I hadn't been to the Republic of Ireland since the early 1970s and probably wouldn't have returned were it not for having a husband whose maternal grandfather's last name was Donovan. Back then it was a gorgeous, albeit isolated, little country visited mostly by Americans of Irish descent, obsessive golfers (even thirty years ago the courses were among the best in Europe) and wildly curious people like me who were eager to experience new places just for the fun of it. However, it was also a nation beset by political problems, religious differences and a turbulent history with its neighbor, Northern Ireland. And it was weighed down by a poverty that seemed both inevitable and incurable. There weren't merely pockets of poverty — there were deep wells.
You would never have visited Ireland for the food (mostly overcooked meat, wilted vegetables and a plethora of potatoes) or for luxury lodgings. You would have gone there instead to drink in the dark, cozy pubs, where having your pint (or two) of Guinness was like having mother's milk. And then there was everything else that made Ireland so attractive: its lush, green rural landscape, its Georgian architecture and its rich literary tradition (Yeats, Joyce, O'Casey and, more recently, Seamus Heaney and Brian Friel). But what made the country so totally irresistible was a collection of people who could amuse and charm you into doing just about anything. As Desmond FitzGerald, the twenty-ninth Knight of Glin and president of the Irish Georgian Society, put it, when an Irishman says "Follow me," you have no choice but to go.
To visit Ireland in the 21st century, however, is to find a nation that is among the richest in Europe; this, in turn, makes it one of the most expensive countries to visit. Favorable tax breaks and an educated work force have made it attractive to multinational companies and wealthy foreigners. The capital city of Dublin is thriving, populated by young, ambitious men and women making their mark (among other things, it is the European headquarters for Google), and offers an astonishing number of modern hotels and fine restaurants (there's actually a new Irish cuisine, and it's good!). Even the watering holes are less like old-fashioned pubs than newfangled lounges. And while McMansions are popping up all over the countryside — to the consternation of many who liked their landscape just the way it was, thank you very much — what remains intact is the Irish charm. And, of course, that charm comes with a way with words (which seems to be part of every Irish citizen's DNA) and a lilt.
This brings me to my latest trip, with my husband, Colt, in tow. After starting in Dublin, where we'd spend a pleasant day and a half, we'd drive south, then southwest to County Cork, and finally north to County Limerick and on to Shannon Airport. It was to be a short journey, six days in all, so Killarney to the west and Galway and Connemara to the northwest would have to wait for another time.
From Dublin — its new wealth giving it a spiffier appearance than the one I recalled from the 1970s — we rented a car and hit the highway. If you've never driven on the left-hand side of the road, it can be anything from tricky to perilous. In Ireland the signage is pretty clear and so are the maps, but even if you think you know exactly where you are going, you may not always get there without an unintentional detour or two. So the first rule of the Irish road is to allow for mistakes. The second rule is to concentrate (that's for the driver). The third rule (this is for the person in the passenger's seat) is to keep calm, but don't be stupid; if you think you're in jeopardy, for God's sake, say something — and say it with conviction.
Before we left the Dublin area, late on Tuesday morning, we made a stop at Powerscourt Gardens (011-353-1-204-6000; powerscourt.ie) for about an hour — not only to see the famous formal gardens themselves but also to catch a glimpse of the new Ritz-Carlton Powerscourt (double rooms from $465; 011-353-1-274-8888; ritzcarlton.com), which was close to completion on the property (it is now officially open). From Powerscourt, we began our journey south in earnest, breezing through the villages of Glendalough, in County Wicklow, and on past Enniscorthy and Waterford. We hoped to be on time for tea at the highly recommended Dunbrody Country House Hotel (double rooms from $412; 011-353-51-389-600; dunbrodyhouse.com), in Wexford, but we missed the turn as well as miscalculated the length of the drive. I also confess to our being distracted by the sheer beauty of the countryside and stopping far more often than we'd planned, to take pictures. By the time we realized it, it was well past five and dark outside.
Our resting stop was in County Cork at a resort hotel and spa called Capella Castlemartyr (double rooms from $570; 011-353-21-464-4050; capellacastlemartyr.com) — once a 17th-century manor house, next to the ruins of a 1,000-year-old castle. Situated on 220 acres are the hotel itself, an Auriga spa, a links-style golf course designed by Ron Kirby, a historic chapel and the tomb of the fourth Earl of Shannon (should you care). If you want to see the entire property, you can do so in a horse-drawn carriage.
Capella Castlemartyr, the Irish property of the relatively new luxury chain founded by former Ritz-Carlton CEO Horst Schulze, had opened its doors only weeks before, so not everything was quite finished when we arrived. But despite bare floors here and there and several other missing objects, there was no mistaking the intended grandeur of the hotel. If you want to experience modern Ireland in terms of excellent service and a sumptuous setting, this is the place for it. Everything about the main house is grand, and it is here that you should try to stay, not in the more modern annex that leads to the spa. Don't miss having drinks in the immense Knights Bar, with its restored Rococo ceiling and oversized fireplace, or dinner in the Bell Tower, which is as intimate as the Knights Bar is imposing.
