We’ve gotten lax with planning. When we started this journey, we planned every detail from our accommodations and transportation to daily excursions. Now, it’s unusual for us to know exactly what we are doing until the day before or even the morning of. Sometimes I can’t remember where we are going next, and struggle to quickly identify where we just came from. The reasons for this change aren’t clear to me, but I guess it is a combination of things.
I’d like to believe only that we are seasoned travelers, which has made us more relaxed. Although this is certainly true, I must admit that we are also less enthusiastic than we were 345 days ago. (I hate it, but it’s true.) I might even admit that we are a bit tired of it all. We also devote much more time now to figuring out the logistics of landing gracefully into our life back in the U.S. It’s been surprisingly uncomfortable to think about and plan for returning to “real life”; it has also gotten surprisingly hard to continue with our “nomadic life”.
Everything usually works out fine, and we still have a blast doing whatever it is that we plan. On our trip to the Aran Islands in County Clare, Ireland; however, we did not. We, no doubt, made some memories; but, I would not describe it as a blast. (It wasn’t the Island’s fault!) I’m sharing with you and my future self in the spirit of authenticity, and so anyone else who wishes to enjoy these spectacular islands can learn from our mistakes.
Glamping in County Galway
I (at some point when I get my act together) will write a blog about all that we have learned from staying in Airbnbs. We’ve had some horrible experiences, some amazing, and many in between. We have learned how to spot a scam, choose a place that isn’t 1000 times worse than the pictures, write a review that is honest but won’t be removed, and just live with it. (As I am typing this, we are in the middle of nowhere in SW Ireland in a 200-year-old farmhouse that we had to take a time machine to find. See the picture below. There is no internet or cell signal, no central heat, and no shower. I am just barely “living with it”.)
One key to a good Airbnb is that you must actually book one well in advance—it’s obvious, I know. Always considering cancellation policies, the earlier you can book the better. See paragraph one about our recent inadequate planning and then picture us booking a tent, in Ireland, in April, for our stay near Galway. Yes, a tent. Henri reassured me that it was glamping, and we were visiting during a holiday weekend when everything else was booked, so that was that.
To say that I was dreading our three nights near Galway is an understatement. After the high of spending several days in Dublin with friends in a comfortable hotel, I honestly felt complete contempt for the tent. I was picturing us all hovering around a campfire, freezing, grumpy, and dirty followed by us chasing wild animals out of our sleeping area. But when we arrived, we were shocked (not really) to find that no one else was staying there! This is not usually a good sign, especially on a holiday weekend.
But regarding the “tent”, we were pleasantly surprised. There should be another word for a tent like this one. We are listening to all the Harry Potter audio books and the tent reminded me of the one used for the Quidditch World Cup (Have you ever heard of a 3-bedroom tent with a front porch and a modern bathroom that wasn’t made by magic?!). The kids were in heaven and my dread quickly melted away.
After spending time by the fire and as the sun set, we retired to the “tent” for the night. I crawled into bed to find that there was an electric blanket under the incredibly cozy bed linens. The cocoon of warmth enveloped me, and I was instantly asleep. Once again, I was humbled by how misplaced my dread could be.
Everyone was enjoying their incredible night’s sleep, until a storm rolled in. It can be windy on the coast of Ireland even on a sunny day; the wind that accompanied the rainstorm during the early morning hours seemed strong enough to rip the “tent”. Sleep was impossible while the rain beat against the canvas roof and blew the flaps of the “tent” like a sail—not to mention the two 9-year-olds now taking up all the space in the bed. Thankfully, it didn’t last all night. Once it stopped, I moved to the spare bedroom (magic, I’m telling you), turned up my heated blanket, and then proceeded to sleep in later than I have this entire year. I was also shocked that I was the first person awake!
In theory, sleeping in—or a “lie in” as they call it here—always sounds good to me. But as a morning person it just makes me feel bad. The whole day seems to be wasted if it doesn’t start early (it would probably help if I could stay up past 10PM). On this particular day, I felt extra bad because it affected our last-minute plans to visit the Aran Islands. But we weren’t going to let some unplanned, unexpected, and completely needed rest and relaxation get in the way of our plans! We believe strongly in family funishment and were committed to carrying on, whatever the consequences may be.
