Around the Isles (part 2)

By David Gourley

This is the second part of David's account of a driving holiday that took him to all the component countries of the British Isles. Read part 1 here.

Taking our car by ferry was a new experience for us.  Given that they drive on the wrong side of the road, 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 do a 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. 

Back at our hotel we were served a gargantuan dinner.  For Cathy it was far too much and it was almost so for me, albeit my appetite would hardly be described as delicate.  Next evening Cathy tried to obviate a repeat of this experience by ordering an “8 oz” steak but their idea of “8 oz” and ours are not the same so she still had too much for her liking.  The next day we drove over to County Fermanagh, in the western part of the Province, almost as long a drive as one can do within its borders.  We noticed en route signs to “Londonderry” with the “London” crossed out: Nationalists of course know it simply as “Derry”.  To avoid offending anyone, radio and TV staff have taken to calling it “Derry stroke Londonderry”, earning it the sobriquet “Stroke City”.  Back home, I tried out on a Northern Irish friend my theory that one can tell the religion of someone from Northern Ireland by what they call the province’s second city.  “That’s nonsense”, he snapped, “I’m a Protestant and I call it Derry”.  We weren’t going there so didn’t have to call it anything. 

Our drive took us through Omagh and on to Enniskillen, where we had lunch.  Both these town 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 and the 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 Donegall Pass area.  But from our window high up a peaceful city was spread before us.  We wondered 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 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 a disappointment.  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 by-passed the City of Cork via the Jack Lynch Tunnel, named from a former taisoeach 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 seaview 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 75 (October 2007)

Around the Isles (part 1)

By David Gourley

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.

Alnwick Castle

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 flour mill, 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 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- 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 fourstar 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 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. We were continuing the next day by ferry to Northern Ireland, departing from Cairnryan, a little to the north of Stranraer. There was still the morning in which to explore locally and we headed for the tip of the southern Rhinn. One is supposed to be able to see into England, Wales, Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man, but it was misty and we saw none of them. We then visited the Dunskey Gardens, the description of which led us to expect a mini-version of the Lost Gardens of Heligan. They weren't, however, of much interest. 

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.  

First Published in VISA 74 (August 2007)

Read about the second part of the trip here.

"Is that on your map, then?"

by Helen Krasner

When we planned it originally, it was to have been a trip to France or the Channel Islands. It had been my ambition to fly to France ever since I'd got my PPL (Private Pilots Licence) in 1998. But then I flew with a group to Paris earlier in the year, and Tricia unexpectedly flew to Alderney one weekend. So we decided on Ireland for our five-day flying holiday. I had been there some years earlier and loved it, and I thought that it would be even more wonderful from the air. And since neither of us had really done much flying overseas, we thought maybe it would be easier not having to cope with a foreign language for this first trip.

 Gloucester was to be our starting point, since we were hiring an aircraft (a 2-seater Cessna 152) from Staverton Flying School, where Tricia works part time as an instructor. They gave us a special rate for Monday to Friday, since they didn't really need all their aeroplanes except at weekends. So it really wasn't going to work out that expensive, since we'd only pay for the hours we flew, as is usual with hired aircraft. A little gadget in the cockpit records all the time that the engine is running, and you pay accordingly. And a couple of hours flying a day would be plenty.

We planned to fly first to Haverfordwest Airfield to re-fuel and clear customs, then over the Irish Sea to Waterford. After that we didn't know, and didn't really want to plan any further. Despite the fact that it was mid-summer and pre-booking accommodation might be wise, we both fancied going where the mood took us, being aerial wanderers, having the freedom that one's own aircraft gives you - at least in theory. In practice, the weather would decide much of what we did, and we knew that.

In fact, the weather meant that the trip almost didn't happen at all. A cold front was forecast for the Tuesday, meaning heavy rain and strong winds. A concerned Tricia phoned me at the end of the previous week, wondering if we should abandon the whole idea. But I had arranged the time off, and I wanted to fly to Ireland no matter what. Monday's weather forecast was good, and it looked as though at least one day later in the week would be good enough to enable us to come home. I would be happy, I said, even if we spent the whole time in Waterford, and Tricia agreed that this made some sort of sense. So on the Sunday I set off to drive to Gloucester.

