A Warrior, says the Wind...

60 minutes of bus ride, and 60 minutes of choppy boat ride, and I decided to take my fate into my own feet. I rented a bike to tour the Aran island Inis Mor.

Less than 800 people live on the Aran's. At one time, it was home to thousands. They built massive circular stone fortresses called Duns, pronounced "Dune." (Fav book) To grow crops, they combined seaweed with sand to create a fertile bedding. The stitches used for wool had special purposes: rain, cold, heat, boatwork, fieldwork.

Stopped at the old Lighthouse, highest point on the island, just up a 200m hill from the only road. I jumped the iron gate only to find a wall breech on the far side of the enclosure. In the older stone building, all the lintel stone were taken?

Facing the sea, a Double Dun. A singular stone wall, 1.2m high, and a 20m expanse to a 8m wall. It had a Roman Gate, and two levels of ramparts. I felt like a little kid, wanting a sword and a bad guy to swat.

Could you imagine living in such a place? 2om at most across, no fresh water source, but all living function, and everyone you know, right there.

Of course, I imagined directing arrow fire from the rampart down to our approaching enemies. I've seen The 13th Warrior way too many times.

Instead of the only road, I follow a series of stone enclosed paths to Gort. The birthplace of Liam O'Flaherty. A shrine in his honor was desk to my thoughts. I'm sure the author didn't mind me jotting in the journal. A local and I got to chatting. The typical bitch about times changing, the young leaving. But then he reflected, "If the young respected the old, nothing would change."

Over the hill, I saw Dun Aonghasa (Dune Angus). Impressive from a distance, and definitely no fun to siege, I don't think life there was very good. The winds kept you 2-3m from the 100m drop off. And the fort required buttresses to hold up the walls. Meaning, somebody fucked up the building of the walls. An interesting solid stone platform in center suggested a Throne area. Not a bad gig, being king.

I fought the seawind back to Ti' Joe Mac, for some Irish coffee, and Gaelacht conversation. I'm terrible, but the locals were patient. We talked of sport, no politics. I don't think politics even exists here.