The Boat
The flaw in our recovery was that you really need a whole day on the islands to enjoy them, especially with kids. We were faced now with the prospect of missing the islands all together or going for just a few hours. We (mostly Henri and his serious case of FOMO) chose the latter. There was an early afternoon boat from a nearby village with availability and a return at 5PM. That would give us about three hours to explore the island. Also, we could rent bikes from a place right by the port, which would allow us to see more of the island. Just to add a sprinkle of happiness to the day, I made the kids do some schoolwork until we left even though they were expecting a day off.
We arrived cheerfully (not really) at the dock in plenty of time to board the boat. We were visiting the largest of the Aran Islands and the city of Inishmore. I was shocked to see many other people also waiting for the afternoon boat; but they all seemed to have luggage with them—curious. It was a beautiful sunny day, so we chose seats on the upper deck. We were feeling good about our decision to wear only our rain jackets without our warm layer underneath—until the boat left the dock. Instantly, we were blasted with freezing cold wind and light rain—we really should've known better after many weeks in Scotland and Ireland. Sheer stubbornness kept us on the top deck. Also, I was terrified and intrigued by the cyclist standing on the upper deck in his bike shoes and sliding around like he was trying to surf. I thought about asking him if he wanted to just go ahead and also hold the bright orange inner tube labeled with “coast guard”.
Despite the weather and questionable decision-making, everyone made it to Inishmore ready for adventure. Everyone else exited the boat while enjoying the spectacular view of the quaint town. Not us; we rushed off as if participating in the running of the bulls to get our bikes and start our FOMO itinerary.
The Bikes
We raced into the bike shop and grabbed what seemed to fit best. We shushed the kids when they complained that "I can't reach the pedals" or that “my knees are hitting my chin”. After some quick and inadequate seat adjustments, we plopped helmets on their heads and sped off.
You see, there was a specific destination that we didn’t want to miss—the Dun Aonghasa. The semi-circular prehistoric fort is perched on the cliffs of the island, but several miles from the port. We had to make it there and back in time for the last boat at 5PM. There are hotels on the island (which everyone else seemed to have the forethought to book), but no availability on this busy holiday. If we weren’t on that boat, we would really be in a pickle. Plus, we couldn’t stand to miss a good night’s rest in the "tent"!
In our haste, we started out on the completely the wrong path. (Isn’t this always the case? When you rush, you make mistakes). We didn’t immediately realize it. It took pushing our bikes up many grassy hills between the signature low stone walls of the islands (while Henri insisted that we were definitely on the right track) before we saw the nicely paved road in the distance, filled with cyclists. We had already wasted so much time and everyone was very grumpy. At least it wasn’t raining!
When we found our way to the pavement, we breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed a bit. I was picturing a flat, smooth, easy path all the way to the fort. To my dismay, there were several hills. I should’ve anticipated this given that we were venturing to a fort on top of a cliff?!? Also, we hike often, but I underestimated how little that fitness translated to the kids riding bikes up hills. They haven’t cycled in forever and their ill-fitting equipment was making things worse. Add in bike gears, which they have rarely used, and hand brakes, and we were a total mess. By mess, I mean that they were in tears and insisting that they just couldn’t do it. Admittedly, we have pushed our kids both physically and emotionally a lot this year, especially when they need to dig deep and finish a hard hike. This was no different. After some better instruction on the bike, we insisted that they keep trying. And we weren’t surprised when they rose to the occasion again. I did, however, silently, take note of all the other families passing in minibuses and horse-drawn carriages instead of on bikes.
We made it to the fort, just as it started to rain. We were way behind our schedule. To access the fort, we needed to hike up the last bit of the cliff and the kids were exhausted. Elsie’s hand was bleeding from overzealous attempts at changing her gears and she just kept repeatedly asking for a bandaid that we didn’t have. There is a charge to enter the fort. The woman collecting money was so sure that we wouldn’t make it to the top in time and back to the boat at 5PM, that she didn’t even charge us. Challenge accepted. She told us it would take 15-20 minutes to get up there. We were determined to do it in 8.
