11 April 1979 - Inishmore

"Thursday

Here I am and I still can hardly believe it - kind of a grey day, but warm nonetheless - none of the fierce winds I'd expected off of the Atlantic.  Two Englishwomen let us use their bicycles for the day, and so we headed off toward the village of Kilronan and then on beyond it - bicycling proved to be alot of hard work - I guess I'd rather kidded myself, saying I was in marvelous physical condition by walking the level streets of Dublin daily.  Got red, hot, tired and out-of-breath, but had a basically great time. * We cruised through Kilronan and went on to the airfield and stayed for a while at a very nice beach there shell hunting...Found some lovely shells.
On the way back stopped to look at the ruins of a round tower - have come to the conclusion that in Cashel, Joanne and I climbed the only climbable round tower in Ireland!  First of all the thing that strikes me most of all is the desolate nature of the island - because there are no trees - and having been surrounded by trees for most of my life, a treeless landscape is both frightening and awesome.  The colors - the grey of the sky, the sea, the stone fences contrast with the green paddocks and white-washed houses.  Rabbits run wild - over-populating the island - far more rabbits than people.  Brown ones with white tails.

We had tea at an old woman's thatched cottage in Kilronan - served us delicious soup, three kinds of bread, tea and milk - all for 60p.  Talking to some of the older islanders is difficult.  Though most speak English they do so with a sing-song lyrical cadence that is quite beautiful, but hard to follow clearly.  Cars, television, "Grease", discos, and electricity have invaded the island, but there still remains the never-ending pattern of stone walls, the occasional thatched cottage, the potato beds, and the older women all dressed in black or in a coarsely woven dress.  
I chanced to talk to Veronica and Thomas (a Frenchwoman and an Englishman) and we went to the pub with the,  Before that, biking home, Joanne and I followed the lower coast home - gazing constantly at the veiled hills of Connemara.  The pub proved to be an interesting experience - Gaelic the first language, and Joanne soon noticed that we were the only women there.  Men played darts in the corner and sat and talked and smoked.  Womenless - perhaps they stay home and knit Aran sweaters!  It was still strangely light at 10:30pm when we came home, which was nice since there are no street lights - the moon haunted out of dark clouds, before going into hiding again."  

*It was humiliating at the age of 20 to watch 70-85 year-old women riding their "no-speed" big black bicycles with no exertion while I huffed and puffed and wished for a ten-speed!