Friday was spent in Galway City. It fell somewhere between our expectations - Aditya was expecting a smaller Dublin, I was expecting the standard quaint, seaside town. It wasn't as big and urban as Dublin, but it definitely has more going on than Bray or Dun Laoghaire. We spent the afternoon in the town wandering. We took in the Spanish Arch, the Galway City museum (which actually had a fairly interesting exhibit about JFK's visit to Galway), a cathedral, and a little bit of shopping. I've been missing reading material while I've been here and I finally stumbled across a wonderful used bookstore. It reminded me of Magers and Quinn Bookstore in Minneapolis (which is my favorite used bookstore of all time). It had shelves and shelves of old books (with some new ones sprinkled in) and so many rooms it gave the impression that the store goes on forever. Being in Ireland, I've been tempted to pick up some James Joyce, but I always remind myself at the last minute that I absolutely cannot stand that sort of literature. Instead, I bought a book about the Easter Rising in an effort to learn a bit of Irish history while I'm here.
The bookstore was followed by dinner at a wonderful little Italian place and later some Guinness at a local pub.
Saturday, however, was a horse of another color. I have been determined to see the Aran Islands since our arrival in Ireland, and Saturday we made our way out there. A forty minute bus ride followed by a forty minute ferry ride (in some Very Choppy Water) and we were there! The Aran Islands consist of 3 islands; we hopped off the ferry at the largest one. It had a quaint yet rustic feel. Located just west of Ireland in the Atlantic ocean, the island doesn't have the polished image of most Irish tourist destinations.
After exiting the ferry, you are immediately surrounded by people pushing bus tours, bike tours, and horse-and-buggy tours of the island. Aditya and I heard that the bikes were the way to go, so for 10 euro we rented some crappy mountain bikes and set out to see some scenery!
This is Ireland, however, and let's not forget that the weather can be tricky over here. The choppy water should have been our first clue, but we were naive. Promptly after rounding the corner from the bike rental, it began to POUR rain on us. I immediately pulled out my poncho and put it on, but it was too late - my mittens were soaked, my jeans were wet, and I was cold. Stubborn as we are, we kept the bikes and kept moving forward.
Biking in the Aran Islands requires a lot of biking uphill. We headed up a road that ran along the edge of the island, next to the ocean. The scenery was stunning. The wind was less exciting. Twenty minutes in and we were both breathing heavy, pushing uphill into the kind of wind that will bring you to a halt if you stop pedaling. We were getting nowhere fast (note the wind on the poncho below and the frustration on my face!).
Soon enough we both lost our patience with the situation and turned around to go back downhill. There was a pub at the base and we thought maybe some hot tea and soup would rejuvenate us enough to finish the ride an hour later. As we walked back, however, we were passed by several happy, seemingly dry, not-tired individuals. Feeling foolish for giving up so quickly, we looked at each other and decided, Why not, let's give it another shot.
We turned around, hopped on our bikes, and yup - it instantly starting raining again. Shrugging off yet another omen, we pressed forward once more.
This time we made it farther. We passed some monastic ruins and a few lookout points (see below - but don't be fooled by the blue skies, the weather changed quickly!). We took lots of photographs and began to really appreciate the scenery we were riding through. A single-lane road with the ocean to the right and farms to the left, it was truly breathtaking. Small stone walls separated us from grazing horses and cows. Farmhouses, trailers, and ruins dotted the lands, cars were few and far between, and the grass was a brilliant green. The view was priceless. 
After passing the ruins, Aditya and I began our ascent of yet another hill when the wind picked back up. Then the rain started again. Then, just as we rounded a corner with a small breakwall separating us from the ocean, the hail hit. Before we knew it were were being pelted in the face with small bits of ice and we were forced to get off of our bikes, hide our faces, and wait for the storm to pass. The ocean slammed into the rocks below us, the wind whipped up our ponchos, and the rain soaked our pants, hats, gloves, and shoes.
The hail was our breaking point. After the clouds passed overhead and we could look up again, we decided that God wasn't intending us to explore the Aran Islands that day. As the rain continued, we turned to go back down the hill, where we knew a warm pub was waiting for us.
Eventually the sun came out, assuring us that we had made the right decision. This time, we weren't fooled by the bikers heading in the opposite direction and we continued toward the pub. Forty-five minutes later we were inside the bar which was warmed by a small fire in the corner. Aditya and I ate piping hot shepherd's pie and listened to four old men speak Irish at the bar. It wasn't scenic and it wasn't rugged, but it was the best part of our day.
(Don't worry - a post about the Cliffs is coming!)
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