The Aran Islands with the lads

[note: this blog post is best read with the following playlist: i) The Weeknd - Can't feel my face, ii) Calvin Harris & Disciples - How deep is your love and iii) Johnny Cash - Burning ring of fire]

Wow! It was one of those weekends. One of those long weekends where summer is the buzz word and everything seems to come together at the right time. Where plans work out according to plan and brilliant impulses cover gaps in the schedule better than any pre-orchestrated plot could have. It was near midnight last Thursday when the boys arrived in Dublin city centre, and after 685 kilometres on the road, two 8-minute flights, loads of cycling, 105 pints, and one mango smoothie the weekend has just come to an end. It was magical. Let’s reminisce. Let’s re-live. Let’s share the story.

It was an early wake-up Friday morning at 7 o’clock. First of all I am not used to waking up that early on neither week days nor weekends, and secondly I had only had five hours of sleep. As the lads arrived only close to midnight at the hostel the night prior, we were lucky enough to find a bar that still served customers and celebrated the start of what was going to be a marvellous trip with our first round of Guinness. While I had expected some delay on the lads’ behalf the next morning, I nevertheless found myself at the crossroads we were supposed to meet at at eight, waited for 15 minutes, gave out to the culprits when they finally showed up, and set off towards county Clare. First stop: Obama Plaza near Moneygall for some Irish breakfast (sausages, scrambled eggs, pudding) and some confused glances at a huge photograph of the president of the USA holding a picture of his Irish ancestor (who ever convinced him of that?). After another 1.5 hours on the road we were all very keen to get out of the car, some for reasons of the prospect of surfing, others for the lack of room to move / breathe / blink. An Audi A4 is a big enough car, but trust me, with 5 lads our size things get very tight in there.

Conditions in Lahinch were perfect. Rolling waves, sunrays making their way through the clouds, green rolling hills on either side of the bay and loads of surfing. After having ridden a wave all to the end, one was tempted not to waste any time lingering but rather fight its way back to where another great wave could be caught. But every now and again I held off before plunging into the water again. Look around Tony. Breathe in the fresh sea air, taste the salt on your lips, take in all this beauty around you and realise it’s the Atlantic Ocean you are gazing at. Be conscious of your amazing surroundings and enjoy it that little bit extra. Get that additional sense of happiness and gratefulness that comes with realising what you have and how much you should cherish that. And then that next wave is even better. After two tremendous hours and with the tide rising we reluctantly left the water, wondered how to get clean & dry without showers or towels, and squeezed into the car again. The natural wonders of driving along the coast and through the Burren were a treat to the eye, and Paal and I enthusiastically pointed out rewarding views and cool rock formations. The lads in the back, to varying degrees, decided to give their eyes a rest instead, and saved energy for what was going to be a great evening out in Galway City.

Freshly showered and dressed to the nines we first enjoyed a hearty meal (burgers, steak, fish ‘n chips), and then set off to the Quays for some great live music (first downstairs, then upstairs in the club). We switched from Guinness to Hophouse, Boonman proved his French magnet also works in the West of Ireland, and we finished the night only when the club closed and we were ushered out of the premises into the street. With more beers in our bellies and less sleep than the night before, the alarm clock the next morning rang agonisingly early at half seven. In hindsight, as we ended up being 1.5 hours early for our flight at Connemara Airport, we could have extended our night’s rest with what surely would have been a much valued extra hour. But hey, then we wouldn’t have taken a walk around the airport, taken selfies with donkeys, and attempted to build a dam in a river. Loads of fun, and I got away with mixing up the flight itinerary.

With the bulk of our body weight at the wings and a smirking Italian lad next to the pilot, we set off towards Inishmor, where we landed about eight minutes after take-off. Awesome! And much better than being stuck on a ferry for an hour and a half with i) a hangover and ii) a crowd that includes a multitude of American tourists and a hen party or two. The next 24 hours were pure bliss. The weather picked up, from overcast and a few rays of sun to blue skies with only scattered clouds, and we started our stay on the biggest of the Aran Islands with a big lunch (fish ‘n chips, chowders, pizza). As our Dutch origins blended perfectly well with the modus operandi of transport on the island (bikes), we cycled crisscross through fields, past drystone walls, and up hills. 

Highlights were the well preserved remnants of ancient fortresses and the stunning views that came with them. In the evening we watched part of a rugby game, opted for a meal with a price tag that wouldn’t degrade us to poor and penniless before the holidays were over (fast food, burger, chips with cheese), and watched some live music in a local pub. When the four square meters in front of our chairs got congested with a crowd of rather voluminous females, awkwardly balancing on high heels while guzzling away a multitude of alcoholic beverages, I decided to call it a day and catch 8 hours of sleep for a change. The others tried in vain to catch a glimpse of the band through the forest of tightly wrapped flesh but followed me up rather swiftly when the unfeasibility of that endeavour became apparent. Exhausted, well fed and with our thirst quenched, and blissfully happy, I fell asleep in my way too small bed on a rather poor mattress. And we’re only halfway. Boom boom boom.

Sunday was more of Saturday but with even better weather (and less cycling). With a packed lunch we set off towards the most spectacular cliffs and spend three hours walking around, sitting in the sun, admiring the view, eating our lunch (ham, sandwich, cheese), taking pictures, gazing around some more, while creating a mental picture of how astonishingly beautiful Inishmor is. It is a picture that will last a lifetime. After a round of Guiness we were collected by the bus driver, driven to the airport, tjop tjop 8 minute flight, into the car, and off to Birr, county Offaly. Oh no wait. Why don’t we watch the hurling semi-final in a local pub? Galway play Tipperary. If there’s one way to impress those oblivious of Gaelic sports it’s a game of Hurling. Fast, technical yet physical, and completely new to most of the lads, the second half we got to see was an experience well worth postponing our arrival in Birr for. With the locals cheering for every point Galway scored, and the winning goal scored in the very last minute received by joyous celebrations in the snug little pub we found ourselves in, this is a hurling game that I will not easily forget.

Birr on a Sunday evening isn’t bustling. But hey, that’s alright. With a class dinner in the local Indian restaurant (garlic naan, butter chicken, tiger beer) and a round of Guinness we got all we needed to sink into the big soft beds at the Maltings House for a great night’s sleep.

This morning (it’s still Monday now that I write this, after just having dropped off the lads at the airport) we woke up at half seven in order to be present for breakfast at eight. Why so early? Well, because we had a great game of golf scheduled at Castle Barna Golf club. The hostess of the B&B proved why the unit gets a 9.1 rating on Booking as she very kindly served us a super filling and tasty Irish breakfast (eggs, bacon, pudding), which went down very well with the fresh fruit & yoghurt (strawberries, moor berries, apple). With the weather still keeping up we walked a very pretty golf course, had lunch in the sun (burger, bun, chips) and drove back to Dublin. And then, while we had constantly cherished how long the weekend was taking and how much time we still had ahead of us and how it felt like we had been away for two weeks already, suddenly it was over. Bags out of the trunk, hugs at the airport, and that was it. What a trip. It was one of those weekends.

Koen: ‘Hoe heet dat ook alweer waar alles klein is?’

Teun: ‘Madurodam. Voor jou is alles klein’