For my penultimate weekend, I am staying closer to home and exploring Connemara, Galway, and the Aran Islands. To kick off festivities, I went on a driving tour of the Connemara region of Ireland. I was stunned at how gorgeous the landscapes are here. Beauty level: Computer operating system developers must send their photographers here for the background images.
Unfortunately, by the time I got on the road (more about why I got a later start later), the sun was getting pretty harsh and the lighting was soon inconducive towards photography. (I'm not skilled enough to do much with a hazy sky and over-bright scenery.) But I got a couple of shots worth posting!
My first stop was Cong (pronounced "cong-uh"... like the line... which I should've started. dang.) Abbey, which was built in the seventh century. In the beginning of the 13th century, the last high (Christian) king of Ireland lived out his last days here in hiding following the Norman Invasion. Not much exists except for some arches (actually, the remaining arches are an interesting snapshot in the changing architectural trends, as they blend the rounded Romanesque (blasé) to the pointed Gothic (trendy) styles.
The Abbey is adjacent to a forested with trails, and walking on the paths really reminded me of hiking Oregon: the heavy moss cover on tree trunks and rocks; the cool, damp air rolling out from the dark pockets between streams and low bushes; the wet, earthy fragrance of decomposing plant material; the squidge squidge of the ground with each step. The outdoors offer a feast for the senses!
The monks built a fish house that covered part of the stream and stretched a net across the flow of water. By attaching a bell to the net, they could have an automated fishing system ("set it and forget it!") that would alert them when a salmon was ready to greet them. Clever monks.
Another site I visited was a monument to the coffin ships. As I mentioned before, these were vessels that carried the poor survivors of the Great Famine to the US. Safety standards weren't observed, and the passengers often died en route or after arrival, with mortality rates up to 40%. This monument is meant to honor the deceased, with skeletons swirling around the masts.
Across from this statue was a 2,500 ft peak, the top from which St. Patrick is said to have cast out the snakes from Ireland. (More likely the snakes represent the Pagan beliefs that he worked to convert the inhabitants from.) I wish I'd planned my visit a bit better, as just two days later, there is a mass pilgrimage to the peak. This "hike with the pilgrims" would've been a bit tamer version of the Running of the Bulls.
I didn't have time to hike to the top, but even hiking a bit of it was a rewarding way to connect with the ancient past; just last week I stood atop the hill on the east of Ireland from which St. Patrick declared the beginning of his missionary work, and now I was standing on the mountain on the west side of the island, from which he drove out the "snakes." Interesting to note--though not surprising--that the symbolic and literal exit of Ireland was the west side (monks for isolation, immigrants in the 19th and 20th centuries, and St. Patrick for expunging beliefs).
Unfortunately, by the time I got on the road (more about why I got a later start later), the sun was getting pretty harsh and the lighting was soon inconducive towards photography. (I'm not skilled enough to do much with a hazy sky and over-bright scenery.) But I got a couple of shots worth posting!
The Abbey is adjacent to a forested with trails, and walking on the paths really reminded me of hiking Oregon: the heavy moss cover on tree trunks and rocks; the cool, damp air rolling out from the dark pockets between streams and low bushes; the wet, earthy fragrance of decomposing plant material; the squidge squidge of the ground with each step. The outdoors offer a feast for the senses!
The monks built a fish house that covered part of the stream and stretched a net across the flow of water. By attaching a bell to the net, they could have an automated fishing system ("set it and forget it!") that would alert them when a salmon was ready to greet them. Clever monks.
Another site I visited was a monument to the coffin ships. As I mentioned before, these were vessels that carried the poor survivors of the Great Famine to the US. Safety standards weren't observed, and the passengers often died en route or after arrival, with mortality rates up to 40%. This monument is meant to honor the deceased, with skeletons swirling around the masts.
I didn't have time to hike to the top, but even hiking a bit of it was a rewarding way to connect with the ancient past; just last week I stood atop the hill on the east of Ireland from which St. Patrick declared the beginning of his missionary work, and now I was standing on the mountain on the west side of the island, from which he drove out the "snakes." Interesting to note--though not surprising--that the symbolic and literal exit of Ireland was the west side (monks for isolation, immigrants in the 19th and 20th centuries, and St. Patrick for expunging beliefs).
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