... particularly in a country whose history and culture, both ancient and contemporary is defined by these institutions, represented by these structures. Please view my post on the photos from my weekend trip to get a feel for this beautiful location.
Whew... that was a long one. Sorry about that. There was just so much to say... and still not all of it was said! I will end with the fact that I was very lucky to take such a nice trip and see so many things in such a short time. It was quite the experience.
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