Off the tourist track

Ireland is a land of blue-tinged mountains, dramatic coastlines, windswept moors and bogs. But even all this scenic beauty has failed to woo many visitors, writes Sumitra Senapaty 

DESPITE being a storehouse of natural beauty, history and heritage, surprisingly, Ireland doesn’t score high on the tourism map. But the real question is, why not? Sure, this is the home of Joyce, Shaw, Yeats and Beckett. But it’s also the home of U2, Van Morrison and the Corrs. Despite a medieval feel and Georgian architecture, the city brims with a youthful zeal.

Our talkative bus driver, full of Irish history and folklore, suddenly breaks into an Irish sing-along, "In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone ... She died of a fever, and no one could save her, and that was the end of sweet Molly Malone. Now her ghost wheels her barrow, through streets broad and narrow, Crying, Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh!" This apparently is the unofficial Irish anthem, in memory of the fisher woman, who lived 300 years ago. On dusky evenings you may still hear the eerie sound of a handcart traversing Dublin’s cobbled streets, wheeled it is said by the spirit of Molly Malone.

At the Storehouse, a drop of the black stuff, the soul of Guinness-brewing history, caught in a see-through bubble is our access to Gravity, the highest bar in Dublin, located 2.5 metres above the roof level. That’s also our ticket to Ireland’s popular visitor attraction. The bubble- type entry ticket represents everything in the Guinness building, the ingredients, the methodology and the passion that has gone into making every pint.

From the Storehouse it is a 10-minute ride back to downtown to the Temple Bar area, that is Dublin’s answer to New York’s Soho and the Left Bank in Paris. It gets its name from Sir William Temple, the English aristocrat, who was elected Trinity College President and built his home and gardens close to the college premises in what is now modern Temple Bar. The pedestrian-only ethos attracts crowds as diverse as those looking to participate in one of Dublin’s famed literary walks to those wanting to enjoy the latest pop hits in the trendy bars and pubs. And the grotto where George Frederic Handel performed the Messiah is also close by and is identified by a gate and plaque from the time. Apparently Handle’s concert was the biggest ever held in Dublin, until U2 did a show here.

Dublin’s old sector is a wonderful spot for tourists. The usual tourist haunts like the Dublin Castle, the Bank of Ireland building and the City Hall are all must-sees on a tourist’s agenda. Be on the lookout for the funky statue of colourful Oscar Wilde, who lived in a house opposite the Merrion Square. The statue erected in his honour is as flamboyant as the man himself.

On a self-drive to Ireland’s West coast, we discover dozens of small towns and villages, where people go out of their way to make us feel welcome, in typically friendly Irish fashion. No part of Ireland is further than 60 miles from the sea — this is a land of blue-tinged mountains, dramatic coastlines, windswept moor-land and bogs, farmland and scenic forest parks with meandering loughs and rivers, filling in the missing parts of the jigsaw.

We start driving through the Back of Beyond — a local nickname for Connemara, the wild region that comprises the northwest chunk of County Galway and the heart of the ancient province of Connaught. The last piece of Ireland to enter the modern age, Connemara did so reluctantly and incompletely. William Butler Yeats, who spent his summers here and is buried in Sligo, had the West’s proud, melancholic isolation in mind when he wrote about Connemara in "The Phases of the Moon" these immortal lines "Too lonely for the traffic of the world, Body and soul cast out and cast away, beyond the visible world."

But in more recent times, it has become clear that the exile from the mainstream has, in some ways, served Connemara well. This remains one of Ireland’s most sparsely populated and starkly beautiful regions, with its hump-backed mountains; rock-walled pastures and trout-filled loughs; and barrier islands inhabited by seagulls, grey seals, and a handful of humans.

We drive through the Connemara National Park to reach Kylemore Abbey and Gardens, once the home of wealthy Victorians, now a private school runs by the nuns of the Benedictine Order. Next stop is the tiny village of Leenane nestling at the foot of the majesty Maamturk Mountains, at the tip of Killary Harbour — Irelands only fjord. We stop over at the Ballynahinch Castle, which is steeped in a wealth of tradition and has been intertwined in the history of Connemara and its people for many centuries — From the days of the O’Flaherty chieftains, to Grace O’Malley, the Pirate Queen of Connemara, to Humanity Dick Martin, founder of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals and to H.R.H. the Maharajah Ranjitsinji, also known as ‘Ranji’ Prince of Cricketers, who eventually became known as the Prince of Connemara.

To drive along Galway’s coast road is to feel life’s difficulties slipping away. On the left is the powerful Atlantic while to the right is the rocky landscape of Connemara. It is completely spiritual. Connemara is possibly the wildest and most isolated part of Ireland, and roughly translated means ‘the people from the sea’. It’s wetter than most places, and it’s windy, and life is harsh, and that’s reflected in the culture.

The long roads back to Dublin offer a chance to reflect on the trip. We loved the scenery, as well as Ireland’s culture and history, most of all its warmth and ‘craic’. ‘Craic’ is the Irish word for good times ... the humour, the hospitality and laughter that sets Eire apart from anywhere else.

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