Bishops Quarter

On Friday we had to go to Ennistymon to visit the immigration officer at the Garda station. The students going to London in October took precedence, so I waited at the college with a few others for the taxi bus at 10:30. In the interim, I registered for the day trip to the Aran Islands in a few weeks. 

The taxi carried seven of us down to Ennistymon, and while our driver seemed competent, he seemed determined to liberate our breakfasts from our stomachs with every sharp turn.

The immigration officer was an almost jolly woman, a habitual coffee break taker, and cracker of jokes. While the process took five minutes (quick look at passport, acceptance letters, fingerprints), we somehow spent four hours waiting. Passed the time with a game of Snake and a lot of foot tapping.

After immigration, Grace and I ran to the bank to pay our fees. We stopped at Oh La La Creperie for lunch. I got a galette (savory crepe) with goat cheese, honey and lettuce. It was the best thing I have eaten since being in Ireland.

The menu at Oh La La Creperie.

We stopped at the Ennistymon SuperValu for groceries, but I only needed milk. I tried the ATM in the shop and both in town, and none of them worked. Nonfunctional PIN codes sometimes make one feel trapped. Or liberated. 

On Saturday the lot of us walked to the farmer's market. Greeted by the farmers, artisans and jam makers, I began to feel more a part of the community. We were there around 11:30, so the cream of the crop had been picked over already, but we all came away happily laden with dirt cheap foodstuffs. I picked up a bunch of carrots, half a dozen apples, a jar of rhubarb and ginger jam, half a dozen bagels and a pasty for my lunch.

Cheese and onion pasty (a bit worse for wear) and Barry's for lunch.

After lunch I checked the maps to plan my route, and after some fiddling with Google maps, decided to take the main road through Ballyvaughan and just hope for the best. Helmeted and waterbottled, I biked through the town and up towards Bishops Quarter. Even the little hills were a huge effort, but it felt wonderful to conquer them. At last I saw the signage for Bishops Quarter, my spontaneous destination.

Nearly there.

I locked my bike the a post in the car park and set out across the strand. I chose a peninsula rather than the sandy beach, which was my first mistake. On the way out I stomped through seaweed and an inch of water to reach the far part of the peninsula, where tufts of grass and tidepools awaited. I stood at the shore, looking out across Galway bay, breathing in the salt.

A fossil.

Beautiful but occupied.

The strand.

The hinge was still 100% functional.

A tidepool bordered with purple flowers.

I did not linger, because I had a sneaking suspicion that I had chosen the worst possible time to walk out that far. I was right. That one inch of water had become three feet of blowing, seaweed-choked mire. I traversed at top speed, filling my wellies on the way. The sloshing accompanied me even after I upended the boots at higher ground, and my feet would not be dry until I got back to the house.

Looking toward the sandier part of the beach.

The ride back was still uncomfortable (try not doing it for a decade and then park your rear end on a bicycle seat for two hours), but the hills were easier as I got used to the gears and shifted appropriately. I paused at Bishops Quarter, a cemetery on the hill overlooking the beach. The place is a bit overgrown, quiet and lonely. A beautiful spot to reflect.

On the ride back through Ballyvaughan I spotted two other students and had a quick hello. Met a few other cyclists on the way, but on the whole it was lovely to get away from everyone and just breathe. The trip was meant to fuel an art project, but it became much more. Now with a cup of tea and blissfully exhausted legs, the coming weeks seem an easy task; better than spending the afternoon web surfing to mine for inspiration!