As much as Synge relished his island home, he spent most of his days out walking the land. Over on the far western side, atop high cliffs, he found a stand of rock looking out over Galway Bay and Inishmore that he would return to again and again. “As I lay here hour after hour, I seem to enter into the wild pastimes of the cliff,” he wrote.

This was when I found myself headed out to Synge’s Chair. The semicircle cluster of limestone created a natural barrier against the elements, cradled the visitor and invited lingering. Each of my visits was similar; time slipped the way time can when there is nowhere to go: at first excruciatingly slowly, then in a blink the day would be gone.

WITH JUST THE ONE PUB FOR ACTION, nights on Inishmaan are quiet and even a loner can yearn for society. As Synge did, I made the short crossing to the smallest island of Inisheer (on two occasions I was the only ferry passenger from Inishmaan). Upon coming ashore, Synge was confronted with a man, “a drunkard and shebeener,” who lived “with the restlessness of a man who has no sympathy with his companions.” Upon my arrival I was met with an only slightly less distressing social challenge.

As on Inishmore, the day tourist trade had taken hold. There were horse and trap rides, coffee carts and stands selling local fudge. But just beyond the flurry of town, Inisheer, with its 250 residents, is perhaps the most physically picturesque of the three Aran Islands, and its three square miles make it easy to navigate on bicycle. (Bikes were readily available directly off the ferry on both Inishmore and Inisheer. Not surprisingly, there was no bike rental on Inishmaan.)

Atop the island’s highest hill, beside the ruin of O’Brien’s Castle, Aine O’Graiofa had put a few tables out in front of her home and called it a restaurant. I took a seat in the driveway and settled in for one of Ireland’s staple country lunches — ham and cheese on toasted white bread — while looking down across Galway Bay to Connemara in the distance.

Inisheer boasts three pubs, one shop and a single church.

“The priest died four years ago and they haven’t sent another,” Ms. O’Graiofa told me. “We’re left to our own devices.”

We chatted of the decline in the church’s dominance over the people throughout Ireland.

“Sure it’s their own fault,” she said. “We have the old schoolteacher who goes up and leads folks in the rosary; that’s all we need.”