Visiting Galway: All I’ve Known of Endless Stone

“I don’t even like drinking that much. But I’m forever charmed by traditional pubs.” – Old Sean

Beyond the Bays

Following a week in Killarney, I’ve managed to wander north via train to the wonderful city of Galway, Ireland 

The last time I was in Galway, I was based in a hostel near the city center.  Life was a face-paced sprint through the town with work in the mornings, exploration in the afternoon and drinks with strangers virtually every evening.  

This time, however, my brother, sister and I opted to stay somewhat outside the city limits in the small town of Moycullen.  My sister has not yet fully recovered from her recent illness, though she has regained enough energy to rejoin us on outings.

An Overview of Moycullen

Moycullen is a lovely little hamlet town comprised of four streets and a smattering of cul de sacs all surrounded by dense woods and streams.  The few farms in the area hold rather fuzzy cattle complete with oreo-like designs (black on both ends, white in the center).  The town has a few rather pleasant coffee shops, a supremely affordable shopping center, a gym, a few nice pubs and some signs describing the surrounding land.  

Moycullen is actually part of several trekking trails, including an offshoot route of the Wild Atlantic Way (an enormous hiking trail extending around Ireland’s Western Coast).  The town is also home to various heritage trails which showcase old buildings, graveyards, ancient lakes, war monuments and timeless stone bridges. 

My favorite one to walk is the one hour loop on Maigh Cuilinn Heritage Trails.

We were very fortunate to select our Airbnb here, as we were offered an extra room for free and plenty of advice regarding the surrounding area.  Our host, Barbara, opted to drive us around for the first couple of days, since public transport was essentially non-existent to our desired location.

Celtic Garden

At the very top of my list for visiting Galway was the Brigit’s Garden and Café.  Located deep in the countryside past bogs and woods, this little oasis is a homage to ancient Celtic Culture.  

The café portion of the structure is a nice little eatery with some interesting meals.  And the front of the building hosts a fairy-esque gift shop with locally sourced and holistic goods.  

But the real gem of the area are the gardens.  Communal and meticulously arranged, the centerpieces of the gardens are a slow, artistic walk through the four Celtic Seasonal Festivals, Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasa and Samhain.  As a person walks through the gardens, culture components for each holiday are explained.

One section hosts a zen lake with a curved mound of brilliant green grass, all the shape of a woman’s resting body.  Further on is a section dedicated primarily to Imbolc and Brigid, a circular stone centerpiece with symbols identifying each of the Fire, Creative and Fertility Goddess’ domains. 

The following section is a pathway of jagged, standing stones leading to a crude thone composed of pitch-black bogwood.  Beside this open-sky hallway are a pair of Hawthorn trees with wishes tied to the branches.  Hawthorn trees, as mentioned in a previous post, are sacred fortune trees in Irish culture, thought to be a place where fairies can easily pass into the mortal realm.  People often tie wishes to the branches, including brilliant desires such as “I wish for a million dogs.” 

The final section of the centerpiece garden is an enormous, splintered long-table with more standing stones and odd, grass-tufted mounds.  These mounds are not decorative, but actually the home to a species of burrowing bee.

Exploring the Gardens

The entire garden rotates around a single center building, a traditional stone cottage dedicated to Brigid (both the Celtic Goddess Brigid of the Flame and the Christian Saint Brigid of Kildare).  It was created as a quiet meditation studio, but my family and I primarily used it to get out of the rain.

Best of all, all gardens are absolutely caked in flowers of every imaginable hue.  An army of bees with multiple species tended the floral mounds while birds flitted closer to feeders behind blue petals.  Ireland is a country I generally associate with rain, stones, sea and greenery.  But henceforth, it will be a land of bursting, endless wildflowers in all my future thoughts.  

The centerpiece gardens, while crammed full of ancient imagery and culture, are relatively small.  It only took my brother, sister and I about half an hour to closely inspect everything inside.  However, there are many other portions to the outer gardens which are easy to hike around.

Over the next few hours, we spotted children playgrounds, an accurately crafted thatch-hut made for Irish Culture research purposes, a section of forest decorated with fairy doors, thin hiking trails snaking through forests, gazebos stretching into small ponds, large, squish bogs leading nowhere, a stone hill overtaken by stalks of grass, an untouched fairy mound, a strange campsite, a secret fire pit, and a throne made from the stump of a felled tree. 

The best outer feature, however, is the absolutely enormous sundial.  Using a standing piece of tar-dark bogwood as its focal point to tell time, the dial is perfectly accurate in sunny weather when calculating time, day, and month.

Therefore, it’s a bit ironic when considering how often it’s cloudy and rainy on the Isle. 

