Ik AVELLING LIFE In Ireland, despite everything Carol. Wright bPuchsia hedges,
scarlet flecked in Septem,rcI er, autumn tawny in the upland heather tnnd Fermanagh, spring rains gargling :catIgh one arched bridges, Guinness t-trIld fishing stories, soft air and soft voices: eise are My immediate recall on Ireland. t„' rernernber one Easter Sunday (admi.t lY very late that year) turning up at s h.Quse on Bantry Bay dressed formally n t1(1)1t, knitted stockings, and sensible shoes still" MY hosts in bathing things. We th.Zed off our formality, borrowed swim ra,,1 -es and joined them on the flagged terthe e that stepped down through the sun to hoRt.ble sea below. We drank steadily, our for— talked of a happily tax-free Ireland 13„,eative artists and writers, and of e z1;uun becoming the arts centre of th analimsh sPeaking world: with both London the ,.7eW York so handy, he enthused. By ish ,"rne the lunch was served with Spanwer'aterless, few of the world's problems Ae unsolved. n i Irelattcl this always seems Possible (low rid. If I ever have a nervous break valesti, it is to Ireland I will flee to cone lack of searing sunshine is a big warm soft air but no sharp shadows, green blend and he a 11,1„.e 'Pon the water or the gentle sky i;'''vays escape from People-pollution. inah-ahlisinessrrian may kick against the i Pricks of conducting a deal n soon. but the holiday visitor succumbs very theinkibiIit of holiday is easily availableLing `..r43granInles offered by such corn -5 Cooks and Frames with Aer traveland BEA. Aer Lingus offers air ftee rnitd self-drive car with 280 miles 'Re allowance at a price equal to the normal return fare. By choice, I'd fly to Cork and spend my week nosing into the Caribbean turquoise creeks and harbours of little places like Union Hall. I'd turn inland on to secondary roads where donkey cart courteously gives way to ' horepower ' and meander through purpled heaths. I'd picnic under the lea of stone-arched bridges with only the water's plaint in my ears; or drive out along the arm of Dingle, running races with the seagulls, playing ducks and drakes and feeling a remarkable exhilaration under the puff-clouded sky. I'm no fisherman or golfer, alas, and do not sample Ireland's excellent offerings in these sports. Nor have I been adventurous enough to take a fifteen-mile stomach-unsettling boat trip out to the ' Lusitania ' wreck from snug harboured Kinsale and fish for shark and other whoppers. If I were fishing-orientated I'd go to the little hotels on the shores of Lake Melvin. Here open kitchen is kept for guests to come back and cook their catch at all hours.
Hiring a boat, not a car, I'd stick to the Fermanagh chain of lakes, scattered with a 365 island choice to conquer each day for picnics, then I'd be climbing up the guardian hill shores secreting relics of early history. The Shannon, navigable for 120 miles, is not a cosy motorised doddle like the Thames where hazards are overhanging branches and other boats. The Shannon debouches into great lakes like Lough Derg's twenty-four mile length, with great grey seas on occasion and reeds and trees masking the safe exits of the river. The non-Chichester types can of course take a Floatel cruise on a boat for twelve passengers. Perhaps not everyone can adapt to the slow pace of Ireland. The owner of horsedrawn caravans at Blarney Castle sadly told me that some people come back after a day or so saying it is too slow, they aren't getting anywhere and they don't know how to cope with the horses. The caravans are simple bunked affairs with calor gas cooking. The well-trained horses are docile enough, though to a townee harnessing can look unsolvable. It's possible to hire riding horses to accompany the caravans, but if you are horse-inclined I'd rather hire a riding horse and stay at overnight accommodation in farmhouses and guest houses. Hotels like the small, stone charm of Acton's in Kinsale and neighbouring Trident marina hotel offer plenty of sports facilities. The Towers Hotel Glenbeigh has riding holidays from the hotel as well as golfing, shooting, deep sea angling and salmon fishing. More modest and homely in atmosphere but offering a remarkable choice of activities is the Bay View at Waterville in the south-west. Fishing, skindiving, using equipment on Valentia island, archaeology and mountain climbs are all available.
Tales and local lore are an Irish speciality and are best learnt from a bar companion or in the motherly talk of a farmer's wife. More and more farmhouses are opening their doors to paying guests. Usually sports facilities such as fishing and riding are available and the farms are registered and listed by the Irish Tourist Board. A well-set farmhouse is Mrs Fitzgerald's Ashton Grove near Cork, a Georgian building taking thirteen guests, whom the hostess and her family are happy to take around and introduce to local life and personalities.
More recent is the introduction of rentable cottages for holidays. These are situated in several seaside villages with such charming names as Feakle, Puckane, Kilfinane and Carrigaholt. The thatched cottages are well fitted out with modern amenities yet include open hearth and raditional country decor. Holidays in low season cost as little as £20 with seven nights at the cottage, return air fare from Liverpool, and hire of self-drive car.
Escaping from people is relaxing, but in Ireland this escape is a loss as well. For one misses the easygoing conviviality of prawns and Guinness for lunch at high marble-topped bars in Dublin or the gentleman's club like lounges of the Gresham and Shelbourne. Even the dead are still chums. One is invited to shake hands with the papery-fleshed seventeenth century corpses in St Michan's vaults whose stone building has kept them intact. The nun there is sizeable, a Wagnerian heroine in proportion. Climbing out again into the Dublin day from the vaults, the warm, pervasive scent of Guinness is a welcome back and a summons to a pub, perhaps in the evenings to a singing pub, still a draw though, with the natural, eternal partygiving ease of Irishmen, the more formal singsong and guitar-playing seem unnecessary — just as the Bunratty mediaeval feasts, in spite of the pure clear singing of the wenches, seem a travesty of the informality of Ireland.
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