Ireland by motorcoach

Author: By Richard P. Carpenter, Globe Staff

Date: SUNDAY, January 18, 1998

Page: M1

Section: Travel

``Ah,'' she said, nodding knowingly. ``That good old Irish guilt.''

If that's what it was, then my long-overdue visit to this land of beauty and history was a guilty pleasure indeed. It was a journey overflowing with splendid scenery, castles, cottages, music, laughter, and friendly people. It was also a trip that demolished a couple of long-held myths: No, it doesn't always rain in Ireland in springtime, and, yes, the food can be surprisingly good.

But why did I wait so long? Here I was, having passed the half-century mark and having visited islands from Bora Bora to Santorini. Why not the Emerald Isle?

Maybe it was because of the wild Irish roads -- those twisting, turning thoroughfares that you navigate gingerly while trying to remember that they keep to the left in this country. All the roads aren't like that, and some people relish the challenge, but driving with the jitters wouldn't have seemed like much of a vacation to me.

So an idea dawned: Why not a motorcoach tour? There would be no driving or getting lost, and in Ireland such tours are as plentiful as the gorse. On such tours, of course, you can't wander where your whims take you, or stay in a place for as long or short as you wish. But in addition to having someone else do the driving, the tours have the advantages of knowledgeable guides and savings through packages that include flights, excursions, lodging, and dining. So we chose a motorcoach trip, and we chose well.

After a lot of looking, my wife, Linda, and I settled on the Irish Heritage Tour, a nine-day excursion by CIE Tours International that covered the sights we most wanted to see and included air fare and five good hotels, all breakfasts, all dinners but one, and such features as a night of medieval entertainment, tea and scones at a farmhouse, a short cruise, and a ride in a jaunting cart. Some of the attractions certainly were touristy, but I can't think of one that wasn't enjoyable.

As we drove to Logan Airport for our evening flight, we spotted a rainbow and considered that a good omen. Perhaps it was: We had unusually (and gloriously) bright and sunny weather during most of our stay, although fog did cause one delay and one mild disappointment. The flight to Shannon Airport took just 5 1/2 hours, but thick morning fog required our plane to divert to Dublin Airport, then for us to fly back to Shannon after a four-hour stopover. And a couple of days later, our view of the normally spectacular Cliffs of Moher was dimmed considerably by fog.

But it was sunshine, along with the sight of pastures, sheep and their lambs, and cows, that marked our first afternoon in Ireland, in the Shannon-Limerick area. After settling into our room at our first hotel, the Limerick Inn, I snapped on the television, saw Pee-Wee Herman, lamented the all-intrusive presence of US pop culture, and watched TV no more during that trip. Instead, there was time for a stroll and a chat with a woman and her dog before meeting again with the two Johns -- John Conway, our genial, singing, joke-telling guide who had met us at the airport and would be our leader and mentor during the entire trip, and our driver, John Robinson, who would cover a lot of miles (and maneuver through some tight traffic spots) with the 44 of us tourgoers in a brand-new bus.

First up was Bunratty Folk Park, a kind of O'Sturbridge Village -- a collection of the thatch-roof cottages that once were everywhere in Ireland and a re-creation of an 18th-century town, with everything from a blacksmith's shop to a schoolhouse to a weaver's shed to the one-room dwelling of a poor landless laborer. And looming large a short distance away was Bunratty Castle, a great stone edifice built around 1425 and refurbished in the 1960s. Nowadays, the castle presents banquets and entertainment. Our costumed guides poured us a glass -- make that a chalice -- of Mead, an ancient alcoholic beverage that when drunk in quantity is supposed to make you feel single and see double.

The banquet itself was medieval style, meaning you eat mostly with your hands, and featured chicken and such dishes as Milord's Spareribs (you get the idea). All the while there was entertainment, with a preponderance of the kind of songs most Americans are supposed to want to hear -- songs like ``Danny Boy.'' The singing was sweet, but my wife and I are familiar with a wider variety of Irish music and had hoped to hear the ``real'' kind. Well, maybe we would later in the tour.