When we were finally done exploring Brigit’s Gardens, I spoke briefly with the owner and we wandered back for a short day of rest.  The following day would also be rather low-key, as our energy had yet to rally.

A Storm in Spiddal

The following morning, we begged our host for another ride, this time heading to the beach.  Over the next fifteen minutes, we chugged through rain watching tall Irish windmills churn by.  We drove over Moycullen Bog-Country, which had heaps of dried peat being extracted from the earth for fuel (though this would be severely cut back for environmental reasons within two years).

We finally arrived in the town of Spiddal, which would be our tiny exploration point.  

Unfortunately, the weather was the opposite of hospitable.  Sharp winds flung mist into our faces as we marched down to the beach.  The shoreline was a combination of hard-packed sand, great rolling boulders and heaps of washed-up seaweed of every color and stench.  We spotted some tubes that looked like sausage casings, heaps of bubble-floating green seaweed, piles of yellowing water-plants that had the uncanny appearance of Thai noodles and tiny, pointed shells which made ironic hats.

Spiddal Crafts

We continued to struggle against the wind, our umbrellas virtually useless in the squall.  It was fortunate the rain was so light, or we would have been powerfully drenched within minutes.  We went past a shoddy docking bay, walked through Spiddal itself (rather unremarkable) before finally seeking shelter in the Spiddal Craft Village and Café.  

This small series of bright shops was likely the best feature of Spiddal.  Traditional crafts, original artworks and decent goods were tucked safely into the shops.  My personal favorite was a leather shop which created Celtic-Knot buttons and belts.

However, the rain soon picked up again, and my little trio found seats at the café in the back of the lot, waiting for our host to pick us up once more.  As soon as she did, we wandered back home for another day of rest.

Solo Chores in Galway

At least, my brother and sister did.  I was having a lot of trouble finding bus tickets to Belfast online, so I instead took a ride into Galway to seek out further information unmuddled by conflicting Internet advice.

While I was in Galway, I treated myself to a café, grilled bus drivers for accurate timetables, walked through Eyre Square and generally wandered freely.  I mostly revisited places I had enjoyed last time I was in town, chief among them the curving grass-hike along Lough Atalia. 

I finally made it back to Moycullen later that evening with information written down and tucked into a breast pocket.  The following morning, I would be attending a tour with my brother and sister.  We all called it an early night and snoozed fitfully.

Personal Tours Purgatory

Sigh.

I truly dislike tours.  Or at the very least, tour guides.  For whatever reason, I find many tours grating, many of the situations cheesy and a lot of the best features of the countryside skipped entirely.  There’s a part of me that doesn’t feel like I earned the things I’ve seen when a bus driver is just pointing them out a window.

That being said, this tour was better than most.

But gods below, our driver could talk. 

The poor redheaded man began speaking as soon as we left our bus stop in Galway and continued to ramble idly for almost the entire hour and forty minute drive.  There were only twelve minutes where he wasn’t speaking, making passive observations, singing jingles into the intercom or making dreadfully dry jokes.  

I jammed headphones into my ears and cranked up the volume with minimal success.  Those bus intercoms are strangely clear and good at projecting.

Nevertheless, I managed to enjoy a bit of the countryside until we reached our first destination, the ferry-port just south of Doolin.

The bus doors swung open and an entire Irish windwall, complete with a dousing of chilly rain soaked my entire group liberally.  

The Tipsy Ferry

We hustled along the dock, eventually finding seats on the ferry which would take us to Inisheer, the nearest of the Aran Islands.  

As the ferry casted off, we crested swell after swell, causing the boat to tilt like a roller coaster.  People squealed in delight at each tilt, chattering to one another excitedly whenever the high ones brought our prow down.  The windows were essentially useless, there was so much water constantly hitting them.  The poor gentleman across from us took on a literally green cast, even as the boat drew close to safe harbor.

Once my brother, sister and I reached Inisheer, our tour guide blessedly took his hands off the wheel.  We had a full two hours to explore the island at our discretion.  There were horse buggies and bicycles available for rent, but the three of us decided to trust our legs on the tiny island.

The Aran Islands

The Aran Islands are an amazing feature of land, largely because of the heavy limestone formations that define it.  These stones are pried from the ground and stacked in an endless network of fences and pastures, tracing every corner of the tiny islands.  

The reason for these stones-walls is almost incidental.  Ancient farmers of the Aran Islands needed to pry up the stones to get to topsoil layers, which could then support farming or livestock pastures.  There wasn’t anywhere convenient to move the stones and heavy machinery didn’t exist, so they crafted them into low, somewhat unsteady walls. 

The stone walls served as wind-buffers, which prevented the topsoil from being blown away.  The shaky design also encourages livestock to stay away from the walls, lest they accidentally knock over the stacked stones.  The ancient farmers would then harvest seaweed, which served as a fertilizer, to enrich the soil.  

