You may miss out on something.
I set sail on a ferry with twenty young American women to Inis Mor– one of the most remote parts of Ireland. The sea was choppy, and my stomach was in my throat. “Dramamine?” a friend offered. “Sure,” I said with a swallow and a deep, salty breath.
Little did I know that that one unassuming swallow would result in a pillow soaked in tears in a lonely hostel on the coast of Inis Mor.
I studied abroad in Maynooth, Ireland when I was a sophomore in college. There were about 20 girls from my home college who studied abroad with me, and we had a travel coordinator/den mother in Maynooth who took us on weekend trips each month around the country.
The most anticipated trip of the year was to the Aran Islands in the west of Ireland. I awoke that day with a sore throat, so I took some cold medicine, and we departed by bus to Ros a’ Mhil where we boarded a ferry. It was a windy day, and the seas were choppy. I found myself seasick for the first time in my life, and I took some motion sickness medication with no memory of that cold medicine I’d taken earlier. (Not a good combo, for future reference.)
By the time we reached the island of Inis Mor, I was crying and shaking compulsively. I climbed into the top bunk at our hostel and said to my friends “something is wrong with me.”
The Aran islands are small and remote–one of the few places in the country deemed a “gaeltacht,” meaning that the locals speak Gaelic as their first language. When I was there, three small islands shared one doctor. Unluckily for me, that doctor was on another island that day delivering twins.
So, as my friends rented bicycles and explored the gorgeous limestone-covered Inis Mor, blowing kisses to sheep and buying the island’s iconic wool sweaters, I was in our hostel with no TV or company for a day and a half. A fever took over my body, and my throat became so swollen that I could barely swallow the water and Tylenol that I tried to push through my body.
Finally, on Sunday morning as my friends were packing up to return home to Maynooth, I was able to see the doctor. She took my temperature with a mercury thermometer, looked at my throat, and without a swab or test tube to be seen, she diagnosed me with strep throat. She gave me a bottle of antibiotics and charged me 50 Euro for the visit and medicine all together.
I will never forget my visit to the beautiful green island of Inis Mor, but sadly, not because of the stunning rugged cliffs or charming harbor. I will never forget how awful and lonely I felt, but also how kind and caring that Irish doctor was. I can’t wait to return to Inis Mor to explore the lovely island.
