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Around
the Isles This was a rather unusual holiday for us, a driving holiday that took us to all the component countries of the British Isles. This was also in fact our first visit to Ireland, North or South. We had been fortunate enough to travel to many far-flung places but hitherto had not been to this country on our very doorstep. We first headed to the North-East of England, or more specifically Hexham in Northumberland, a long drive as we live in Surrey. We detoured into Durham, something of a nostalgia trip as our daughter had gone to university there. We'd gone up there quite frequently, especially during her first two years when she'd lived on campus and had to remove all her belongings during vacations as rooms were needed for people attending conferences or whatever. We'd grown rather attached to what is one of the nicest of British cities, a place that changes very little over the years. We briefly stepped into the cathedral. A service to commemorate the Queen's Golden Jubilee was about to start and we had a quick chat with one of the ushers - who had once been our daughter's year tutor! Having so far driven along motorways or fast roads, we took a scenic route via the Derwent Reservoir. Our hotel was Slaley Hall, not in Hexham itself but out in the countryside. This is part of the De Vere chain which is fairly upmarket (albeit owned, a tad incongruously it might be thought, by a Warrington brewery) though one does not necessarily pay upmarket prices since they do some very good offers. We were well pleased with our stay here and indeed have been back for a return visit. Northumberland is maybe one of England's least well-known counties, at least if one is a Southerner, but it is one of the most beautiful. It is also a good county if one likes old-fashioned castles. On both our days here we headed for the coast. On Day One we first visited Alnwick Castle, which has since gained a high profile as Hogwarts in the Harry Potter films. Its pride and joy at the time of our visit was the newly opened water garden, designed by the Castle's very own Duchess, with a bit of help from Charlie Dimmock. However, Chatsworth had had the idea about three hundred years earlier! Alnwick Castle is still owned by the Percy family, who have an ancient pedigree. In lawless days of old, during the Wars of the Roses and so on, they vied with another great family, the Nevilles, to be top dog in the Northeast. I don't know what happened to the Nevilles, though their name lives on in Nevilles Cross, on the outskirts of Durham. The real highlight of the day was our visit to Holy Island, also known, no less romantically, as Lindisfarne. We had not long, at this time, been on the internet and had been pleased that we could simply look up the times when the causeway to the mainland is open. At other times it is submerged by the tide. The times vary from day to day. We had lunch in the delightful Crown and Anchor Inn, including an interesting and rather tasty dessert made with dandelions. We spent some time at the marvellous old castle, which is still privately owned. The next day we had another look at Holy Island, just to see how it looked when still surrounded by the sea. Unbelievably a car was nevertheless driving along the still submerged causeway. I don't know whether the driver, whose passengers included young children, thought he was being bold; we and others thought him a chump. We carried on to Berwick-upon-Tweed, England's northernmost town. As is well known, it changed hands between England and Scotland many times. There is a Scottish feel still: its football team plays in the Scottish league and it gives its name to a Scottish county. We then drove back down the coast to explore another fine Northumbrian Castle, Bamburgh. During our second stay at Slaley Hall, we returned to Alnwick Castle (which had become a bit too commercialized, I rather thought) and Holy Island, and also did a trip into Newcastle, going by train from Hexham's impressively preserved station. Newcastle gets my vote as the most attractive of England's large provincial cities. My first visit many years previously had dispelled any view that this is a grim industrial city, for it has a fine Georgian centre. Now the riverside, here and over the Millennium Bridge in Gateshead, has been impressively redeveloped. We crossed the Bridge and had an excellent