The final result in the modern era is a chain of gray stone walls extending every direction with verdant green grass nestled between the barriers.  

Shipwrecks and Gales

My brother, sister and I passed these endless walls while we made a beeline for one of the most interesting parts of the island.  The Plassey Shipwreck is a heaping, broken husk of a freighter rusting on a rocky shore on the East side of the island.  

We arrived to a horrific crush of wind nearly pushing us inland as we bent towards the shipwreck.  The rusted features are entirely free of the sea and the entire shipwreck looks fantastically haunted.  The metal ribs of the beast are exposed due to the fatal wound in its side and deep groans come forth when the wind strikes.

We took many selfies.

Returning the Docks

Sadly, two hours isn’t nearly enough time to explore the tiny island of Inisheer.  We were forced to start heading back to the ferry, making a special detour up the central hill.  There the ruins of Caislean Ui Bhriain (Castle O’Brien) sat in all its sturdy, half-toppled glory.  It was a challenge getting there, as many of the roads on our map turned out to be semi-closed farm routes which required a fair bit of ducking.

More photos taken, we wandered back to the shoreline, ending our miniature hike at Trá Inis Oirr (Inisheer Blue Flag Beach).  We strode the grassy knolls, with windswept stalks of yellow-green, dodged past spiral-shell snails and churned up sand at the beach.  

As we walked along the beach, a pair of island border collies ran up to us, promptly sitting on my brother’s foot.  The first wanted to be petted, but the second moved up with a broken tile, his tongue lolling out.

My brother and I took turns pitching the tile onto the beach, our new friend diving after each throw in a spray of enthusiastic sand.  Until the tide rolled back in, the beach would remain a scarred and furrowed homage to the game of fetch.

Unwilling to stand the entire trip back (the ferry was overfull), my siblings and I got onto the wee boat a bit early.  It was nearly packed, but we managed to find a bit of seating.  Again, the swells came in and again the rains lashed out all visibility.  

Swift-Soaked

Our tour guide had harped, doggedly, about ensuring we were on the ferry ten minutes before the launching time.  We could absolutely not, under any circumstances, miss the front ferry going home.  There would be no waiting, no other ferry, no other way back.

And we didn’t miss it.

But… he did.

We returned to the bus to find the rest of our tour group shuddering and semi-sheltered behind the vehicle’s bulk.  The bus was locked, the wind was lashing and the rain was a fine spray.  We traded sullen complaints for twenty minutes with an American couple before our tour guide jogged up, pried the bus open and allowed us inside.  

Though the whole thing began smelling strongly of wet humans, it was blessedly warm.   We soggily sat as our driver got us on the road again, this time heading to the village of Doolin for lunch.

Lunch in Doolin

Unfortunately, our tour overlapped with several others.  There were only two open restaurants in town, seating was scarce and food seemed unlikely.  I pulled out flatbread and peanut butter for a de facto lunch while an Irish traditional band kept the pub lively with constant music.

I ended up braving the wind again to explore the tiny town.  My brother and sister stayed warm and slightly sodden at Gus O’Connor’s Pub, which was already welcoming another influx of standing guests.  

Luckily for me, there was a café open around the corner.  The wonderful little café with no name provided toasties, cookies and warm tea.  Prizes sought and found, I scurried back to my seated brother and sister for our miniature feast.  

The Cliffs of Moher

After “lunch” we clambered back onto the bus.  The next portion of the tour was a bit of a mixed bag.  The Cliffs of Moher, Ireland’s famous, sheer overlook, was a major part of the tour.  One feature of the tour was supposed to involve a cruise beneath the cliffs, but high winds canceled this feature of the tour.  So instead, we were getting extra time atop the cliffs themselves.  Provided the rain and fog was thin enough to reveal any views.

We were lucky.  Despite the horrid weather, the cliffs were visible.  Grass traced out from the path until it reached the tops of the cliffs, after which it rolled slightly like a curling fern before dropping down incredible heights.  Great flocks of birds wheeled below us, nesting proudly in the gravity-defended nests.  The sea churned below with great ferocity, the thin crashes audible even so far above.

My siblings and I viewed the museum for a while, noting down interesting stories before spending the rest of the hour along the cliffs themselves.  Interestingly, during times of great hunger, ancient Irish people would send a man down the cliffs on a rope to steal cliff-dweller eggs.  

Peering over that sheer edge into the unforgiving surf below, I’m convinced it took a fair amount of cajoling.

Traipsing Karsts

At this point, the tour resumed.  We began taking the extremely scenic route back, crossing through the Burren.

