Head north from Galway – struck by the development that has occurred on the immediate outskirts of Galway since we were last here in 1999 – it is hard to see all of this as progress – modern houses now speckle the landscape leaving the original tiny stone fenced paddocks strangled by untidy weeds – I head north slightly depressed and questioning the management of the Celtic Tiger.
We arrive at Rossoveel to meet the ferry to the Aran Islands - a greater extent of depression envelopes me - Too many tourists – this is Galway Race Week – abort plans – prefer a slow wander through the remaining back lanes of West Ireland – thank God some remain – the area leading up to Connemara needs urgent planning controls – slowly I feel some delight with the area returning as we encounter black faced sheep in full white coats and amusing black and white spotted legs – peat piles drying in the summer sunshine and their remnants in the form of long regular trenches abound in the dales of the vast undulating rock encrusted, treeless range – we stop and contemplate the role of the produce of these peat bogs in warming the winter hearths of Irish bog farmers over the centuries – we wander further along even more remote lanes past small lakes and streams only to be disappointed to find clusters of modern homes at their terminus.
We emerge from the range and lunch on local soup in an increasingly modern Irish pub and hightail it back to our B&B for a sleep – a nice day but one tinged with sadness – why am I not experiencing the sheer delight of my first visit to Galway and the Connemara? – have I changed or indeed has it changed – I suspect the latter – perhaps winter is really the time to be here
Dinner in town – the races on – the crowds large – the pubs crowded – the buskers abundant – some photos of the sun going down over Galway Bay
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