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Chapter 4: Ireland 1971 and 2001

4.1 Arrival in Ireland 1971

In 1969 I was at the University of Salzburg finishing my studies that I had begun in Vienna. At the end of a lecture the professor of Medieval German Literature announced that the University of Strathclyde in Glasgow was offering a post of German language assistant to an Austrian student. Anybody interested may contact him. I did not hesitate one second and went straight to see him. I knew nothing about Scotland except that it was quite far away. It was a spontaneous decision that changed my life.

The following two years, 1969 – 1971, I worked in Glasgow, Scotland, as a language assistant in German at the University of Strathclyde. Before I arrived there, I had heard a lot of negative stories about that city. It was said to have awful slums and the climate was hard to bear. The reality was not quite like this. Yes, there were poor areas but not more than in other big cities at the time. The climate was a bit cooler and it rained a lot, but when the sun was shining the surroundings of Glasgow showed themselves in all their glory. I loved the pubs and the Indian restaurants, which were very new to me, and I found the people to be quite friendly albeit a bit reserved.

When my two-year contract came to an end, I decided to stay a few years more in this part of Europe and sent applications to universities in Ireland. Galway replied favourably. When the university was about to send me the contract a post and telephone strike started in Britain. Throughout my time in Glasgow there had been a lot of industrial disputes. For a while we had power cuts because the employees of the electricity works were on strike. As the phone system was not yet fully automatic, one depended on operators to make a call to another city or country, and the operators were on strike. Luckily for me some of them broke the strike. If one kept ringing long enough there was a chance that one of the strikebreakers would pick up the phone. In this way I succeeded in getting in touch with the professor in Galway and confirm our agreement verbally. I was to start work in University College Galway in September 1971.

At that time the film Ryan’s Daughter was showing in the cinemas. The wild beauty of the seascapes of county Kerry made a big impression on me and I imagined Ireland to be a country relatively untarnished by modern civilisation. I was very keen to visit Ireland before taking up my position so that I would get a feel for the place. The Easter break seemed to offer a good opportunity to travel there. My plan was to catch the night ferry from Stranraer in Scotland to Larne in Northern Ireland.

I was driving in the dark. The moon was shining and the road seemed empty. Suddenly, there was a cow standing in the middle of the road. I braked sharply, the car turned to the left and my right door hit the animal. The poor cow fell flat on its side and lay on the road for dead. While I was thinking of what to do, the animal suddenly got up, trotted into the field and disappeared. The car door was bashed in and I could not close it securely. I decided to drive back to Glasgow and have the damage repaired. Thus, ended my first attempt to get to Ireland.

My second attempt in June met with more success. As soon as I arrived in Galway, I went directly to the German Department. It took me some time to find it as it was situated outside the campus in a family house that had been taken over by the university. In this house were the German, French, Italian and Spanish departments. A cow was grazing in the front garden. How rural can a university be! I concluded that Ryan’s Daughter had painted a true picture of Ireland. I passed by the grazing cow and entered the house. The two German language assistants welcomed me and phoned the Head of Department who very kindly invited me to dinner that evening.

I stayed in Galway four years. Ireland felt like a milder version of Scotland. By this I mean that the landscape around Galway reminded me of the Scottish Highlands, but the climate was softer and the mountains were easier to access. People were less reserved than in Scotland. Scottish towns of a size comparable to Galway were quiet in the evenings. Most people stayed in their houses in front of the TVs. Galway, however, sprang into life after sunset. The city at night had the flair of a southern European town that had been transposed to the north.

In the early seventies Galway was very different from what it is now. Tourists were few and the environment was largely untouched. I remember collecting wild mussels and bringing them home to cook. We could buy lobsters directly from the fishermen at ridiculously low prices. From the bridge near the Cathedral one could see wild salmon swimming up the River Corrib, and the first catch of the season was an event to be celebrated. Now the diseases spread by escaped farmed salmon are killing the wild salmon. A half-hour drive from Galway was Moran’s of the Weir, a pub and restaurant that served native oysters and wild salmon with Guinness. Nowadays the West of Ireland is overrun with tourists. In the early seventies we had it all to ourselves.