The Burren are my hiking fantasy.  It is an entirely unique Karst stone formation with giant slabs of gray rocks split and interconnected in an impossibly intricate platform.  Though we mainly walked around the coastal karst formations, the experience was surreal.  The cracks of the karsts are unique in the world, since they host an entirely unique biome of plants and animal life.  Half my time hopscotching along the stones was spent peering into cracks that seemed to drop into unknown caves, all no wider than my spread palm.

Of all the things my group did on the tour, the karsts were absolutely my favorite.  

We continued our drive along the shoreline, spotting stone cairns, ancient castles and frolicking white calves in pastures.  More stone formations rose to greet us, until a singular sight crested over the sea.

The Leprechaun’s Wink

A pure rainbow emerged along the coast, close enough where we could drive under it.  Astonishingly, this rainbow landed directly at a stone formation tied to an old legend.  Looking at the rocks, there was a craggy face caked in greenery.

According to local legends, there once was a leprechaun with a cache of gold and treasure.  He hid it underground and wiggled inside the cavern, plugging the hole with his large butt before morphing to stone.  It was supposedly his face we saw grinning out. 

Considering the timing, placement of the rainbow and general Irish magic in the air, my younger sister now firmly believes in leprechauns.  

Returning to Moycullen

Finally, finally our day was essentially done.  We got off our tour bus and trudged over to a nearby pub, our clothes never quite soaked or dry.  In the pub, we ate cottage pie and lamb stew with Irish beers until our last public bus arrived to return us to Moycullen.

All of us promptly passed out.  

However, our time in Galway wasn’t complete quite yet.  I did a short walk in the morning and allowed everyone else to sleep in.  But we had one final day in Galway and I intended to make it count.

A Tour of Galway

This time, my brother, sister and I took the bus to Galway proper, where we spent most of our afternoon.  We started at the ornate Galway Cathedral, which to this day remains one of the most beautiful church interiors I’ve ever seen.  

Afterwards, sun instead of rain overlooked our walk, so we began wandering through the Latin Quarter.  The Latin Quarter is Galway’s nightlife district, but it has a dense grouping of shops and interesting stores.  We first spotted a slightly-larger-than-life statue of Oscar Wild and Eduard Vilde chilling on a bench. 

Further into the Latin Quarter, we popped into a music shop and browsed songbooks and traditional instruments.  Further along, we traced narrow walking roads, gazing at the murals on the sides.  We passed the unique Cupán Tae tea shop, which was beautifully decorated with dozens of teacups suspended by nearly-invisible wires.  We found an old-school wooden toy shop for children (and artistic adults) called Wooden Heart with quaint pictures, artworks, wood toys, children books and balloon decorations. 

Closer to the bay area, we walked under the Spanish Arch, watching swans and water ripples in the afternoon light.  We wandered north along River Corrib and its various city canals, taking photos of flowers, fishermen and people lounging on the sparsely-populated foot path.  We passed by the Hall of the Red Earl on Druid Lane to peer at the informative ruins.  

Finally, we wandered outside town.  Heading to South Park, we visited various meadows, said hello in high voices to pugs and yorkies all while taking pictures of ruined, decrepit boats.  

Trad on the Prom

However, we had an appointment to keep.  At my sister’s request, we were off to see the Irish Music Culture Show, Trad on the Prom.  We had to walk a bit swiftly, but we managed to get to Satlhill, find some quick fish and chips before entering Leisureland Theatre.

I admit, I had some apprehensions.  Leisureland, upon walking inside, feels much more like a YMCA with a minor water park and strong chlorine smell than a theater.  However, upon taking a sharp right, I found my concerns allayed.  

Blue and purple light caught smoke patterns in a well-packed theater.  A sizeable crowd had their gaze fixed on stage as the bar just outside began to wind down.  

The subsequent show was so immersive and Irish, there aren’t many better words for it.  The music kept people clapping in tempo the entire time, with a fiddle, guitar, keyboard, flute and an insane range of percussion instruments constantly dancing together in harmony.  There was a strange instrument called Uilleann Pipes, which drew out long and wonderfully haunting notes.  The instrument is entirely Irish, a native form of the Scottish bagpipe.  Irish tap dancers, three young men and three beautiful women came out on stage periodically and slammed out a tempo like firecrackers and gunshots combined.

Overall, it’s the best show I’ve seen in a good while.  And it also marked the end of our time in Galway.  We caught a taxi back to Moycullen, ready to depart the following morning.

A Long Ride North

Our next destination isn’t in the Irish Republic nation, but we’re not quite leaving Irish Culture.  Instead, we’re heading to Belfast in Northern Ireland, once the rough location of the ancient kingdom of Ulster.

It’s a long, indirect bus ride to the north.  We’ll pass through Dublin’s airport before continuing on.

So until then,

Best regards and excellent trails,

Old Sean

Written June 28th 2022

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