The Fort
And we did! We made it to the fort, just as a dense fog and cold rain descended on the cliff, obscuring views, and soaking through our rain jackets! Someone nearby noticed us attempting to take a family selfie and offered to take a picture for us. I had to laugh when he pointed out that it wasn’t a great picture because the backdrop was completely invisible due to mist. I didn’t care what the background was, I only wanted photographic proof of the misery getting up here. We raced around, faking smiles in photos, seeing as much as we could, and rejoicing when the weather lifted just enough to glimpse the spectacular cliffs with the Atlantic smashing against them. We were above the birds, on top of the world.
One very important thing about visiting Dun Aonghasa with kids, is that the cliff does not have a barrier. You can walk right up to the edge that drops hundreds of feet into the ocean. I shudder to think about people with small children, possibly distracted, losing sight of them for even a moment. If the conditions are wet and visibility is poor as they were for us, it seems unconscionably dangerous.
Less than five minutes after starting our walk down the slippery and wet walkway, I looked behind us to see the sun breaking through just where we had been standing moments earlier. In any other situation, we would’ve run back up to take in a better view or been still standing there. But today wasn’t that kind of day. We raced past the stunned ticket agent and jumped on our soaking bikes for the (hopefully faster) ride back to the port.
Back to Port
The ride back had many more downhills and was less eventful. Interestingly, Elsie was afraid of going downhill on the wet surface. She is a slow and steady kind of kid. Ollie had found his groove and was really enjoying himself. He was having so much fun hitting all the “mud” puddles along the way. Much to my horror (as a mother staying in a tent without a washing machine), most of the “mud” was mixed with horse poop from those relaxed carriage rides that we were so furiously envying. The brown streak up his back was evident even from afar.
As we rode into town, I was jealous of the folks enjoying the local pubs, restaurants, and shops. Not us! We raced past all the fun and straight to the bike shop. We were relieved when we dropped the bikes with a few minutes to spare. We desperately looked for a pub nearby and found one just up a hill. It had outdoor seats in full view of our boat. The plumbers crack of the man who had been overserved next to us had the kids giggling. In a few short minutes, we got a drink and marveled at Ollie starting a pickup soccer game with a few other boys. Shortly after our first sips, though, the boat started boarding. Fun time—as if there was any of that on this trip—was over.
We wisely decided to sit inside the boat this time. It was a much bigger and even had concessions! Did I mention that the only food we had during our time on the island were apples and an Aero mint chocolate bar? We thought we would have time to get something more to eat. We quickly tried to remedy this with some bags of potato chips and a few Guinnesses. Henri was so sad when the youthful bartender said he couldn’t sell alcohol until we were at sea. We weren’t leaving for several minutes. One second later and as the engine started, he smiled and announced in his charming Irish accent that it was “close enough.” It’s amazing how much better things got with some sustenance. The smooth rocking of the boat had us napping. It felt like only a moment, and we were back on the mainland.
The Reality vs. The Memory
When we returned to our “tent”, we made a simple dinner of pasta with pesto given to us by our host. She lived just up the road and showed us only kindness. Her homemade lemon cake was the literal icing on such a challenging and memorable day. The kids played with her dog, Riley, and we enjoyed the setting sun by the fire and then on the porch.
It rained overnight. I only know this because of the wet ground in the AM; we all managed to sleep right through it. We lingered a bit in our warm beds and then rose for another adventure. The kids mentioned how much they loved riding the bikes. In just those few hours, they were already only focusing on the positive. It’s as if the bad moments were washed away with the rain. I am so proud of the twins for so many reasons, including their sense of adventure and grit. It isn’t always pretty, but I don’t think it should be. Life is messy and perfect is boring (and thankfully the kids mostly remember the good); we are the luckiest people in the world.
Thanks for reading. Wishing you all a moment of laughter about your messy and imperfect moments.
Love,
Steph