Very soon after settling in Galway I joined the Galway Mountaineering Club. When I was a child, I had hiked a lot in the Austrian Alps with Uncle Erich. During my teenage years I had lost interest in alpinism and did not climb a mountain for years. In Galway I rediscovered my love of the mountains. Connemara and County Mayo offer everything a mountaineer can wish for. Although the summits are not higher than 700 m above sea level, they convey the feeling of being in alpine terrain. In contrast to the Alps, the mountains of Connemara, Mayo, Kerry and other parts of Ireland do not have marked trails. If one does not know how to use map and compass and to navigate in thick fog or in the dark, the Irish mountains (like those in Scotland) can be very dangerous. There are no huts either, and mobile phones very seldom get a signal. And if you rely on your GPS be aware that it is of no use when the battery runs out. If you want to get away from it all, the mountains of Connemara are the place for you!

4.2 The Skelligs 2001

When we children of the 20^th and 21^st century talk about getting away from it all, we mostly mean staying in a mountain hut or in a holiday cottage near the sea for a limited time. If we have to fetch our water from an outside well, we imagine that we are mastering the art of survival in extreme conditions. Yet, if our mobile phones get no reception, frustration sets in very quickly and we cannot wait to return to civilisation. The monks who settled on Skellig Michael off the coast of County Kerry in the sixth century A.D. were truly getting away from it all.

There are two Skellig islands. Little Skellig is a world-famous bird sanctuary and Skellig Michael, the bigger of the two islands, has a monastic settlement, which has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. To get there by boat takes about an hour and a half. Because the sea is often rough one needs a good stomach to survive the boat trip without getting sick. When the swell is high, landing can be tricky. It can be difficult for the boat to dock, and passengers risk falling into the stormy sea when they jump from the boat to the pier. How the monks got there in their frail boats is hard to imagine. Getting there was the first stage of a process that selected the fittest. Once there, the monks never left. They stayed to the end of their lives surviving on what the sea provided and what they cultivated on their miserable plots. There was no water, except what could be collected from rainfall. Life expectancy must have been very short. Leaving the mainland behind, in order to lead a life of prayer on Skellig Michael, was like a suicide in slow motion. As the world was a vale of tears, it was best to escape from it as soon as possible and enter a better world in the hereafter.

I am afraid of visiting islands. My fear is that the weather changes and I get stuck there for days. Maybe the fact that Ireland is an island in the Atlantic Ocean, behind the bigger island of Britain, makes me permanently anxious to be cut off from my continental roots, and the thought of being unable to leave a small island off the coast of Ireland, even for a short time, makes me panic. Another explanation may be that I suffer from mild claustrophobia. Being stuck on a small island is to me like being trapped in a lift.

In September 2001 we were holidaying in County Kerry. Our hotel was on the Ring of Kerry by the sea and close to the harbour, from where the boats leave for the Skelligs. The 11^th September was a glorious day and for once I threw caution to the wind and allowed myself to be persuaded by Ursula to take the boat to Skellig Michael. I am very glad we went. I did not get seasick and the landing was unproblematic. We climbed the 670 steps to the top of the island. We saw the beehive stone dwellings where the monks lived and tried to imagine what it would be like to spend the rest of our lives on this remote island. The thought alone made me shudder. What a strong faith these monks must have had to endure such a life!

When we were returning to the mainland our skipper was highly agitated and told us that war had broken out. The United States was under attack from the Russians, skyscrapers were being bombed and all hell had broken loose. We did not believe him, but he insisted that he had heard it all on the radio. Back in the hotel we saw the videos of the planes flying into the twin towers and slowly it became clear to us what had happened. Thus, whenever I am asked where I was on nine eleven, I remember that it was the day we took the boat to the Skelligs.

The author on Benchoona Mountain County Mayo