The Amazing Aran Islands

There is something magical about islands. There’s something even more magical about an island’s island.

Just off the coast of western Ireland rests a small archipelago called the Aran Islands. I first visited 14 years ago and have been back a couple of times since.

There is very little on these islands, mostly just farmers, grassy fields, and these amazing rock walls that slice the islands into smaller and smaller squared off sections.

This is where true Ireland has come to live out its days. You won’t find sushi restaurants, expensive mixed drinks, and all the other affluent trappings which have sprung up in the emerald tiger of Dublin. No, this is where the Irish soul still resides, where fishermen and playwrights tend to peat burning fire places and the lyrical sing-song of the Gaelic language can still be heard.

I began feeling nostalgia for this wonderful place yesterday morning when I ran across yet another account of how its magic mesmerizes those who venture this far off the beaten path.

Leonard Doyle, writing for the Independent, does a nice job capturing the flavor of the place. He does mention, however, that the 21st century is creeping in via large windmills off the coast which are providing enough energy to make the islands practically carbon neutral. That means no more squinting fishermen hunched over a poorly-lit bar. That much I can live with. It’s the streetlights and neon signs, however, which I hope continue to stay far away.