Double Vision with Charlie Adley
As I steer the car around Black Head and head south along Clare’s coast, my view turns from Salthill across Galway Bay to the Aran Islands. It’s early on a wet and windy Sunday morning. Ireland is sleeping. Apart from the busload of eager Dutch and German tourists I passed earlier, already prowling Dunguaire Castle in Kinvara, I’ve pretty much got the world to myself.
I breathe out long and slow.
Thank you universe.
I need this right now.
A little headspace in a whole lot of stunning earthspace. Blue Bag packed in the back of the car.
It’s been a good few years since I drove down through Fanore. Usually I’ll take the Corkscrew Hill road, so I’m eyes wide with pleasure as I watch the westerly storm and high tide combine to pummel a thousand flat black rocks. Heroic waves spray towers of spume and exploding balls of salty froth high into the air.
Time to stop the car and be out there. To fully take all this glory in I need to feel it on my skin. Pulling over in precisely the middle of nowhere, I wrap my tweed coat around me and stare out towards the roaring Atlantic.
Not a human in sight, although at my feet there are ancient stones embedded into the rocky foreshore in a deliberate circle. Evidently thousands of years ago other people stood where I am now, and oh bloody hell, would you Adam and Eve it?
Less than a hundred metres up the road, the coach I’d seen in Kinvara has pulled over, and is now spewing forth brightly-clad tourists. It’s barely 10 on a Sunday morning, and they’ve already ‘done’ Kinvara. Very probably they woke up in Galway and will sleep tonight in Killarney, and they have as much right to be here as I do. Just wish they hadn’t chosen my particular middle of nowhere while I was actually there.
Climbing back into the car I head for the beach, to stand alone and face a mighty angry ocean.
To read Charlie’s column in full, please see this week’s Galway City Tribune.