Points on the map

I am currently in the south-west of France. I wrote the following email about my trip to Ireland last month earlier but had no time to send it. Finally I have a internet connection for my laptop, so I am sending it now.

Just days after coming back from Greece, and with a dark suntan, I headed to Belfast from Paris. As I arrived we descended through grey clouds to land on a rain-soaked runway. The airplane crew huddled inside as the passengers walked down the steps and across the runway in the wind and the rain.

I met my father in the airport, who had flown from London, and we rented a car and drove to the Ards Peninsula, which lies to the south of Belfast on the Irish Sea. The small village of Ballywalter is where my father grew up, and my grandmother lived all her life. I spent my childhood coming up here several times a year, and it is a magical place for me. The sandy beach goes way out when the tide is out, and on a clear day you can see the coast of Scotland and the Isle of Man. Small outcroppings of rocks appear up and down the beach where my father, grandfather and I used to search for crabs.
Now my aunt Mandy lives in my grandmother’s house with her husband Graham, and my uncle Karl lives two houses away. My father and I bought the house in between two years ago, so we stayed there. It was my first time to visit the house since buying it, as I was in Japan when the purchase went through. It’s a 4 bedroom house, with a large lawn leading down to the beach. The views from the house out to sea are wonderful, and I was so tempted to look for a job and stay there.

My father and I headed over to the west coast of Ireland after a few days. On the map, Ireland doesn’t look that big. I forgot that most of the roads in Ireland are not made for driving anything over 50 km/h, however, and apart from one highway which lead west from Belfast, it was a slow journey. The weather in Ireland is famous. You can have four seasons in one day. As we drove west across the green landscape we went through at least four cycles of glorious sunshine, brooding dark clouds, heavy rain, and then glorious sunshine. At one point we saw an army checkpoint with young soldiers checking passing cars. As we approached the heavens opened and the rain came falling down. The soldiers gave up what they were doing, and ran towards their armored vehicle carrying their rifles and laughing.
We headed through the border town of Enniskillen, and into the Irish republic. I was now back in the land of the Euro. I had come from Greece, through Austria and then France, all countries that use the Euro. Of course the United Kingdom, of which Northern Ireland is a part, still use the Pound, but once across the border into southern Ireland I could use Euros again. I makes it very easy to compare prices. I could see that gasoline here was 1.02 Euros per litre, whereas in Greece it was 0.82, and in France 1.11.

The landscape began to change. From the rolling green hills and dairy farms of Northern Ireland, to the wild, wind-blown panoramas of western Ireland, devoid of trees. We passed small villages with one pub advertising traditional Irish music, across narrow roads that bumped along the rugged landscape. It’s a very powerful place, and makes you feel very small. Large hills loomed up, without any trees but covered in scree (broken up rock) and small hardy plants that could survive the strong winds. Even though the weather may not be very good, it is remarkably mild, with almost no snow in the winter. This is because western Ireland gets the full benefit of the warm waters from the Atlantic that drift across from the Caribbean. You can even see the occasional small palm!

By early evening we arrived at Cleggan, a small village with three pubs and a tiny harbour where we enjoyed a glass of Guinness while we waited for the ferry to the island of Inishbofin. This island is about 4 kilometres long, with around 100 people, one shop, and two pubs. It sits out in the Atlantic about 30 minutes by passenger ferry, and has wonderful views of the Connemara Mountains on the mainland.
We stayed at a small bed and breakfast for two nights, and wandered around the island. Inishbofin has not town, but a scattering of houses they call a settlement. From the east of the island we had grand views of the mainland; from the north we could the neighbouring islands of Inishturk, Clare Island and Achill Island; from the south the island of Inishark which is a bird sanctuary; and from the west only the wild Atlantic with its angry seas.

After two days, we were thoroughly relaxed and succumbing to the gentle charm of the island. One asks what makes an island different. The scenery we had traveled through on our way here had been spectacular, but I think it’s more what you can’t do on an island that is important. You can’t just get up and leave. You are at the whim of the small ferry boat and its skipper, and of course the weather.
It’s an island where you say hello to everyone as you walk around. You know you’ll see them again, whether it be in the one shop or one of the two pubs.
It’s only about 4 km in length, which means you can do a tour on foot in a few hours. And of course when you are out in the fresh Atlantic wind all roads seem to lead to the pub.

On our last day we set out early to catch the 9am ferry. It was a Sunday, and everything with still. My father and I go to the ferry pier at 8.45, and there was no ferry, no passengers, and didn’t look like there would be for a long time. At 8.50 two women were dropped off by car, which made us feel hopeful that a ferry would come soon. At 8.55 more passengers. At 8.57 we saw a small speedboat moving across the bay. It stopped at the ferry, which was moored nearby, the men hopped aboard, and at 9.00 it docked in front of us. In a few minutes we were underway, moving out into the choppy seas of the Atlantic, but with the wind behind us.

More of the pictures I took are online here:
http://www.malcomson.com/gallery/irelandmay2005