The flight to Haverfordwest was enjoyable and uneventful, the route being fairly familiar to us both since we'd flown in that area before. We had lunch at the airfield, then put on life jackets for the trip across the Irish Sea to Waterford. I had been quite nervous beforehand, never having flown over the more than forty miles of water we had to cross. Flying over water can be quite tiring and disorientating, as you sometimes have no horizon and few visual references. But this time the weather was clear, with a good horizon all the way, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The only slight problem came when we completely lost radio contact less than halfway across the Irish Sea. This was because there was a fair amount of low cloud around, so we were being forced to fly at 1500 feet, which wasn't high enough for them to hear us at that distance. Being over the sea in a single-engined aircraft without any radio contact didn't seem like a good idea at all, and made us both a bit nervous. But we made contact with Shannon in Ireland after a few minutes, so there was no real problem.

Soon we reached the Irish coast, and Shannon then asked us to report our arrival overhead some place we'd never heard of and couldn't find on our chart. We told them this, and the controller calmly asked us to report somewhere else, asking jokingly: "Is that on your map then?" The way he said it made it sound as though he thought we were foreigners with a strange little sketch map, but that he was quite happy to accommodate us all the same! This was an Air Traffic Controller at one of the largest airports in Ireland, the equivalent of Manchester or Birmingham, who we would not have expected to be so relaxed about two incompetent sounding foreign flyers. It was the first example we had of the generally laid back approach to flying in Ireland, but was not to be the last.

Waterford Airport was relaxed and uncrowded, not at all like a British regional airport. It seemed to be run by two or three people, who took our landing fee, opened the shop, served coffee, and a whole lot of other things too. Everyone seemed to rally round to help us, including phoning and booking accommodation, and then getting us a taxi. Again, we found this hospitality at airfields to be typical of Ireland. They found us a very comfortable B & B, where we ended up spending the next two nights! For the cold front arrived as predicted, and we woke up next day to torrential rain and howling winds. We joined the other tourists in Waterford at the famous crystal factory in the morning, and in the afternoon checked the weather hopefully. We were thankful to see that Wednesday was forecast to be better, since Waterford was hardly the most exciting place to spend a whole holiday.

 Next morning we were down at the airfield bright and early; we planned to fly to Bantry Bay and then Galway. I had seen a photo of the landing strip at Bantry, approximately 500 metres from deserted shore to deserted shore; it looked beautiful and I definitely wanted to go there. However, the IR20 landing fee seemed a bit exorbitant considering there were no facilities. But the conversation when I phoned for permission to land (compulsory at most airfields) made it clear why they charged so much.

"Yes, of course you can come. Now, do you know how to get here? And what time will you be coming? Will you be staying overnight now?"

The slow rural west of Ireland voice obviously had no intention of telling us anything quickly, and I remembered from previous holidays that they didn't know the meaning of the word "hurry" on the west coast of Ireland. I resignedly shoved more pound coins into the pay phone while I told him we could indeed find it, we wouldn't stay overnight, and we thought we'd arrive around 12.30 - 1.30 pm. But that wasn't precise enough for him. Apologetically he told me why.

 "Well, you see now, we have to leave work and come down from the factory three miles away to meet you. And I'll have to move the cows off the runway, and there's some people practising with their model aeroplanes for this competition, so I'll have to move them off the runway too you see".

Yes, I did see, and now I understood why he wanted an exact arrival time. He continued: "I think twenty pounds is far too much, but the Managing Director insists; it's because we have to leave work you see..." As I shoved in yet another pound coin I told him we'd try to be there at 1.00 pm.

The flight to Bantry was idyllic. We had planned to follow the coast, and hoped Shannon would allow this, as we had to tell them our route and this didn't sound very precise. As it was they told us to go that way without our asking, obviously assuming from experience that flying foreign tourists would want to do so. Small towns, inlets, cliffs, rivers; the renowned Irish coastline is probably even more beautiful from the air than it is on the ground, and despite a little low cloud the weather was almost perfect. Tricia flew while I navigated, though with a coastline to follow there really wasn't much navigation required, so I could look and enjoy and take photos.

We landed at Bantry a few minutes late, to be met by my laid back rural Irishman and his colleague. They seemed amazed to see us, and we gathered that women pilots were a bit of a rarity in western Ireland, or at least in Bantry. Shannon had earlier asked us to close our flight plan by phone on arrival, and our mobiles didn't work in Bantry, so we asked to use the airfield phone. Our new friends were happy to oblige, unlocked the hangar, and then produced an old-style phone with a circular dial, practically an antique. Unfortunately it didn't work! But we eventually managed to contact Shannon on a rather bad line on a borrowed mobile phone, and could communicate enough information to them to close the flight plan.

