Inismor: A spiritual experience

Friday morning I woke bright and early to catch a shuttle bus to the Aer Arann Airport, where I would fly to the Aran Island of Inismor. In the shuttle with me were two elderly native islanders, from the smaller of the three islands. The old woman struck up a pleasant conversation with me while the old man was fairly quiet. They seemed to know each other and occasionally exchanged conversation in Irish, which was fascinating to hear up-close. I have never heard anything like it, nothing to compare it to. I found it to be a very calm and reassuring-sounding language.

At the airport, they weighed my backpack and then they weighed me! The weight had to be very evenly distributed on our nine-seater plane. After checking in I went over to the waiting room/cafe and sat down with the old islanders, who were taking a later flight. The old man perked up at this point and insisted that I have a cup of tea. I only had ten minutes before boarding but he would not have no for an answer. He would have gotten me a scone, too, but I told him I'd had a big breakfast. I had to board the plane before the tea was anywhere near cool enough to drink, but he still seemed satisfied. Such nice people!

Are you ready for this? ... I got to sit up front with the pilot on the plane!!! Perhaps the most amazing ten minutes of my life. I sat with my hands carefully folded in my lap as he reached about and flipped all kinds of switches, doing tests checks and getting things going. I watched as our plane sped toward the ocean on the short take-off lane. My heart soared as we took off into the clear morning air and floated smoothly toward the island. Clouds were gathered above the island and a rainbow touched down on the bay. I could not have been happier. The flight is only seven minutes long, but it was seven of the best minutes of my entire trip.

We landed without a hitch and piled out of the airplane. The back eight seats had been filled with a french family. There was a shuttle available but they were walking into town, so I asked (in french) if I could join them. They said yes and were excited to hear that I was "from" Besancon, as they live close by in Dijon. What a world. It was great fun to walk and talk together until the sky opened up and let loose with a horrible wind and stinging sleet. Then those two miles felt a lot longer.

The sky cleared after I had checked in to my hostel and had lunch, just in time for me to rent a bicycle and tour the island. It was better than a dream as I cycled past idyllic pastures framed in dry-stone walls (stacked loose, not joined with mortar or cement or anything), with a few cows and horses here and there. The pastures ran right up to the ocean, which was a silver-blue color and very lovely. When biking toward one pasture, the horse inside came right up to the wall and waited for me. I stopped and approached him. He leaned over the wall as far as he could and let me pet his nose! He was so serene, looking at me with his dark eyes in an almost hypnotizing way. I think he would have stood there all day with me if I had stayed, but I kept moving on to other sights.

I was biking leisurely toward the fort of Dun Anghasa, an anceint stone structure of three curved walls that form a half circle on the edge of a 300 foot cliff on the ocean. When I was about 15 minutes away, the wind picked up and the sky turned dark. A man on a horse cart passed me and hollered " Take cover, a storm's coming in!" Yikes! I biked as fast as I could but I couldn't beat the piercing sleet and heavy rain. I was soaked when I finally entered the visitors' center to wait out the rest of the storm. When it finally let up, I made the slippery 20 minute hike up to the fort. This trudging was treacherous, let me tell you! The uneven rock footpath was covered in muddy puddles as well as a few cowpies for good measure.

But it was all worth it.

I hiked through the first two walls to the inner circle, the pinnacle of the fort, and indeed of my experiences so far. I was greeted with the view of a lifetime. The grass is flat and free from stones, except for a slightly raised natural stone platform at the very center of the enclosure, bordering the cliff edge. Along the ocean to my right and left were cliffs to rival those of Moher. Sure, they're only half as tall, but the magic here was much stronger. In front of you, stretching to the infinite horizon, is the glittering ocean. The clouds pass across it in an ever changing wondrous display. The color of the water shifts right before your eyes. The breeze is strong but not threatening. And there was hardly anyone up there besides me.

I couldn't tear myself away. After I had seen everything, I saw it all again. And again. I looked at it all every way I could, for as long as I could. It was mesmerizing, intoxicating, mind-reeling. I still can't really find words to do it justice. Even now as I type about it, the images and feelings come rushing back and I am dumbstruck. It was truly a spiritual experience.

The next day when I took the plane back to the mainland, I had to wait again for a bit before taking off. This time I met three middle-aged island women, who were having a lively discussion about the half-marathon that was to take place that day on the island. Joining them in conversation, one woman remarked (about me) to her friends, " Look at those white teeth. She must be an American. Are you an American?" she asked me. What a remark! Haha, well it is true, I guess. I have just about the best smile this side of the Atlantic, it seems.

All in all, 24 of the most memorable hours of my life.