Ireland – A pub on the Aran Islands

 One spring, long ago, I stayed in Ireland for a month with a group of friends. We travelled extensively around the country and spent about a week in Dublin. With plenty of time at our disposal, some of us decided to visit Inishmore, one of the Aran Islands off Ireland’s west coast.

 

The Aran Islands, comprising Inishmore, Inisheer, and Inishmaan, are renowned for their rugged beauty and as the birthplace of the iconic Aran jumpers, famous for their intricate cable patterns. These islands hold a certain charm for knitters and history enthusiasts alike.

 

Our journey began with a long coach ride from Dublin to Galway, the gateway to the Aran Islands and the departure point for the ferries. Galway itself is a delightful city, known as the birthplace of the Claddagh ring, a popular Irish souvenir. The ring’s distinctive design—a heart crowned and held by two hands—symbolises love, loyalty, and friendship. It is often used as an engagement ring. I recall seeing this striking pattern carved into one of Galway's stone monuments during our brief visit.

 

From Galway, two ferries—the red and the blue—serve the Aran Islands. We boarded the red ferry to Inishmore, the largest of the three islands. The sea was particularly rough that day, making it too dangerous to remain on deck. We were confined to the cabin for the entire journey, watching waves crash against the boat’s windows.

 

Upon arriving at Inishmore, we found a small cluster of buildings near the harbour. We searched for a tourist office, hoping to find a B&B for the night, but none was in sight. Instead, a pub sign caught my attention—a quaint establishment right at the harbour’s edge. Assuming it would be the best place to gather local information, we headed straight in.

 

The pub exuded an old-world charm, with its dark wooden interiors polished to a sheen by years of use. The counter, well-worn and smooth, seemed to hold stories of countless patrons over the decades.

 

We approached the counter to order drinks, but the locals’ strong accents, possibly Gaelic-tinged, made communication challenging. After much effort, we managed to order pints of beer and found seats, relieved to rest after our long journey.

 

A man seated next to us struck up a conversation.

“Where do you come from?” he asked.

“Japan,” we replied.

His face lit up. “Ah, Japan... We get many visitors from Japan here.”

 

He continued talking, his words flowing in an accent thickened by years and, perhaps, by the beer in his glass. Despite my best efforts to follow the conversation, I could only catch fragments, his mention of “Japan” standing out amidst the melodic blur of his speech.

 

The beer we were served came highly recommended by the pub. It was dark brown, rich, slightly bitter, and wonderfully smooth—a taste unlike anything I had experienced before. The first sip melted away the tension from our day of travel, and I made a valiant effort to keep up with our companion’s conversation. Looking back now, I deeply regret not remembering the name of that beer.

The man asked where we are staying. We answered that we are looking for a B&B. Suddenly, he started to talk to others nearby, and those people also started to talk  something.

When the man learned we were searching for accommodation, he immediately sprang into action, speaking with others in the pub. A moment later, he turned to us with a smile.

“You’re in luck. There’s a B&B near the harbour. Don’t worry—I’ll call them and let them know some Japanese guests are coming.”

 

Thanks to his help, we soon arrived at the B&B, where the landlord welcomed us warmly, despite his similarly thick accent. To our surprise, he offered to show us a documentary film, Man of Aran, which he said was a tradition for all his guests.

 

After the long journey and the linguistic challenges of the day, I found myself growing drowsy. I retired to my room early and slept soundly, the sound of waves lapping in the distance.

 

The next day, we explored Inishmore on foot. The island, made mostly of rock with little soil, featured numerous Celtic crosses in its graveyards and the archaeological site of Dún Aonghasa. To cultivate grass for grazing sheep, the locals reportedly spread rotting seaweed over the rocks to create a thin layer of soil—a testament to their resourcefulness. We saw heaps of seaweed near flocks of grazing sheep as we walked.

 

 

The next day, we explored Inishmore on foot. The island, made mostly of rock with little soil, featured numerous Celtic crosses in its graveyards and the archaeological site of Dún Aonghasa. To cultivate grass for grazing sheep, the locals reportedly spread rotting seaweed over the rocks to create a thin layer of soil—a testament to their resourcefulness. We saw heaps of seaweed near flocks of grazing sheep as we walked.

 

Though Inishmore isn’t a large island, we took our time, sketching at Dún Aonghasa and photographing intricately carved Celtic crosses. With the ferry timetable back to Galway in mind, we soaked in the island’s rustic beauty, savouring every moment.

 

Looking back, the vivid memories of Inishmore’s rugged landscapes and that unforgettable beer remain with me.

 

It has been many years since our visit, and I often wonder about the kind man at the pub, the hospitable B&B owner, and the other islanders. I sincerely hope they are faring well, especially in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic.

(Translation from the book in Japanese below )