The Hills of Connemara

Ireland has yet to cease to surprise me. Every time I set out on a trip I fall a little bit more in love with the country, and every time I declare the setting the most beautiful yet. The Aran Islands set on the sea were isolated and traditional, the Burren desolate and ancient, while Connemara felt wild and majestic, it was breathtaking, my favorite yet.

Norah and I got off the bus a little after one in Clifden on Friday. We were already excited because of the views on the bus there and Clifden proved to be a nice small mountain hamlet. For the first time I didn’t feel like I was in some Disneyworld version of Ireland. Clifden was traditional and small, and not crawling with tourists, it felt like you were home, somewhere where people actually live and not just visit. We ate at a restaurant attached to a B&B, I ate deep fried Brie, which was like the best fried cheese curd I have ever tasted, and the woman who served us flattered Norah by saying she sounded like she was from Northern Ireland. We spent the rest of our time wandering around the small village. We had decided on Clifden because they throw an Arts Festival every year and this was the week it was being held. Friday turned out to be a very quiet day for the festival. We stumbled upon an event that hadn’t been listed in the brochure when we decided to explore a church. We were able to get in for free for the tail end of a concert; it was traditional Irish music and was very beautiful. We stopped in a pub later to listen to Les Follies, a French jazz band from Paris. It was lovely; the entire time we listened I felt like I should be on a boat sailing for 1930s Paris, sort of like Porter’s Anything Goes.

We then caught the bus to Letterfrack where we spent two nights. We got there at dusk and headed straight to our hostel. The hostel was great; located in an old monastery it was eclectically decorated, filled with fun baubles from travels and was very homey. Walking in I said to Norah, “I feel like I have just entered a really great 70s commune,” you will see why from the photos. We shared a room with two lovely german girls, and met a Swedish boy who is also going to NUI-Galway. We stayed up for a bit in the living room chatting with him (I don’t know how to spell his name, he says everyone here calls him email with a soft e, but that’s not actually how it is pronounced). We found we had a lot of the similar problems and compliments of Galway, and he recommended places for us to go if we made it to Sweden. He was in town to deep sea dive at the dive center, we should see him next week at a hike so I will have to ask him how it went.

The next morning Norah and I headed out around 9:30 to start our hiking in the Connemara National Park. It was misty as we took off but we were hopeful it would lift. We wandered around the visitor center of the park for a bit, were warned not to proceed up the mountain by the rangers, and then left deciding to do it anyway. Walking the bog land of the park through so much mist was one of the most surreal feelings. We were probably the only two people hiking that early, and it felt in all the fog that we were the only two people on earth. I loved the feeling of it all, and felt pretty safe although we kept discussing the rangers’ warning. We were able to see the path clearly ahead of us and it was well marked. Though as we ascended higher we could see how visibility was becoming a problem, even more so behind us. We would turn around and the land we had hiked through would have disappeared, obliterated into a white expanse. We made it up pretty far, to the very base of the top before we decided it wasn’t worth it. Where it was exposed it was very windy and even if we made it to the top we wouldn’t be able to see anything. So we headed back down. As we descended we could see the mist had lifted from the valleys and we were able to see more. It was neat to see the land unfold before us, it was the same land we had hiked but now populated and ongoing. I imagine it was like Brigadoon, waking up from barren sweeping bog land to modernity and progress.

We were pleased with our hike and still had most of the day ahead of us, and decided to find a taxi out to nearby Kylemore Abbey. We tried a few taxi companies but none would come to Letterfrack and pick us up. We found out from the hostel manager that the abbey was only 5km, about 3 miles away, and we figured it would be an easy enough walk, heck we had practically climbed a mountain that morning, plus the manager made it seem like it was common for people to hike. So we got to the crossroads and took a right. It was a wonderful way to see more of the Connemara region, but I’ll admit not the safest. The roads run right up to the fences of the land leaving very little shoulder for us to walk on. It was not too busy but cars would come fast so we were constantly switching sides to maintain our visibility. But it felt like the perfect way to go, we were two poor college students on a holiday in Europe hiking the roads, plus I got a free souvenir, an old license plate. I would have felt pretty safe hitchhiking in the region and would have thrown out my thumb, especially on the way back, but was unsure anyone would have seen it by how fast they were going. It took us about an hour to get to Kylemore but it was well worth it. The abbey was an old summer home for a surgeon in the late 1800s but became a refuge for Irish Benedictine Nuns from Belgium after World War I (that makes a lot more sense when you know the whole history). The Abbey is still home to the nuns and the international all girl boarding school they opened up (although its closing in 2010), to help raise funds they have made certain areas of the castle open and the church, plus the gardens. It is absolutely beautiful, nestled in between the mountains and set on its own lough it was a wonderful sight, although Norah and I felt there was a certain mystery about the place. There was only one mention of the boarding school, we had no idea where the girls were kept and how so with all these tourists coming and going, and the work the nuns did for the ‘community’ was very enigmatic. There was a brief glimpse of a singing nun but otherwise nothing, very odd.

We left Kylemore, walked back and very nearly collapsed when we got into the hostel. But it was short lived as we went back in to town to buy some food to cook (I bought myself a pint can of Carlsberg, I deserved it). We cooked our food in the kitchen and read in the living room for a bit. More guests were filtering in, and a cacophony of foreign languages began, it was fun to sit next to the fire and listen. I went outside for some air to wake myself up as we wanted to go to a pub for some traditional music and was joined by one of the hostel cats, the prettiest cat I have ever seen and the nicest, brown with black tipped fur and beautiful green eyes. I sat on the ground and let it crawl all over me purring (as it nuzzled me I was reminiscent of La Dolce Vita), as some man came out of the darkness to get something from the hostel I realized what a sight I must be, a young woman playing with a cat in her knit hat and how much I probably looked like I belonged in a hostel, it was wonderful.

We did make it into town for one pint and some music. The feeling was very different from the pubs of Galway, actually more like the bars of Northern Wisconsin, all locals who greeted every one who entered and gently heckled the musicians. It was nice but I was glad to get back to the hostel and fall into bed. We checked out this morning and took the bus back to Galway. But now I’m back, sad that I have to get back to classes and have no food, nor energy to go to the grocery store and get some, but grateful to have a warm shower and no where I need to be for the rest of the day.

Connemara Photos