OF COUNTIES AND CASTLES
THERE’S A SADNESS, a quiet, that sometimes affects the Irish psyche.” Michael Docherty, our Irish guide for the week, is trying to put his finger on a melancholy that goes back generations on the Emerald Isle. His voice, so deep and suddenly so sombre, elicits the chills, particularly as the view from the coach’s window is a mile’s worth of flat black rocks stretching to a stormy sea.
We’re navigating toward the wild Atlantic Way, a 2,500-kilometre route of mostly western coastline via the Ring of Kerry, and the building storm clouds seem to mirror his voice. At first glance, you’d probably have a tough time thinking that this guy – all six-foot-four of him, more Liam Neeson testosterone than leprechaun sprite – would give a hint of thought to anything emotional. But that’s the Irish way. There’s a depth that drives them to tell their stories, by song and by spoken word. A depth of melancholy that’s matched by a soaring whimsical spirit that’s spurred the legends of rainbows, luck and pots of gold. Spinning yarns, however, is what’s truly Irish gold, and Docherty is no exception. He’s full of fables and lore and limericks – and a bit of Yeats poetry completes his knowledge and connection to his home.
But you can’t really be melancholy long in a country that gives its places lyrical monikers such as Dingle, Killarney, Tipperary and, yes, Limerick. The day before, we’d made the pilgrimage to Cashel in County Tipperary. High on a hillside, here was the rock from which St. Patrick preached and from where he likened the Holy Trinity to the shamrock. Ubiquitous in these parts, its leaves enabled him to illustrate it, and the national
emblem of Ireland was born. But it’s not just pilgrims here; archeology buffs and history seekers also wandered the ruins of the Rock of Cashel. A testament to devotion in these parts, this medieval monument encompasses a 12th-century tower and Romanesque chapel, a 13th-century Gothic cathedral and a 15th-century castle. Perhaps it’s the air up here, with the wind whipping through the hollow buildings, now shells of limestone, you could almost hear the whispers of the past. More recently, Queen Elizabeth, on a historic trip to the Republic of Ireland in 2011, requested this be a stop on her itinerary, to enjoy the view of the Golden Vale going as far as the eye can see, a green swath dotted with grazing horses, sheep and cattle.
Incontrast,theviewsfromtheCliffs of Moher are anything but green. Standing 700 feet above the crashing waves of the Atlantic, they’ve been carved by wind and water. Wild, indeed, the Atlantic below is all grey and roiling, while the cliffs stand in defiance, in some places even leaning outward as the elevation increases. The group can’t resist the photo ops here, risking themselves clambering over rocks and outcrops to get the shot. I keep my feet on the ground. It’s enough to feel elevated by the heights and the sound of the pounding surf.
As medieval marvels go, Ashford Castle, the 13th-century pile that still stands after all these years on the banks of Lough Corrib in County Mayo, certainly is marvellous. We’re not the only ones who think so, either. The members of Virtuoso, a global network of advisers focused on the luxury travel sector, voted Ashford as the best hotel in the world in 2015. Once the home of nobility as well as a hunting lodge for the Guinness beer clan, it’s now a hotel, restored to its historic rustic elegance by the Red Carnation hotel group, a boutique chain known for its luxury properties in Europe, North America and Africa. The family-run operation takes legacy seriously, and it shows in its respect for period design and detail. The public spaces act as gathering spots, tea rooms and museums all at once, displaying collections of artwork, china and silver plate, with Waterford crystal chandeliers adding a sparkle and shine to the woodpanelled walls. The chefs in the dining room make the most of the local catch and farm-to-table provenance that’s never really been trendy here. It’s just the way it’s always been. Barn jackets, rain slickers and Hunter rain boots for loan line the inner doorway, waiting there for adventure.
Beyond the simple, okay, perhaps romantic notion of holing up in a castle for the weekend, it’s also a haven for those who romanticize the idea of the tothe-manner-born – with countryhouse pursuits of hiking, horse riding and falconry. It was the lure of these birds that brought me here; the oldest falconry school in Ireland is on the grounds of Ashford, and the experience is wild yet intimate. After donning a large, thick leather glove, I walk with the falcon trainer through the forest to a sun-dappled clearing. A tidbit of raw meat hides between my finger and thumb. I signal, as I’ve been instructed, and my fine-feathered friend, talons and all, alights on my outstretched arm. Not until I have the bird’s full balance do I release the treat. It’s gone in a flash, as is the falcon. He flies, only to turn, as he spots me signalling again. This time, after taking his treat, he lingers a moment longer. There’s no sadness here but there is a quiet. A sudden moment when time seems to freeze. The bird swallows his prize, locks his beady eyes with mine, leaps into the air and takes flight.
IF YOU GO Insight Vacations features a two-night stay at Ashford Castle as part of its Irish itineraries.
www.ashfordcastle.com; www.insightvacations.com/ca; www.ireland.com/en-ca