lunch at the Baltic Centre, based in a former flourmill, with fine views back across Newcastle. We returned to the city centre by one of the city's novel electric buses. Actually until the mid-sixties Newcastle had plenty of electric buses: they were called trolleybuses. Reverting to our British Isles round trip, we headed the next day into Scotland, hurrying past Gretna Green which looked anything but romantic with its outlet stores. We then left the main road and meandered along the Solway coast, with its fine views back into England. I was struck, as we left the small town of Annan, by the road sign exhorting us “haste ye back”. Annan, along with nearby Carlisle, was for many years remarkable in that the pubs were state owned, the result of a decision in World War 1 when there were lots of munitions workers in the area. They were privatized in the early seventies. We spent some time at the picturesque Caerlaverock Castle, which has an unusual triangular shape. Our next stop was in not-so-picturesque Dumfries. This is one of those smallish towns which can punch a weight greater than its population because it is the centre of a fairly large region, in this instance Dumfries and Galloway. It is nothing very special - we only stopped because we needed to make one or two purchases. The riverside might be attractive, were it not given over to a sprawling car park. Our abode for the next two nights was a B&B in the Galloway region, a few miles south of Stranraer. We had again used the internet to find this and the lady of the house, clearly something of a technophobe, seemed rather impressed. It is a fine Robert Adam building and we had good accommodation, though the breakfast was somewhat stingy for what was supposed to be a four-star guesthouse. Our hosts had, at time of booking, recommended a restaurant in nearby Portpatrick, which turned out to be fully booked when we rang them. But we headed to Portpatrick anyway and found that they could give us a table after all. We had a first-class meal there. Portpatrick is about as close as mainland Britain gets to Northern Ireland, which can be seen very clearly on a fine day. We debated what to do with our one full day here. One possibility was to explore the eastern part of Galloway - the old county of Kirkcudbrightshire - which is said to resemble the Highlands in miniature. The countervailing attraction of Culzean Castle, involving a scenic drive along the Ayrshire Coast, won. First we diverted to a lighthouse, right at the tip of the more northerly of Galloway's two peninsulas, or Rhinns. This has been transformed into a rather classy hotel, which we had considered staying at, but was rather pricey. We did book dinner there. This drive took us through Stranraer, which presents two faces to the world: an attractive resort in the west, a rather grim port in the east. We spent several hours at Culzean and could have done with more time still, as there is plenty to see, not just in the castle itself but in its extensive grounds. President Eisenhower was given a flat here in appreciation of his services to Britain as a general in World War II and apparently found time actually to stay there. Whilst walking
around, an American couple asked us to take a photo of them. We thought
nothing of this until, the next day, they appeared at the breakfast table
in our guesthouse! Dinner at the lighthouse did not disappoint. In Stranraer we had a sandwich lunch and attempted to visit the main attraction, the small Castle of St John. I was indignant to find it closed as it was supposed to stay open for another twenty minutes or so. But the chap heard us try the door, presented himself and let us look round for free. Taking our car by ferry was a new experience for us. We have never driven on the Continent. We disembarked in Larne, an unlovely town where sectarian graffiti was in evidence. We hit the road up the Antrim coast. A good thing about this road is that one very quickly loses sight of Larne! More positively, we were at the start of one of the most beautiful coastal drives, not just in the British Isles but in Europe. We were staying at the somewhat idiosyncratic Ballygally Castle hotel. Most guests stay in the large modern wing but there is an old castle complete with haunted room, now just an attraction and not used to accommodate anyone. There was
time for us to drive up one of the Antrim Glens, finishing in Ballymena.