Morning found us savoring the first of those hearty Irish breakfasts -- eggs, yogurt, bangers (sausages), rashers of bacon (which, unlike in America, aren't cooked so long as to be ``cremated,'' our guide noted), black-and-white pudding (if you have to ask what's in it, you may not want to sample it), and Ireland's own Bewley's coffee. Thus sated, we rode west to the Clare Coast with a stop at the Cliffs of Moher, those fabled rock faces that rise 700 feet above the pounding Atlantic surf. But the fog had settled in so thickly that we were able to make out just one Cliff of Moher. But even that view gave us an idea of how impressive the place would be on a bright day, and we did get to meet two familiar figures at the cliffs, Anthony Garrahy and his pipe-clenching dog, Judy. We were told in advance that if you ask what it costs to snap the canine's picture, Garrahy may well reply, ``Nothing for me, but the dog charges 50 pence.''

Shortly afterward, the bus rolled aboard a ferryboat for a short ride across the estuary of the River Shannon, then to Tarbert, on through Listowell, Castle Island, and, our day's destination, Killarney. Along the way there were sights such as golf courses (with 200-plus, Ireland is said to have more courses per capita than anywhere else in the world), dozens of bed-and-breakfast inns, our first McDonald's, and thousands of cattle (which are said to outnumber Ireland's 3.6 million people by 2 to 1). On this day we also learned the kind of jokes by John Conway that we were in for: ``Of course there are leprechauns in Ireland -- but they're best seen after 10 pints of Guinness.'' And as he would from time to time, he also honored us with a song. This one was ``Mother Machree,'' a number he acknowledged was hardly one of his favorites.

And then we were in Killarney, a place I have wanted to visit since I saw it pictured on a View-Master disc when I was 10. And Killarney did not disappoint. It's a pretty, tourist-oriented town, with a charming collection of shops, restaurants, and pubs, including one with a sign that reads: ``Kelly's Korner: Drinking Consultants.'' And it has lakes, which, as part of our tour, we would see by jaunting cart. The drivers met us at our hotel, the Great Southern, and we climbed into the carts, most of which took four to eight passengers, for a ride past lush fields and sparkling lakes. During the jaunt one of the passengers on our cart asked the driver his horse's name. ``Paddy,'' he replied. Afterward, while chatting with passengers on the other carts, one of the riders told us, ``Our horse's name was Paddy!'' Hmmmmm.

Dinner at the Great Southern that evening was typical of those we were to have throughout our tour: in a word, good. No, our menu didn't list corned beef and cabbage (that would be on just one menu during our nine days) but a variety of fish, lamb, and beef dishes as well as specialties such as potato leek soup. Just about everyone had told us we wouldn't like the food in Ireland, and just about everyone was wrong. To those who remember only bland dishes, it's time for a return visit. All our hotels were fine, too, but I liked the great stone, high-ceilinged, nicely refurbished Great Southern hotels best.

The treats kept coming. There was a stop at Muckross House, which overlooks lakes and mountains and put us in mind of a Newport, R.I., castle, with its 100 rooms, crystal chandeliers, and special features such as a four-ton billiard table in a men-only room. The house, which dates from 1843, originally cost just $150,000 to build. But when the owner was told that Queen Victoria would visit in six years, he employed 100 people to improve the house -- and went bankrupt in the process.

The next day's highlight -- and indeed one highlight of the entire tour -- was the Ring of Kerry, that 100-mile loop of loveliness that skirts the shoulders of Ireland's highest mountains, the Macgillicuddy's Reeks. ``My neck hurts from swiveling,'' said one passenger, referring to the need to constantly look from one side to the other to take in the mountain and coastline scenery at every turn in the road. As our driver John Robinson deftly maneuvered the big bus on the narrow roads, I congratulated myself on deciding to leave the driving to someone else.

