2.7.93 Dublin
Bewley’s, just by where The Colony used to be, and where some rather tacky joint has appeared. Multi-floor, £10 for two, full of youth – and typical university youth – good buzz amongst the steamy heat (though it’s fresh outside). Parked by St. Stephen’s Green, jam-jar picked up at the airport after multiply-delayed flight, almost (well, ish) half caught after driving down from Great Glen, caught in the horrendous M25 roadworks. But we made it, and found our Anglesey House guesthouse with the quadrant-shaped bath in the bedroom.
3.7.93 Galway
Across the breadth of Ireland to here. Through a land green, under a dull sky, drizzle falling, roads all but empty, drivers as insane as ever, churches, garden centres, cows, old men on bikes, small, low villages, rolling countryside – to here, one of my favourite cities in Ireland – if partly because it is a city.
Driving around the square trying to find a place to park, a Gay Pride march...brave people here. Then in to the centre for snack lunch. Of necessity: breakfast was splendid. Orange juice, yogurt, fresh fruit, stewed fruit, strawberries and cream – not aut/aut, but all. Then a wonderful home-baked cereal, rather like apple crumble. Poached fish (plaice?) for one of us, bacon and eggs for the other. Then toast, fresh bread, and about three types of cakes, tea, marmalade – ye gods. Great and included in the old Anglesey House price. Nice to know we’re going back there.
On now to Connemara, my favourite part of Ireland. So many young people around – reminds of the experiment tagging frogs in Lake Titicaca to count them – brilliant scheme. To Cleggan, Harbour View House (£25 a night). Now in Oliver’s Seafood Bar – six oysters dispatched, waiting for salmon. Fine view of the harbour, the Queen of Aran waiting to leave. We may take it ourselves to Inishbofin. Salmon has arrived, along with seafood platter.
4.7.93 Cleggan
It is pouring with rain (hi, Ireland weather), so it is not entirely clear what to do today. Four Italians (from Genova) to my left at breakfast.
On the Queen of Aran, equipped with fine sweaters, one peacock green, the other royal purple – necessary in this chillsome weather. Off to Inishbofin – well, it had to be done. After drizzle to start, the sky lightening, some bit of sun. Gawd. Roughish sea (what a surprise). An hour after departure we arrive at Inishbofin, are dumped on the quay, abandoned.
Strange feeling: being abandoned on an island at the end of the world, with nowhere to go. Not knowing what is here, where it is, how big the island is etc. Then we buy a map: immediately things begin to fall into place – the hotel, the pier, the extremities of the island. As we approach the eastern hotel – Day’s – we have a sense of real arrival.
Sitting now by the dour grey church, silver angels on its gates. Intermittent sun, warm when it shines. By us, two cars without number plates, both battered, one literally held together with string. Is Inishbofin the car’s graveyard?
The bar and hotel lively and elegant respectively. The bar in particular full of picture book faces – old, gaunt men in cloth caps, young men with monstrous sideburns and glasses of Guinness. Outside a fine view of the harbour. A lovely beach opposite, but no quick way to reach it.
It looks like the rest of the island will remain unknown to me this time, but that’s no terrible thing. Now that I have started re-visiting out-of-the-way places I suppose I need to exercise a little restraint. Flying over on Friday, it occurred to me that such coming backs will be the next wave of tourism/travel writing. The second visit gives you the dimension of time (and of photography) while the third visit lets you see whether the second was an aberration. And the fourth…
[To our right, two flagstaffs without flags have ropes clattering against their metal poles. I think of Sanur for some reason….]
To Day’s again for scone and tea, the sun quite scorching now (ozone depletion?). The surrounding hills really emerald (and Lake Hunt begins today….). Amazing number of BMWs here – for the usual reason. Still rather incongruous. The water in the harbour sparkles.
On the ferry, into the strait. Glorious sun, the Twelve Pins hazy but lordly. To starboard, clearly etched cliffs of two small islands. But the Pins… Totally clear sky above us, slight ring of cloud. And in a sense today has been right: a day ending in brief sunshine, spent in gentle indolence around the focus of the island’s main bar, Day’s.
The end of the day after another fine meal in Oliver’s. (But no oysters…) 9.30pm, but still so light, and the Twelve Pins still strangely lit up by a light that seems to come from within. From our front room the view is stunning: the harbour, the inlet, the mountains; how can I not stare at it till the fading of days?
Looking at the Ireland guides, I begin to feel that I am grasping the country. Connemara is at once like the Lake District, Scotland, the Orkneys, and yet also unique. The hills huddle like monsters, gathering for an attack, their humps showing behind a rise in the land. The water silvery blue, high tide. And still the sun shines. This is indeed a faery land. And Inishbofin, another crossing to an isle of youth (so many young people, dressed in t-shirts and jeans, their poverty showing, but irrelevant).
5.7.93 Oughterard
Not, alas, at the flash house in Lough Corrib – only a rather modern twin left there at £80. Meal £7.50 sounded rather fine, though. Instead a B&B just outside the town on the same road. Very modern and clean. Charming landlady (young, blonde, smiling).
Rose early – too early – and then went riding at Cleggan Stables. On horses, too, not ponies. Went along the road to a beach just above the B&B here (thousands of dead jellyfish). Fine curve of beach, where I cantered. Then straight [I have just noticed a place on the map called Shanaglish] along the N59. Wonderful scenery, of course, and relatively few buildings to disturb it. Or to eat in. Eventually found pub full of unemployed (?), smoking, drinking, playing darts, swearing. Sad. Then to here, tired and very burnt. Yesterday, in five hours of sun, we are both very burnt on the face. Very strange (Ozone hole?)
6.7.93 Athlone
A pleasant city. Small, with fine grey granite castle matching the cloud for our drive back. Road empty as ever. Feels very 18th century here – perhaps this is why I hope to visit Castletown today – I need some Georgian architecture. And so to Celbridge – to Conolly’s for lunch (alas, café closed in house), and then to Castletown. The irony: Aztec food being the bonus and bane of Irish life…
Dublin. Room 14 of Anglesey House – grand, at the front, and with a brass bed. In to the city for a quick walk at 5pm – full of people, lovely sunshine. Then to Oisin’s. Door looked shut when we arrive. We knock and are admitted – even though the place is clearly very Irish – menu in Irish/Irish script. Green everywhere. Excellent menu, but £35 for set choices. We take one and add a starter.
Venison sausages and Dublin coddle; spinach soup; beef soaked in herbs; seaweed cream. And two glasses of excellent fruity Irish wine. Pity they cost £4 each. Meal overall £64 – a lot, but probably the nearest thing to “real” Irish cooking.
7.7.93 Trinity College Dublin
In the Long Room of the library. Glorious sense of words piled up, of their precariousness and fragility. Perhaps nowhere else can you grasp the 18th century sense of knowledge. Kells no longer here: new strong room below. Harder to see, but more sensible.
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