It was fairly easy at this time, when the Golden Jubilee was being celebrated,
to tell which towns are nationalist and which are unionist, by whether
or not they'd put up bunting. In Ballymena, which is in Ian Paisley's
constituency, there was a lot of bunting! Smaller Northern Irish towns
like this, on either side of the religious divide, are often quite pleasant,
rather old-fashioned places. In Ballymena we wanted to buy a map of the
island of Ireland, having realized our map of the entire British Islands
was not adequate. I wondered whether, in this citadel of unionism, one
would dare ask! But in the town's old-fashioned bookstore we acquired
one with no trouble. Something that was also becoming evident was that
people in Northern Ireland, again regardless of religious divide and despite
the many years of the Troubles, tend to be very friendly. On a scale of
friendliness across Europe I might put Northern Ireland at the opposite
end to Croatia, a country we have just visited, where poker faces seem
to be the order of the day. Our drive took us through Omagh and on to Enniskillen, where we had lunch. Both these towns maybe tried a bit harder than most to stay out of the Troubles, yet both were afflicted by appalling IRA bombings. No doubt the scars are there still but, for the visitor, they are handsome towns. A person driving through Omagh might remember it for its complicated road system. We then had a drive along Lough Erne, a quiet corner of the Province that attracted visitors, particularly anglers, even during the height of the Troubles. We came back via a different route which took us through the Sperrin Mountains. The next day we moved on to Belfast but first drove north, along the coastal road, to visit County Antrim's top two attractions. The first was the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, which does feel rather precarious as one walks across. This is not there just for the tourist; its purpose is functional and it has been there for hundreds of years. The other was, as might be guessed, the Giant's Causeway, a remarkable coastal formation. Legend has it that the same giant who created the Causeway simultaneously created Lough Neagh, the large lake in the middle of Northern Ireland, and the Isle of Man, by taking a huge chunk of the mainland and hurling it into the Irish Sea. Maybe there's some truth in this - they are roughly the same size! We had a charming guide who pointed out the northernmost part of Ireland, which can be seen from here. Contrary to what one might assume, it is not in Northern Ireland, being in County Donegal and thus in the Republic. The Good Friday agreement, which effectively ended the Troubles and at this time had been in place for some four years, had, she told us, given a big boost to the tourist industry in Northern Ireland. For all too many years the very idea of a tourist industry in Northern Ireland had seemed rather ridiculous, yet there is great tourist potential, not least along the Antrim Coast. With the DUP and Sinn Fein having just agreed to form a power-sharing government - something that would have been inconceivable at the time of our visit - the prospects for a long-lasting peace have never looked better. We now headed for Belfast. I still had a somewhat negative view of this city, the result of the years of sectarian violence. I'd wondered about heading straight for the South but Cathy felt that we should have a look. We stayed at the Europa, which in the seventies had the doubtful distinction of being the most bombed hotel in Europe. Even at the time of our visit there was unrest to the south of the city, in the Donegal Pass area. But from our window high up a peaceful city was spread before us. We wandered into nearby Donegal Square, in the heart of the city centre. There was a vaguely menacing feel - but no more than in any other British city when the shops shut and the chavs take over the pedestrianized centres. The best part of the city, which we didn't get to, is supposed to be around the University, an area that has been likened to the trendier parts of Dublin. We had just one night in Belfast and next day headed south to Dublin. We decided to take a scenic route and thus meander along the coast. We thought that en route we would take a look at Stormont, the seat of Governemnt. We got directions from our hotel and reckoned we were in the right area when we passed shops that took their name from it. However, we then found ourselves in a rather rundown area whereas Stormont, I knew, is in a leafy district on the outskirts of the city. Graffiti artists informed us that "Ulster will never be part of Eire" (though actually part of it is, since only six of its nine counties were hived off into Northern Ireland at time of partition). It occurred to us we had taken a wrong turning. We stopped the car and spoke to a soldier, who turned out to be from our home county of Surrey. He advised us to turn round there and then. We were in "loyalist" East Belfast but heading straight for the troubled Catholic enclave of Short Strand, scene of recent riots which had been triggered by, of all things, someone putting up bunting to celebrate the Golden Jubilee. Now back on the right road, we found Stormont and were allowed by the guards to drive up its impressive drive and have a look from the outside - there was no question