When we arrived at the pier in Inishturk, I was apprehensive about getting off the boat and was curious how I was going to be received. As soon as I got off, I found an older woman standing there and asked her where the B&B was where my great-grandpa had lived. Apparently she owned one of the B&B’s, but soon enough was swept up in conversation and since “over the bushes” meant absolutely nothing to me, I kept walking. People were standing in their doorways simply staring at me, knowing full well that I was an outsider. I quickly walked up the road and called my grandma and mom to get some information about where the house was. I also asked a lad named David, but being from Louisburgh he didn’t know too much about the history of the island. However, he did tell me to follow the road for the Loop walk around the island. With a few failed attempts to find the B&B, I figured this was my best option to figure out my game plan for the next ohhh six and a half hours. I walked up the road which turned a bit steep-triggering me to whip out the inhaler and continued until I got to the gate which David told me to close or else the sheep would get out. As soon as I got through the gate, I made sure that gate was closed like it never had been before so as not to make any Inishturk farmer mad. The path soon turned into a bunch of rocks in a winding path. Soon I was at the back of the island and was looking out at the Atlantic Ocean with nothing out there but America somewhere out there.
I sat on a rock for a while just thinking and calling my mom. I watched the waves beat down the steep hill against the rocks. Rocks were scattered all about in the middle of the green pastures. After my mother encouraged me to go into town and talk to the people, I decided to finish the walk and find somewhere to go—to find out more about Tim Mac on the island. The rest of the path took me up a hill and around the edge of the hill that spilled down into the ocean and then went back down around a small lake or a giant puddle. The path was set close to the bottom of a hill with it rising on the right and then going down into a small valley below, housing sheep. At the end of the puddle, there was a turn where three sheep were staring at me, waiting for me to get closer. As I grew closer to the sheep, they started to walk in front of me and almost started leading me on my way. Along the way I also looked down and saw the GAA club of the island and then rounded around and came upon a few houses. The road continued to wind and then came back around to the front of the island. There were fields on the right that went down to cliffs leading down to the ocean. Houses were scattered on the left and soon I was passing one as the three men out front all looked at me as I passed…still knowing I was a stranger. And then making myself even more obvious, I asked where the community center was and they gave me directions and I nodded and moved on. Soon enough I came to one of the most beautiful spots on the Turk for views, Clare Island was straight ahead and the mainland to the right and the harbor area down below with the community center on the corner. I was starving at this point and decided to just walk in and try to get a bit of lunch…little did I know what I was getting myself into.
As soon I walked into the center, there was a large room on the right with a pool table and then to the left was the pub. When I walked in, the six men at the bar including the bartender all stopped what they were doing and turned just staring at me. There was no music on or anything so the place was absolutely silent. I nearly died in that moment as I tried to look for peace offering words so I could be accepted into the pub. I was mortified for the few silent seconds and almost ducked out—I knew I should not have gone alone. I can only imagine what my eyes looked like as I just stood there. If you have ever seen Waking Ned Devine, I was the lotto man from Dublin sneezing in the back of the church during the funeral. Thankfully, the silence was broken by David the lad I had met earlier in the village. I did not have time to recognize him because my head was spinning and I could not see straight. He belted out the obvious that I had come all the way to Chicago to come to Inishturk. Everyone was still a little apprehensive of the strange American in the pub, but I tried to settle in by ordering something to eat. I settled on a ham sandwich and some soup. Thankfully David was a bit of a chatterbox so he kept talking to me and then invited me to sit at the bar. Soon enough the man next to me asked why I was on the island and in explaining that I was Tim McNamara’s great-granddaughter—things got a little crazy…
The older gentleman in the corner of the bar, Joe, was able to figure out that I was third or fourth cousins with the bartender. Things took off from there and for the rest of the day he called me “cuz”. Joe was the one who knew the most about my great-grandpa and called him Tim Mac. He even pointed out the house, well maybe, which was my great-grandpa’s. Soon the bartender, Vivian, alerted his mom and dad who were in the back in the kitchen and they welcomed me as well. My lunch was brought out and the dad shook my hand and told me I was very welcome back home. I could not believe the hospitality of the people. Everyone kept checking to make sure my sandwich was alright and that I was doing fine. I was certainly welcomed and made to feel at home. Everyone was talking with me and then I was offered a pint of Guinness. Looking back, maybe I should have said no-but when on Inishturk! Soon enough different people were funneling in and they were talking to me about all different things from politics since they found out I worked in the Dail and then Irish music. Vivian pulled out a CD of some of his favorite Irish music and the pub was filled with the flute, fiddle, and the whistle. A few pints were bought for me and I talked with a few many people. I was even invited to go “island-hopping”. Clearly, they have a lot to do around there… Joe was soon over and bless his soul, he was explaining different things to me about the island, but with his accent I honestly could barely make out a word. He shared in the pint extravaganza and my glass was never empty before the next one was poured. Vivian warned me that I was on the slippery slope with a laugh and I completely believed him. The people of Inishturk must not have a lot to do and it being a bank holiday, people started funneling in towards the last few hours for a drink. I met several people and signed the guestbook to remind them and myself of my journey to the Turk. I was told that I looked like a real Irish woman with my wild hair, freckled skin, and my sip of the Guinness. Finally, someone in this country thinks I’m Irish and not American or Spanish.
My day was spent in the community center with the rain coming down outside and by the end of the day, the mainland was nowhere in sight and I had met the slippery slope that Vivian had warned me about. I was a little nervous to get on the ferry back, but before I knew it, I said good-bye to Vivian and was taken to the pier by my new friend and his son. His son was also going back to the mainland so the two of us, along with all of the visitors from the holiday weekend. It seemed as though there were more people leaving the island than were staying. It had been a nice day and even though I had been nervous to come over by myself, all had turned out well and I was glad I had made the journey. I was told to come back to Inishturk anytime and will certainly look to do so in the future. When I made it back to the mainland, I was happy to get a warm shower, dinner, and a cuppa tea.
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