The Luck of the Irish

The rain doesn’t matter when the humour and charm of Ireland, and its wonderful places to stay, make up for it in bucketfuls, says Fiona Duncan

I keep going back to Ireland. Yes, it rains quite a bit, but the humour, from the moment I arrive till the moment I leave, is dry enough to make up for any amount of inclement weather, while delightful places to stay keep me entranced. Irish country-house hotels are like so many of England’s used to be before chains and brands got at them – privately owned for generations, slightly potty, unpretentious, comfortable and kind. They are almost always set in lovely Georgian country houses, the locally sourced food is invariably satisfying, and the diversions on offer are winningly quirky. I’ve been foraging and whale watching along a cliff top with a laconic ex-rocker; gone sea kayaking with a staggeringly good looking outdoor adventurer who I swear was Brad Pitt; and been dragged over the Burren’s limestone terraces in a gale by a madcap local naturalist.

There’s a sense of acceptance among the Irish, born, they say, of the famine – nothing by comparison could be worse. They are resigned to downturns: when the Celtic tiger stalled, they adjusted with resignation. It’s the same with the hoteliers, who tend to ride the waves of fortune better than their more tender English counterparts.

Take Currarevagh House in Country Galway (see page 197), Ireland’s oldest guesthouse, where the Hodgson family has been riding the waves with phlegmatic wit for five generations in a house that was originally built for the family in the 17th century.

Almost nothing has changed. On the 1848 silk wallpaper above the staircase hangs a huge, almost-as-old tiger skin. ‘A bit un-pc these days,’ I commented. ‘Certainly not,’ replied current incumbent Henry Hodgson, whose wife Lucy is the excellent cook, ‘it was shot in self-defence. We are not American dentists’.

A gong heralds dinner. There are no TVs or even radios in the oldfashioned bedrooms with their ’70s bathrooms, and no room keys. ‘We don’t have them,’ says Henry. ‘Things have stayed the same here for so long that it would be rude to change. And anyway, your belongings will be perfectly safe.’ And you know, without a doubt, that he speaks the truth.

In the library there’s an ancient telly, but otherwise shelves of book, a piano and bouts of Monopoly or cards suffice. A generous ‘Edwardian’ breakfast is laid out on the sideboard in the dining room and coffee is served in original ’50s glass Cona receptacles, warmed by methylated spirits. As Henry struggled with a match, I suggested a lighter might be a good idea. ‘If we have a very good year,’ he answered, ‘I might invest in one’.

Currarevagh House is just one charming place to stay where you will find deadpan humour delivered with an Irish twinkle. Even at a luxury place like Ballyfin (see page 194), which ranks among the finest hotels in Europe, lavishly furnished with precious paintings and objects, the atmosphere is brought alive by its delightful local staff (don’t miss a ride with Lionel in his pony and trap – pure fun). Or take Ballymaloe (see page 195), where at 7am we traipsed sleepily in to the kitchen to learn how to make Irish soda bread and scones for the morning’s breakfast with pastry chef J.R. Ryall. We soon woke up, for we were in the company of another natural wit and for an hour we made the bread and laughed like drains.

But if it’s the people that make Ireland for me, the places don’t lag far behind. The Emerald Isle may be divided in two but as far as Tourism Ireland is concerned, it is one marvellous place to visit, whether north of the border or south, with the extraordinary Wild Atlantic Way linking both. The longest defined coastal road in the world, all 1,500 miles of it, stretches along the entire west coast from Kinsale in the south to Derry in the far north. It crosses nine counties and six regions, each different, each stunningly beautiful: the Northern Headlands, the Surf Coast, the Bay Coast, the Cliff Coast, the Southern Peninsulas and the Haven Coast.

The east coast is no less forgotten. From Derry, you can head east and then south as far as Belfast by following the Causeway Coastal Route that passes such highlights as the Giant’s Causeway, Old Bushmills Distillery and Dunluce Castle, while the coastal path from Portstewart to Ballycastle makes a fabulous walking route. The east of the island, from Belfast to Cork, is also the place to discover Ireland’s ancient roots, particularly Newgrange, the Stone Age monument in the Boyne Valley, County Meath, that’s older than Stonehenge and the pyramids of Egypt.

And what of the cities? The Celtic Tiger is long dead, but the Celtic Phoenix is rising fast, and both Belfast and Dublin are bursting with energy and alive with business, art, culture and music where you can do that thing that’s only possible in Ireland: have some good craic.

For more information visit: tourismireland.com