 We ate sandwiches in a delightful spot by the shore overlooking Bantry Bay, wishing we had longer than five days in all so that we could have spent more time there. We then asked the model aeroplaners to move their van for our take-off, the runway being so short that we were worried about hitting them otherwise. We had wanted to continue flying around the quite beautiful west coast, but realised that we were possibly going to be short of fuel if we did, as there had been no fuel at Bantry. So it had to be the direct route to Galway, with just a little detour to look at the famous cliffs of Moher. 

We arrived at Galway Airport in the late afternoon, and even though Galway is a popular tourist town we managed to book ourselves into another B & B. But now we had another slight problem. The oil our aircraft needed seemed to be unavailable anywhere in the area. The only place to get it turned out to be Connemara Airfield, just a short distance down the coast. Since we were really airfield hopping anyway, we decided to stop in there next day, and having sorted that out we headed into Galway City for the evening.

I had been in Galway nine years earlier, and loved it. It's now bigger, more crowded, but still a lively and friendly town with some good restaurants, and we spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening. We also checked the weather for the next couple of days. It didn't sound too good; the next day was due to be fine, but a warm front was expected on the Friday, bringing drizzle, low cloud, and possibly fog. What should we do? Would we have to start for home next day? We really didn't want to do that.

Eventually we phoned Staverton Flying School for advice, and were told to get back to near the East coast by the following evening, since it looked as though if we left early on the Friday we could get back to the UK before the front arrived. We therefore decided to leave early next morning for Connemara to get our oil, then land on the Aran Islands just across Galway Bay, then go up to Sligo, then across Ireland to Kilkenny for the night.

The flight to Connemara was only twenty minutes, and we picked up our oil safely. Apparently it was the only place in Ireland where one can get this particular type of oil, or so they said. We then took off for Inisheer, smallest of the Aran Islands. We had been warned that landing on the islands was not for novices; it could be difficult due to turbulence and windsheer, so I asked the pilot of one of the aircraft taking passengers to the islands if there was anything I should know. He shrugged. "If you were OK landing here you should be fine", he said. Well, it was actually Tricia with her 2000 flying hours who had landed at Connemara, but it hadn't looked too hard, so I wasn't really worried. But it turned out to be one of the few times on the trip that Tricia's greater experience and instructor's rating was very useful, and when she asked if I wanted any help, as I turned final in a strong crosswind, with only about 400 metres of runway ahead of me with water at either end, I gratefully accepted.

Inisheer airfield was windswept and deserted; we ate our lunch feeling like aerial pioneers - unusual in this day and age. But now came a very real problem: would we be able to take off again? The runway was short and the conditions were far from ideal, and being able to land doesn't necessarily mean one can take off again safely! There was now an even stronger crosswind, at exactly right angles to the runway. And the runway itself sloped very definitely in both directions. So we would be taking off uphill, without a headwind to help us. We both paced it out carefully, walking from one end to the other, deciding on the best direction to use and at what point to abort the take-off if necessary i.e. the last point at which we could stop safely if we didn't have enough airspeed to take off. If that happened, we would have to wait for the wind to change direction. At least it would be a nice place to stay, even if a bit isolated, I thought to myself. But we managed it safely with room to spare, though it was the first time that I've known Tricia to remark that a take-off was exciting. And we set off across Galway Bay, and then the strange watery landscape of Connemara, towards Sligo.

We had yet another example of the informality of flying in Ireland when we called up Sligo Airport on the radio, from about 20 miles away, to ask for arrival instructions. Sligo is another regional airport, and large airports in Britain will give you detailed instructions, telling you when they want you to call them again, what other traffic is in the area, and exactly how they would like you to join their circuit and land. All Sligo said was: "No known traffic to affect your flight. Report final". Now I really can't see Birmingham or Manchester ever doing that!

Sligo was almost deserted; this was beginning to seem normal for Irish airports, even big ones. The young female Air Traffic Controller invited us up to the tower for a chat, and seemed disappointed that we couldn't stay longer. But we had a relatively long flight if we were to reach Kilkenny and find somewhere to stay that night. So we finally left the beautiful west coast of Ireland, heading straight across the middle of the country. Kilkenny had a grass runway with no obvious markings, and was as difficult to find as such strips often can be. But we landed there safely, found a place to stay, and had a meal in one of the town's 34 restaurants (according to the guide book).