Nearby in Shanagarry is Ballymaloe House (double rooms from $348; 011-353-21-465-2531; ballymaloe.ie), an Irish country-house hotel and restaurant on 400 acres. Two miles down the road at the highly respected Ballymaloe Cookery School (011-353-21-464-6785; cookingisfun.ie), we were given a tour of the organic vegetable gardens by owner Tim Allen and had a delicious lunch made with homegrown and local products at the cooking school, which Tim's wife, Darina, runs. So taken were we by the Allens and their affable staff that we returned the following night to Ballymaloe House for dinner. Ballymaloe is the real thing, and while not as polished or dazzlingly decorated as Capella Castlemartyr, it stands as a reminder of what rural Ireland used to be and, in rare instances, still is. That the two are so close to each other makes it convenient to get a taste of both aspects of the country.
Still ensconced at Capella Castlemartyr, we were ready for forays over the next two days to the city of Cork and the seaside towns of Cobh (Gaelic for "cove"), where the Titanic made its final stop before its doomed Atlantic crossing, in 1912, and Kinsale, which has one of the prettiest natural harbors in Ireland. We didn't spend a great amount of time in any one of these places, usually stopping long enough to take a few photos and do a walkabout. Still, we somehow managed to squeeze in lunch in Kinsale at the casual and always packed Fishy Fishy Cafe (011-353-21-470-0415; fishyfishy.ie), where Colt, a soup devotee, claims he had the best fish chowder he's ever tasted. (The restaurant takes neither reservations nor credit cards, so get there early and bring cash.)
By Friday we were ready to head north to County Limerick, where we would spend our last two nights at Dromoland Castle, near Shannon Airport. En route, we stopped outside the blink of a town called Adare for a quick bite — something between lunch and tea — at the Gothic-Revival-style Adare Manor (double rooms from $427; 011-353-61-396-566; adaremanor.com). Judging from the way the guests were dressed (brightly colored or patterned pants and Windbreakers) and from the overheard conversations about scores, putting and pars, we quickly gleaned that golf was the primary reason to stay there — which was reason enough for us not to. Still, everyone seemed to be having an awfully good time.
Adare itself is known as Ireland's prettiest village because of its thatched-roofed cottages, colorfully painted storefronts and ancient ruins. It was the one sentimental stop for Colt. Decades ago, a relative had sent someone in his family a postcard with a photo of a church there, and he was determined to find it. Easier said than done. The first church we went to seemed like the one. In fact, a clerk in the tourist shop next door insisted that Colt's search was over and that he had found the church he was looking for. My doubting husband didn't believe her, and he was right not to, because the church depicted on the postcard, St. Nicholas, which dates back to the 12th century, turned out to be slightly out of town. Lesson: just because a local tells you something is so doesn't mean it is.
We continued our several hours' drive, which was every bit as easy on the eyes as the one between Dublin and Capella Castlemartyr, and decided to bypass Limerick — not enough time, not enough interest, and it has the reputation of not being particularly safe or all that fascinating. What we should have done was take the Allens' advice and stay at the highly praised Glin Castle (double rooms from $489; 011-353-683-4173; glincastle.com), on the banks of the Shannon River. Owned by Desmond FitzGerald, Glin Castle has been occupied by the FitzGerald family since the 14th century, and while the current FitzGeralds still call it home, fifteen of its rooms are open to paying guests. Instead, we arrived at Dromoland Castle (double rooms from $377; 011-353-61-368-144; dromoland.ie) just in time for dinner and for the one disappointment of our trip. Our room, in what seemed to be the bowels of the building, was large but incredibly dreary and sadly in need of overhauling. In fact, I would say this about the entire place. Money, and a fair amount of it, needs to be put into what should be (and isn't) the essence of an authentic Irish castle.
One of the best parts of our Emerald Isle odyssey took place on our final day, when we visited the Cliffs of Moher, which rise as high as 700 feet from the sea and extend for five miles. Made of sandstone and black shale, the cliffs are nothing short of thrilling to behold — definitely worth seeing and in sharp contrast to the soft, rolling hills and gentle landscape that we'd become accustomed to. This was high drama, and we wouldn't have missed it for anything. Indeed, instead of putting a nice, neat period at the end of our trip, the Cliffs of Moher were like several exclamation points.
Colt couldn't have been happier to have finally set foot on the soil of his ancestors, and I was truly glad to have seen the new, improved Ireland. So the next time an Irishman says "Follow me," one thing's for sure: we will.
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