The ride took several hours. En route back to Killarney, we passed through remote villages with names like Cahirciveen, Derryname, and Sneem. By the side of one road, two little girls were practicing stepdancing while apparently waiting for a ride. In Killarney itself, John Conway walked many of us over to a pub where there would be dancing and Irish music, as well as Guinness, Murphy's, Smithwick's, and other fine Irish stouts and ales. The crowd, it turned out, was almost all tourists, and the songs were again of the ``Danny Boy'' variety. We still hadn't heard the kind of music we were hoping to, but the performers knew what they were doing: Most of the audience raved about the show.

There are some things that, if you're me, you have to do on our your first visit to Ireland, and one of them is kissing the Blarney Stone. So off to Blarney Castle we went, admiring its flowered grounds and climbing up and up the castle stairs until we reached the fabled Blarney Stone. ``Go for it,'' said my wife, who herself abstained from smooching the stone. So I lay flat while an aide held on to me (tips accepted) and I gave the boulder a smack. Now I am guaranteed the gift of eloquence; it hasn't arrived yet but maybe it takes a while.

Now it was time for the shoppers among us to go wild, with a stop at Blarney Woollen Mills. While there were fine souvenirs wherever we went, this sprawling, renovated mill has an amazing quantity of gifts, including the sweaters and other woolens for which Ireland is justly famous. Scally caps are sold, too, but nowadays they don't seem to be worn by many Irishmen under 60.

My wife looked over a display of Lladro figurines at the mill, telling the clerk, ``I want to find something that reminds me of Ireland.'' ``Those guys,'' he said, pointing to a couple of clown statues and thus proving that the Irish sense of humor is alive and well. The stop was long enough for lunch and some serious shopping. It was even long enough for my wife and me to explore a nearby cemetery. Seeing some stray cats there, we headed for the nearest grocery -- strictly my wife's idea -- and thus became the only members of our tour group to have fed Irish cats.

With the bus laden with our group's purchases, we traveled through Cork to Cobh to visit the Heritage Centre there, which traces the history of emigration from Ireland as well as the city's seafaring heritage. For those of us with Irish ancestors, visiting the center and, through modern audio-visual techniques, seeing and hearing about the hardships they endured was a moving experience.

The scenery seemed to stretch on forever as we drove along the coastal route through Youghal and into Waterford for dinner and an overnight stay at our third hotel, the Granville. In the evening, a young man named John Buerchel took us on a walking tour of Waterford to introduce us to the ``rogues, rascals, and reprobates'' who run through Waterford's history. Buerchel's presentation was so lively and humor-filled that we wished students everywhere could have him for a history teacher.

But Waterford has more than history: It also has the Waterford Crystal Factory, which we toured the next morning, watching the cutting and polishing of this world-famous product and admiring the display of trophies and stemware in the showrooms. (For $7, my wife and I bought a silly travel photo of us appearing to create a large crystal vase.) Waterford Crystal is sold at the factory as well, with prices that seemed a little lower than in some stores.

We headed north to Kilkenny, with its medieval streets and 13th-century Kilkenny Castle, one of its more unusual features being a marble table for laying out a corpse to wake. Nearby was a ``medieval mall'' featuring arts and crafts. Then we were off to Dublin, but not before stopping at a farmhouse in the countryside near Athy for tea and scones. Having once been disappointed with a ``Russian tea'' in Alaska that consisted of a few sips of the beverage in a Styrofoam cup in a cabin in the woods, I was a bit wary. But this was a delight. The tea was served in a bed-and-breakfast farmhouse, run by a couple named Mary and Michael McManus, and the scones and jam were memorable. Mary McManus was nice enough to provide the recipe, but somehow I don't think they'd taste the same if I made them.