We were back at the airfield early the next day, but we were already too late. The expected warm front had arrived early, and it was already raining at Waterford, just down the coast. We waited, checked weather forecasts, phoned Staverton Flying School and tried to decide what to do. Finally Staverton phoned us back. After extensive enquiries, it seemed that the weather was not going to change quickly, but although there was cloud and rain it would be safe to fly through it. Or rather, Tricia could fly through it, as she was qualified and experienced enough to do so, while I would do the radio and navigation. And Gloucester at the other end was in bright sunshine, so finding the airfield and landing would not be a problem.

It wasn't the trip back we would have hoped for, but it certainly wasn't difficult. A few miles from the Irish coast we flew into cloud, and we emerged from it about 20 miles from Gloucester. We kept in radio contact with Shannon and then "London Information", and we weren't at all amused by the fact that the south of England and the English Channel obviously had bright sunshine, with loads of aircraft flying and enjoying the scenery. But that's British weather for you.

We arrived back at Gloucester in bright sunshine, thanked our little Cessna for behaving so well, and put her to bed in the hangar. It's amazing how attached one becomes to even a hired aircraft after such a long trip. It had been an absolutely wonderful holiday and we can't wait to do another long distance flying trip. Hopefully it'll be next summer, and we fancy the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Barra, in the Outer Hebrides, has its airfield on the beach, with tidal sand runways. Now that would be a first for both of us.

First published in VISA issue 45 (spring 2002)

An Irish Jaunt

by Maxine Bates

Despite having suffered a 90 minute delay at Holyhead due to adverse weather conditions in the Irish Sea, my friend Helen and I arrived in Dun Laoghaire eager to begin our whistle stop tour of southern Ireland. We were travelling on a Stena `go as you please' holiday, but had booked our first two nights at a hotel on Talbot Street in Dublin. This proved a good choice as all the major tourist attractions were within easy walking distance.

Whilst in the city we took an informative tour of Dublin Castle, which included the state apartments, inauguration room of the President and old castle ruins. We walked along the River Liffey, crossing Halfpenny Bridge (so called because that was once the toll) and poking our noses into the Clarence Hotel owned by U2 (though you would never have guessed it had rock star connections) en route to a `liquid lunch' at St James' Gate Brewery. Better known as the Guinness Brewery, its popularity has meant that tours are no longer available of the production site. However, across the road at the Guinness Hopstore you can follow the brewing process from growing of the barley to kegging with a well presented exhibition and audio visual show and every visitor is entitled to a free pint of the black stuff in their bar. The souvenir shop mystified us as the cheaper items were locked in cabinets whilst the expensive ones were on open display!

Next stop was `Dublinia' in the old part of the city for a self guided audio tour of medieval Dublin followed by a visit to Christ Church Cathedral and up St Michael's Tower for a panoramic view of the city. Well, it would have been if it hadn't started raining! We also visited Trinity College to see the famous Book Of Kells, though we thought £2.50 to view only one page was a bit excessive. On famous O'Connell Street the souvenir shops and fast food restaurants mingled with the outstanding architecture of the Post Office and statues down the central reservation. At night there is only one place to go in Dublin - the trendy cosmopolitan Temple Bar area. There were Italian and Spanish restaurants a plenty, but we wanted traditional Irish fare, so dined on Irish stew and boxty (similar to pancake) at Gallagher's Boxty House.

Leaving Dublin we headed south through the Wicklow Mountains. En route we stopped to see Powerscourt Waterfall - the highest in Ireland - which despite the winding road to get there was worth the journey. We had a photo stop at The Meeting Of The Waters in Co.Wexford. Here the Avonmore and Avonberg rivers meet to form the Avoca river in a setting of sylvan beauty. A 5 km detour brought us to the village of Avoca where the TV programme Ballykissangel is filmed, though being Good Friday Fitzgeralds pub was closed. We were told up to 15 coaches visit Avoca during the summer months - I bet the village store couldn't believe their luck when the producers decided to film there! Onwards to Waterford we were too late for a guided tour of the crystal factory, but we did stare in wonder at the chandeliers in their shop. We spent the night in a lovely hotel in Dungarvan right on the beach and with its own leisure complex and bowling alley.

