Siar an bóthar
Mother and daughter bonding over the Gaeltacht
FOR teenagers they are the three glorious weeks when they cut the apron-strings and get up to no good with their pals in the country! For Mum, it’s torture.
There’s only one consolation to the Gaeltacht for parents, the obligatory Sunday visit.
Having trodden this path to the West before to visit my son I’m turning this excursion into a road trip. My daughter, Nicole, has assured me in her nightly phonecalls that the food is delicious and she’s had no end of requests for dances at the nightly Ceilidh.
‘It’s warmer than Portugal mum,’ she says. But it will get hotter still for her if I discover anything I shouldn’t! Seriously, though, she never gives me any cause.
My first pitstop is in the heartland just outside Athlone at the boutique hotel, Wineport Lodge, on the edge of Lough Rea. With only a few metres of reeds between the deck outside my room and the water it feels like my own private hideaway.
I’M tempted to refuel... each of the Wineport Lodge’s rooms are named for a variety of wine and mine is Bordeaux. But I am being good, for now, and head for the spa.
I place myself in the hands of therapist, Nicola, and her hot stones. Nicola uses voya products, made from seaweed. I first came across this brand at the Ice House in Ballina, which is not surprisingly also owned by Ray Byrne and his wife, Jane.
The makers of Voya have an interesting story too, having left hectic city life in New York where the founder was a lawyer and returning to Sligo to make a natural beauty product that is taking the best spas around the world by storm.
My visit coincides with World Gin Day, well, I had earned it.
The menu has a colourful selection of cocktails to choose from with no less than seven speciality tonic waters, the perfect sundowner after dining al fresco at the lakeside on a platter of delicious fish.
It’s Sunday morning and the next leg involves taking the long and winding road along the coast of south Connemara and across the three bridges to Lettermore where Nicole is waiting.
Some parents take the option to have a leisurely lunch but it gets busy at this time of year, so book ahead for a restaurant.
Naturally, the first thing any teenage girl wants to do when they see their Mum is to drag her out shopping.
Buskers and dancers fill the main shopping streets and with a new dress for the weekly disco Nicole is already asking if she can go back to the Bean an Ti because she has to wash her hair and fix the fake tan.
Shopping done, it’s time to hit the road again. Alas, the R336 on the Wild Atlantic Way is bumper to bumper with frustrated parents in cars... and impatient daughters wanting to get back to their friends and the fun.
I’m doubly glad I’ve made my reservation to stay at the celebrated Cashell House Hotel while Nicole is glad to get back ‘home’.
Cashell House Hotel is celebrating its 50th year in business this year. It opened in a flurry of excitement in 1969 with a stay by French president Charles de Gaulle and has gone from strength to strength since.
Frank McElivvy runs the Cashell House Hotel and it is truly a joy to stay here.
Like Wineport it is also a prop- erty in Ireland’s Blue Book. I take a stroll through Kay’s carefully tended gardens and follow a path on to the small beach opposite the hotel after dinner. It is still light until 11.20pm. Next morning the Twelve Bens nod their heads in shades of duck-egg-blue and abandoned cottages filled with untold tales pop up in the sweeping bends. Alas, I must leave it all behind. I drive the long road and stop off in Roundstone, where I’m charmed by shop-owner David Bruno, a native of Boston. His mother though hailed from Causeway in Kerry. David has spent 25 years in Ireland and 19 as the proprietor of his antique second-hand-store The Matchmaker. David was clearly pulled by the call of his mother’s country and has spent the last 25 years here, 19 as the proprietor of his store, The Matchmaker. Here you can find a 100 year-old-dresser or Chinese-patterned-plate − I left the store with a fake-fur jacket. Roundstone is dotted with craft shops and pubs while just outside the town is the silver strand at Dogs Bay where I paddle in clear waters.
AROUND the corner and just off the R341 to Clifden on the Wild Atlantic Way, is the site where the pioneering pilots Alcock and Brown landed on the first transatlantic flight 99 years ago.
Celebrations are already underway for the centenary and a landmark of an aircraft wing marks the spot on the hill looking down on the Derrygimla bog.
I’ve an hour to drive to my next night’s lodging at Currarevagh House on the banks of Lough Corrib, a few miles outside Oughterard and along the popular walkers’ route, the Western Way.
This house has been in the Hodgson family since 1842.
I’m intrigued by the faded tiger skin hanging next to the staircase – a relic of a time long since past.
‘My great-great-uncle sent that from India,’ Henry Hodgson informs me. He throws in the fact that the wallpaper is printed on silk and 180 years old.
Henry’s wife, Lucy, is the cook, and I lick my plate clean after the delicious duck and scallops.
Croquet on the lawn and fishing-boats and equipment are all facilities for patrons’ use in this family home.
It’s easy to see why my daughter has fallen in love with this part of our country as I did when I went to Irish college decades ago.