In Ireland, the journey is almost always as impressive as the destination itself. Such was the case traveling from Connemara to Achill Island, first along the “Sky Drive”, which they call “exhilarating” and we would describe as “not for the faint of heart”. The narrow (even for Ireland’s standards) road on the side of the mountain rises like a roller coaster, and offers spectacular views of the ocean comparable to those of the Cliffs of Moher. The second was the route through the valley within the Twelve Bens, a mountain range with panoramic views of the quartzite summits and the sparkling fiords.
The most famous mountain in the area is Croagh Patrick, named for Ireland’s most famous historical figure. It seems we encounter St. Patrick everywhere in Ireland – at the Hill of Tara where he preached to the pagan clans using the shamrock, in the National Cathedral named for him in Dublin, at the Rock of Cashel where he baptized the King of Ireland. Our final and most famous encounter was in County Mayo in the form of Ireland’s holiest mountain. It was here in 441AD that St. Patrick fasted for 40 days, according to legend, and drove the snakes from Ireland, though we now know, there were never any serpents there. A statute was placed at Croagh Patrick in 1928 for the more than one million pilgrims who annually climb there to pay homage to Ireland’s patron saint, with 25,000 reaching the summit on Reek Sunday for a special Mass.
Our destination, however, was Achill Island, one of Ireland’s remote islands, though unlike the Aran Islands, Achill is accessible by bridge. Here we visited the Deserted Village of Slievemore, a row of nearly one hundred abandoned, stone homes on a hillside along a mile of lonely road. These small cottages were once summer homes for migrant workers, part of the farming system of “booleying” which dates from Medieval times to the mid-19th century. Without their thatched roofs, only their crumbling walls remain, a chilling testament to the past. It’s a still and haunting place, this ghost of a village with its skeletal vestiges on a hill behind a cemetery. The desolation is felt here, the hopelessness and despair, in the knowledge of a whole community forced to leave their ancestral homes and scatter to the winds during the Potato Famine. Walking with the sheep, which are plentiful here, I wondered if any of the descendants of the original inhabitants had ever returned. We took time to sit and absorb the beauty of the surroundings — the stone-wall threaded mountains, the rock strewn hills, the sharp cliffs along the strand visible in the distance – and thought of those who made the ultimate decision to leave the only life and land they’d ever known and chart a course into the unknown.
We spent the evening and night in Westport, a quaint town in County Mayo considered one of the most picturesque. A tree lined promenade along the Carrowbeg River, crossed with stone bridges cascading flowers, is at the heart of the village. Originally called Cathair na Mart which translates to “Stone Fort of the Beeves”, it is a favorite among hikers and cyclers due to its location in the Great Western Greenway and near Croagh Patrick, and locals – it was recently voted “the best place to live” in the entire country.
Prior to our departure from Ireland we returned to Dublin to spend the day. This cosmopolitan metropolis, economically and culturally thriving, is steeped in a history that started with the Vikings in the 900’s. Having already experienced the Kilmainham Gaol, the Book of Kells, and the Literary Pub Crawl, there was one place left we wanted to visit: the General Post Office, which is in use yet houses a museum detailing the 1916 uprising. The GPO served as the rebels’ headquarters after seizing government buildings as part of their insurrection against English control. It was on these steps that the proclamation declaring Ireland an independent republic was read, and it is in these columns that bullet holes are still visible, and it was here that the 1000 patriots surrendered to the 20,000 British soldiers who crushed them militarily. But it was also here that the embers of liberty were ignited, and that the British finally realized they would never extinguish those flames.
On our last day in Ireland, we mostly meandered through Dublin: strolled along O’Connell Street, the main thoroughfare named for one of the heroes Ireland will never let the Irish forget; crossed the Ha-Penny Bridge that no longer exacts a toll; stopped for a drink in the colorful Temple Bar neighborhood; shopped on Grafton Street, Ireland’s version of 5th Avenue, where we purchased an Aran Island sweater and an Irish racing cap for our daughter, a warm keepsake of her ancestral land, relaxed in St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin’s Central Park, an oasis in the city, and dined in the Bank on College Green, ornate as Grand Central Station. One last Guinness, and a final toast.
Shortly after we arrived home, we realized – we want to return. We’ve discovered that this is a typical response of those who visit Ireland. There’s still so much more to see, places we wish to revisit, spots where we want to spend more time. It’s not only the beauty that’s around every corner. It’s the people. We felt welcomed wherever we were. The Irish are very warm and friendly, proud of their heritage, and humble, with a wonderful sense of humor, and always a story to tell.
Juan Arriola