Next day was bright and sunny as we continued along the coast stopping at the fishing village of Youghal (pronounced yawl) to view the harbour and clock tower which straddles the main road. Crossing into Co.Cork we visited the Jameson Heritage Centre in Midleton to discover the story of Irish whiskey, see the world's largest pot still and take a tipple. By mid afternoon we arrived in Blarney with one aim in mind - to kiss the Blarney Stone! This involves climbing up the keep, lying on your back, gripping two iron bars and extending your head backwards to kiss the awkwardly placed stone. A most bizarre and unhygienic practice, but a must on the tourist trail!

Besides the castle there are also pretty gardens with areas called `druids cave', `fairy glade' and `witches stone'. It was a short drive into the city of Cork and, after several laps of the one way system, we found Shandon Tower. Attached to the Church Of St Ann, the tower was built in 1750 and houses a chime of eight bells which visitors are allowed, and even encouraged, to ring. So, after climbing up to the parapet for views of the city, Helen and I played `Amazing Grace' and `Auld Lang Syne' for the whole of Cork to hear! Music was of course, provided! We just made it to Cork City Gaol in time for last admissions. This is a fascinating insight into 19th century prison life and visitors are allowed to walk into the cells. As dusk fell over the River Shannon we headed north west to Killarney.

Helen and I agreed the next day was the highlight of our holiday - the famous scenic drive around the Ring Of Kerry. We set off around 1 1.00 am having been told the route would take us 3-4 hours depending on photo stops. It was Easter Sunday, yet we hardly passed another vehicle! Taking the anticlockwise route we first came to Dingle Bay - home of Fungi the dolphin and location for the film Far And Away. We detoured from the N70 road to visit the Skellig Experience on Valentia Island. The Skelligs are two rocks lying eight miles out to sea and the tourist attraction tells the story of the monastery that was once built there as well as the bird life and history of the lighthouse.

 Leaving the car park we spotted a sign for the `Ring Of Valentia' and decided to follow that route. It took us down narrow winding roads (no more than mud tracks) and led us to a shrine, slate quarry and spectacular scenery with white washed cottages. We were amazed that people live in such a remote place! Returning across the bridge we rejoined the well signposted Ring Of Kerry and headed to Waterville for a stroll on the beach. Next stop was Derrynane House, the ancestral home of Daniel O'Connell - Ireland's most prominent lawyer, civil rights activist, politician and statesman.

Further on we saw a sign for Staigue Fort and decided to leave the main road once again. Despite being a listed monument, sheep roamed around the stone fort and visitors were trusted to leave their 50p admission fee in a box attached to the gate! By the time we reached Ladies View - said to be one of the most scenic views on the Ring Of Kerry - it was getting dark and we had already taken far too many photos! Nine hours after setting off we were back at our hotel exhausted, but with our minds full of wonderful scenery.

After a leisurely breakfast we drove to Tralee and found the tourist information office, where we overheard a girl telling visitors what they could do if the attractions were open! The main street was decorated with bunting, but despite being Easter Monday the town seemed very quiet. We visited the `Kerry The Kingdom' attraction comprising three sections: a multi-image audio visual presentation on Kerry's spectacular scenery, an exhibition on Kerry's history from 5,000 BC and a `time travel' ride to experience the sights and smells of an Irish medieval town. Since Blennerville Windmill - the largest working mill in Ireland - was only one mile away we stopped there for yet another audio visual show and to grind some flour. Once again it was quiet and we were the only visitors.

Leaving Tralee we stopped for lunch at Europe's most westerly McDonalds - the busiest place on our whole tour! We were hoping to spend our last evening at a medieval banquet at Bunratty Castle in Co.Clare, but arrived to discover the Americans had booked every place. So, onwards to our overnight accommodation in Limerick.

We returned to Bunratty the following morning and spent a couple of hours exploring the folk park, including blacksmith's forge, farmhouses, a village street and schoolhouse, as well as the impressive castle. Seven days and 13 counties later (including Tipperary which we all know is a long way!) we were back in Dun Laoghaire for our return sailing. I'm glad we opted to take the car over instead of taking an organised tour as it enabled us to get off the beaten track and discover at least a part of the real Ireland.

First published in VISA issue 25 (summer 1997)