Trip to Scotland and Ireland

Part V

Sunday, August 26th

This morning I made arrangements for a two-day trip to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands located just outside Galway Bay.  After breakfast, I packed a few things and drove west on the coast road to a small beach just outside the small village of Carraroe.

This beach was unique since instead of sand on its shore, it had tiny coral fragments.  From 40 feet away, it appeared to be sand but when you got closer, you could see that it was actually little fragments that looked like tiny little bones.  It was as if thousands upon thousands of little GI Joe figures had a massive battle here many, many years ago and now we were seeing the old, small bones of the fallen soldiers. 

The other interesting thing was that there were tiny little seashells mixed in with the coral fragments.  Imagine exotic seashells that you’ve seen in stores or have been lucky enough to find, the kind that fit in your hand or often much larger.  Imagine all of these shells and now imagine precise miniature versions of them that are 1/8 of an inch wide.  It’s like these shells were specifically designed for these fallen GI Joe war heroes.  Specifically!

I walked around this area, did some writing, went for a brief swim and spent the next 30 minutes gathering some of these GI Joe gems for a few of my nieces.  They are small and lovely…so should their seashells be.

On the way back to the car, I sat down to eat a snack at a picnic table.  Moments later, a couple in their 60’s sat down on the opposite side of the table.  Soon we began to talk and they introduced themselves as Frank and Dympna.  Ironically, they told me that they lived in Jamaica Plain in Boston for over a year’s time in the 1960’s. 

Frank also told me an interesting story about how he stopped smoking.  Over 30 years ago, he purchased a record that was designed to help smokers quit smoking.  He listened to the record, went to bed, woke up the next morning, lit up a cigarette, took one puff, threw the cigarette out in disgust and never smoked again.  He also gave the record to several other people but it had no effect. 

I asked him if he still had the record and he told me he did not.  I would have done anything to get my hands on that record.  What the hell did it say that it worked so well on Frank?  Maybe the record simply said, “Frank, stop smoking.”  Frank then became so horrified that the record somehow knew his name that he thought he better stop.  He didn’t want to anger the record.  Maybe it knew other things about him that he wanted to keep private.  That would also explain why the record didn’t work for anyone else.

I parted ways with Frank and Dympna and gave them one my cards.  On my card, it reads, “Chris Coxen…Comic, Actor, Human, Dude”.  Frank looked at it and with a wonderful brogue, said, “Look Dympna, he’s a human AND a dude.”

Back at home, I was soon out the door and eating some Turkish take-out in Eyre Square.  I then grabbed a couple pints, one at Murphy’s and the other at Feeney’s.  On the way home, I popped into a pub to watch four young lads go at it with some jazz.  Jazzed up myself, I walked home and jazzed myself to sleep.

Monday, August 27th

I woke up, packed my things and drove to Doolin to board a ferry to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands.

As the ferry rolled by Inishmaan, the middle of the three islands, I sat outside on the deck, writing.  A few feet away was a couple looking at the island which was only a few hundred yards away.  I looked above their heads and saw a seagull flying.  Were I a true man, I would have screamed to the couple and pointed to the bird, “Look! A bird!  We have to be near land now!  If you see a bird, land is always nearby!  We’re gonna make it!!”

I walked up to the upper deck and observed a very stout, thick-legged woman…in spandex.  I wondered if she worked for the ferry company. I wondered if her role was “The Punter”.  A role that would demand she take those gorgeous thick legs and punt the passengers to shore.

Once on shore myself (without the aid of The Punter), I rented a bicycle and checked into my bed and breakfast.  I eventually got on my bike and rode south.  I found a nice, remote beach that soon felt the wrath of my American chest hair.  This wrath was augmented with a swim.  When I got out of the water, a black and white dog came over to greet me.  I saw a woman sunbathing (more accurately, cloud bathing) and assumed the dog belonged to her. 

After playing catch with the dog a few times, Bub (my name for the dog) became quite attached to me.  When the cloud bather began to walk off the beach, I asked her if the dog belonged to her and she said no.

When I left the beach, Bub followed me and became a solid companion as I hiked out to some sea cliffs.  Before going on foot, I rode my bike over this amazing, natural field that had the contour, grass and sand traps of a manicured golf course.  The grass was short and thick like that of a putting green and there were several sand-filled craters that also had large holes in them.  When I saw rabbits running all over the field, I realized these were rabbit holes or Eddie Rabbit holes as I like to call them.

Bub and I walked far out to the cliffs and enjoyed some great and thrilling scenery.  On the way back, Bub actually led the way.  When I returned to the road, I said my goodbyes to Bub, hopped on my bike and took off.  It was a tad sad.  Bub kept chasing me as I rode away.  I felt like such a high school jerk, “I don’t ride with nerds! Later geek!”  It was just that I didn’t want Bub following me back and getting lost in the process.

After showering back at the house, I walked into the village and looked for a bite to eat.  There were a few places to eat and they were all expensive.  I ended up going to Supermacs (Ireland’s version of McDonalds) and ordered 15 Euros ($23) of food which is downright disgusting but the food quality was decent and I was hungry.

As I ate, a young woman began to mop near my table.  Taking this as a subtle cue that she wished to talk to me (I don’t care that she worked there and needed to mop near my table), I struck some conversation with her.  Here name was Kate and she was a Polish student working in Inishmore for the summer.  As she mopped on, she was more or less hit on by an old, creepy Scottish dude.  For some reason, this guy started speaking to her in Spanish which confused her.  He then literally asked her when she got off work.  She said eleven and walked away. 

At this point, this guy was trying anything to get her back to his table.  He dropped some ketchup on the table and motioned to Kate and pointed at the ketchup, wanting her to clean it up.  Thankfully she did not.  When he was finished with his meal, Old Creepy pushed his tray a few inches away from him, looked in Kate’s direction and said, “I’m finished”.  He then waited for her to come pick the tray up as if Supermacs was a 38-star restaurant.  Kate did not comply and he eventually evaporated from Supermacs.

I then walked next door to a pub, ordered a Guinness, brought it outside to the patio that overlooked the small harbor and smoked my Cuban cigar.  What a perfect, humble combination it was.  When I travel, these are the equations I yearn to complete:

Guinness + Cuban cigar + early evening + pristine view = rock-steady

PART VI