Leaving the countryside, we went onto the M9, Ireland's ``superhighway,'' which consists of two lanes, and into Dublin, the pulse of modern Ireland. Here is a city in a constant state of motion, its pace reflecting the fact that Ireland now has the fastest-cooking economy in Western Europe. We checked into Doyle's Burlington Hotel and for the only time in our tour were on our own for dinner. But Dublin is filled with restaurants serving all kinds of cuisine, from Irish to Italian to Mexican. My wife and I, in fact, ended up dining at the Thai Cafe for helpings of the traditional dish Pad Thai; I did think, though, that considering the location, the dish should have been renamed Paddy Thai. Afterward, we made our way to the Olympia Theater for a preview performance of ``JFK: A Musical Drama,'' which didn't play long in Dublin but may yet resurface on Broadway.

The capital city isn't overly conducive to bus tours, but the next morning we were able to take in some of the city's many highlights, including a glimpse of the hip Temple Bar area. We visited Trinity College to view the incredibly intricate Book of Kells as well as the original harp that became the emblem of Ireland. On our own, we lunched at the Trinity student cafeteria, then escaped the hurried pace of the city by strolling through lovely St. Stephen's Green, then taking a double-decker bus to vast Phoenix Park and the Dublin Zoo, where we found the only snakes in Ireland.

Dining and singing were in store for us that night at the Abbey Tavern in Howth, just outside Dublin, where at last my wife and I heard the kind of music we were waiting to hear. From jigs and reels to ``Dicey Riley'' to ``A Nation Once Again,'' the singers and musicians presented a lively mix of music. ``No `Danny Boy' here,'' I thought happily. But then one of the singers spoke: ``I've had a request to sing `Danny Boy.' '' Ah, well.

For some, the Irish Heritage Tour ended the next morning. But we had chosen the option of an extra day that would take us to Galway and Connemara. It was a tad sad saying goodbye to some members of the tour group. They were a congenial bunch and were pleasant company; we even got a kick out of the young serviceman on leave who would ask every girl he encountered if she were single.

Our group, now reduced in number, was off to Galway, traveling across the rolling pastures of Ireland's heartland, past dry stone walls, past a funeral for which the entire small village appeared to have turned out, past the fields of Athenry (made famous in a sad song about leaving), and on to Galway Bay, with its rocky coast reminiscent of Maine's. We checked into our final hotel, another Great Southern hotel, across from John F. Kennedy Park and near a couple of modern shopping centers. In the afternoon, we hopped aboard a boat for a cruise of Lough Corrib, a scenic lake near Galway, and enjoyed talking to some fellow passengers -- high school students from the Belfast area, off on an outing. Then came a ride through colorful Connemara, with a stop in Spiddal, where Gaelic is said to be still spoken, although I can't say I heard any.

There was only one ride the following morning, to the airport for the flight home. But it was a very full nine days in Ireland, visiting the places whose names have danced through my mind for decades. And who knows, on my next visit I might even take a turn behind a steering wheel.

During the summer season, the medieval meal is held in 15th-century Knappogue Castle instead of Bunratty Castle. Likewise, the night of dining and music in Dublin takes place at Jury's Irish Cabaret -- a kind of Dublin-meets-Las-Vegas stage spectacular -- instead of the Abbey Tavern. In addition, participants during the high season see a performance of Siamsa Tire, Ireland's national folk theater. There may be other slight changes from last year's itinerary, and the Clare Inn Hotel, not the Limerick Inn where we stayed, is the usual lodging place in the Shannon area.

For 1998, CIE Tours International is offering more than 30 kinds of escorted, self-drive, and independent vacations to Ireland and Great Britain. Among the new excursions is a five-day luxury vacation where participants visit and stay in Irish castles. Another new five-day tour concentrates on Wales. For more information, call 800-CIE-TOUR.

Several other companies also specialize in tours of Ireland and Great Britain, including Boston-based Brian Moore Tours.

Editor's note: The author did make a brief return as part of a cruise, but has yet to sit behind the wheel on the right-hand side of a car.