Ireland - 5/2/14

The Daily Diary of a Wandering Restaurateur
Cruisin' Connemara

The Route In retrospect, Cong really should have been a day trip from Galway, but if we did it that way we wouldn't have met Marty and Ann at Villa Pio ... and probably wouldn't have wandered into some of the hidden corners we found in that town. But it was still just a one-night stand so this morning we passed on another Irish breakfast, packed up the car and headed out through a light drizzle about an hour south to the big city of Galway. More precisely, we were going to Salthill, a beachfront suburb. I'm sure it was spectacular in the summer, but today the sea just looked rather grim and foreboding.

The day was overcast, trying to make up its mind if it wanted to rain or not. We ran into intermittent sprinkles all morning and afternoon so it nature never did reach a decision on the matter. The first step was to find our B&B in Salthill. The address wasn't registering in the GPS system, but Margene recalled that the description said it was on the water or at least had a water view, so we just drove along the promenade until we found the Atlantic Heights B&B (Good thing the name was prominently displayed on the front of the building, though!).

We were too early to check in, of course, but Madeline, the diminutive dynamo that owns the place, assured us the room would be ready by 1:00, showed us to some insanely comfortable chairs in the lounge, got me set up on wifi so I could upload yesterday's trip report, and offered us coffee and pastries while we figured out how we wanted to spend our day.

For as friendly as the Irish have been overall, so far only three hosts out of seven -- Pat (in Kenmare), Ann (in Cong) and Madeline -- have gone the extra mile by offering us refreshment and the added measure of personal, non task-related attention. Not surprisingly, to me, at least, these are the places I remember most fondly. Hospitality is so simple, so cheap and so memorable, I can't understand why we don't always deal with each other this way. Perhaps that's why I still have a job!

The combination of GPS (to find Salthill) and Margene's logic (to find the B&B) worked. I think every other house in Ireland is a B&B -- at least most of them on this little cul-de-sac had a sign out -- but no matter. Atlantic Heights is presided over by the irrepressible Madeline, about 4'11" of energy and hospitality (photos to follow). She has a lovely conservatory in the back for breakfast and gave me a chance to relax, refresh and re-connect before we headed off for the day's adventures, whatever they turned out to be.

The weather didn't bode favorably for any activity that involved wandering about outside, so when in doubt, burn fossil fuel! We headed west into the area known as Connemara, knowing only that there was a spectacular abbey out there and the town of Clifden. Everyone had said it was a pretty area although it was anyone's guess how pretty it would look on such a gray day. So off we went, passing lots of water and lots of wandering sheep until we arrived at Kylemore Abbey. This Gothic Revival fantasy was built by a British tycoon as a gift to his wife. In addition to the home, they bought a huge tract of adjacent land, drained the boggy hillside, planted an orchard as a windbreak and created exotic walled gardens. When his wife died, he sold the property and left Kylemore. Now it is an abbey run by the nuns.

Well I suppose it is more correct to say it is an abbey and a major tourist attraction in Connemara. We hadn't seen many tour busses on the way out there, so thought we might find a bit of tranquility when we arrived, but we quickly discovered that the reason we had seen no busses is that they were already at Kylemore! Anytime the onsite foodservice is set up cafeteria style, you know you are dealing with mass quantities of people. So while a tour of the property was intriguing in principle, the reality of the crowds caused us to settle for a pit stop, a wander through their excellent gift shop and a hasty departure.

So it was down the road to Clifden, the primary town in Connemara. Judging from the large number of craft stores and gift shops, I suspect its primary support comes from tourists ... and it has been a long winter. Visitor traffic is just starting to pick now, so the next few months should be better for these folks, but that will be followed by another long winter. Such is the resort life.

At the suggestion of a small shop owner (who noticed that Margene had dropped her camera when she got out of the car, went out to get it and returned it to my surprised bride), we stopped in at Mannion's pub for a late lunch that will likely be our meal of the day. The fireplace wasn't fired up, but the peat blocks were there on the ready when the moment came. Genie had a tart of goat cheese and caramelized onions (sounded like a yummy combination) and I tried the smoked Connemara salmon. Living in the Pacific Northwest, I have become rather spoiled when it comes to salmon, but this was quite tasty and obviously not farm-raised.

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