of being able to go in. Rather provocatively, it might be thought, a statue of Sir Edward Carson still stands outside. He was the politician who masterminded the separation of the Six Counties from the rest of Ireland and this makes him something of a hero for Unionists, and rather the opposite for Nationalists. Maybe the miserable weather had something to do with it, but the part of Northern Ireland we now drove through, on the way to the border, didn't appeal to us in the same way as areas previously visited. We had a brief stop in the resort of Newcastle, which looked rather grim. We crossed the border to the south of Newry. This is one of the most contentious borders in Europe and is of course the UK's only land frontier. Yet we only realized that we'd crossed it when we noticed that our 'A' road had become an 'N' road! This rather unpretty area is not really the best of introductions to the Republic of Ireland. First town was Dundalk, also unpretty and noted during the Troubles as a hotbed of IRA activity. Drogheda, the next town going south, seemed rather more pleasant. Finding our hotel in Dublin was challenging. We'd decided to treat ourselves and stay in the historic Shelburne, a five-star establishment. It's located in St Stephen's Green, in the fashionable south of the city, and road signs were confusing - I've read somewhere they are deliberately so, to discourage motorists. We managed to find the hotel but there was nowhere to stop so we got swept up in the traffic, to get lost once more before finally finding it again and being able to stop long enough for one of their staff to take possession and put it in a nearby car park. The Shelburne was disappointing. It struck us as one of those places that coast along on their reputation but are no longer that great. We rather felt that it was our privilege to be their guest rather than vice versa. The legendary Irish friendliness was hard to find, since nearly all the staff were unsmiling. I was annoyed above all to find that, this being a Monday, the fine Dining Restaurant was closed; it closed on Tuesdays as well. We'd arranged for some friends who live in Dublin to join us for a meal. The hotel's website had said nothing about this and they had not otherwise forewarned us. By contrast the Europa in Belfast had written to us advising that their fine dining restaurant is closed on Sundays. We only found out when we went to book with reception. The young lady took the booking but we asked her to contact the restaurant so we could reserve a table. She then revealed, as if this was a mildly interesting discovery on her part, that the restaurant was closed. We saw a manager and were told that the closure was because of - yes! - 9/11. There were no longer enough American tourists, apparently. A more enterprising management might have taken the view that shutting down facilities was not the best way of attracting customers! We got them to book a nearby restaurant though this turned out to be disappointing: it cost an arm and a leg but the service was slow and the meal indifferent. The next day we pressed on to our final stop, Kinsale on the southwest coast. There was not much time to explore Dublin. We walked up Grafton Street, visited Trinity College and saw the Book of Kells, and made our way north of the Liffey to O'Connell Street and the GPO, epicentre of the 1916 uprising. Getting out of the city was somewhat easier than getting in, as we just had to go up to the river and then drive along the parallel road. Before long we were in open country. We took an indirect route, heading first to Kilkenny for our lunchtime stop. This town, perhaps the most attractive in Ireland, is a gem and we enjoyed our stroll through it, finishing at a delicatessen where we got a good takeaway lunch. We carried on through Clonmel to Fermoy where a pedestrian walked straight out in front of us - the village nearly lost its idiot. We bypassed the City of Cork via the Jack Lynch Tunnel, named from a former Taoiseach and son of the city. Kinsale is a town of great charm set amidst magnificent coastal scenery. We were staying at Actons Hotel, only three-star but much better than the Shelburne. The staff were friendly and a room change so we could get a sea view was arranged with no trouble. Rather like Ludlow, Kinsale has acquired something of a gourmet reputation, and there was a good choice of restaurants. But we were only there for two nights and stuck to the hotel, a choice not regretted as the meals were excellent. The starter, which I had both times, was one of my best ever, a simple dish of wild mushrooms cooked in a spiced butter. The next day was spent exploring the vicinity and then the day came for the rather long drive home. Not a fun day, especially as there was heavy rain as we headed for Rosslare and the ferry; Waterford, where we stopped for a somewhat indifferent lunch, seemed all too aptly named. Wales, I fear, was getting short shrift compared to the other four countries visited: we were simply passing through. So we drove non-stop through the lovely county of Pembrokeshire, which we have however stayed in on earlier occasions. Our only stop in fact was at a motorway service station for the second indifferent meal of the day. But overall we had had a thoroughly enjoyable trip. First
published in VISA issues 74-75 (Aug-Oct 2007) |