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Over here!" The cry came from the two guys off in that nearby bush.Over here!" The
cry came from the two guys off in that nearby bush.Over here!" The cry came from
the two guys off in that nearby bush.
They were pulling up their pants.
I was thrilled to find them.
Moments before I was standing over a putt, enjoying the rush of golfing in Ireland.
I had just tapped the ball on the sixth green of Portmarnock Golf Club, a stunning
links-style course hard by the Irish Sea, just north of Dublin . I watched as the
gentle putt quickly picked up speed and disappeared over a hillock. Then, with a
mighty clatter, our golf bags crashed to the ground. The sky went dark and leaves
sizzled through the air like bullets. Suddenly I was in a scene out of "Ryan's Daughter,"
trudging against the wet wind to my companions' fruitless shelter. Now I was in
a patch of overgrown fescue with a couple of wet guys scrambling to don their rain
pants.
In 75 seconds it was over. The sky cleared to a serious blue, nicely accessorized
by a rainbow. Rain and wind ceased. Somehow, caddie Liam kept his cigarette lit
through it all.
No one remembers our scores, but we'll never forget that primal moment when the
whole history of golf--not to mention the whole story of creation--came into focus.
My Emerald Isle game plan had been to stay a little off the beaten path, and come
home with stories of places not on everyone else's itinerary. The other goal was
to live high on hog the whole way. No b-and-b's for this lad. My guiding principles
were simple: golf and castles. That's the way it had played out.
Portmarnock was the capper of a trip that took me down the fairway of the country
from west to east, visiting many glorious spots that are not part of most package
deals. This weather was an added treat.
 Dromoland Castle, Co. Clare
Years ago, when I first landed at Shannon Airport in the west of Ireland , my excitement
was quickly dampened by envy. Heading to our hotel, we came upon Dromoland Castle.
I liked the ring of that name and the grounds weren't bad either. But we didn't
stop, which tipped me off that we weren't staying there. Now, however, I had the
chance.
Dromoland was built in the 1600s as the seat of the O'Brien clan. Something must
have happened to the O'Briens because by 1962 this elegant, low-slung pile was transformed
into a luxury hotel. It was one of the first castles to realize that it didn't have
to become a ruin. While the basic accommodations are superb, the true charm is felt
walking through the halls and public rooms, which are filled with period furniture,
carved wood trim and walls of heavy block. You expect to find Grendel's Irish cousin
at every turn. The vast grounds provide all the typical country pursuits and a golf
course with moody views of the turrets. Afterward, there's the enviable task of
returning to the main courtyard. It's the easy way to feel like a knight.
I felt secure in the castle, and--after the first Guinness of the day--fortified.
I didn't want to leave. But Dromoland's location makes the enticements of Far Western
Ireland difficult to ignore. It's a good base for day trips to Limerick and Galway
and to such world-renowned golf courses as Ballybunion and Lahinch with their reputations
for beauty, challenge and history. It's now also just an hour by car to one of the
newest courses in Ireland , Doonbeg. Situated between that aforementioned pair of
classics on the Atlantic , it's quickly joining them in the first ranks of Irish
golf.
Superstar Greg Norman is the designer of record at Doonbeg, but a Celtic-accented
god is the real culprit. Stretched out along a mile and a half of crescent-shaped
beach at Doughmore Bay , it's a glorious links experience with swaying grasses,
pot bunkers and windswept, almost lunar, vistas. After emptying your bag of balls
at Doonbeg, the key is returning to Dromoland by dinnertime to sup on sumptuous
variations of beef, fish and game. There is nothing wrong with Irish food that a
chef in a castle can't correct, especially when you're listening to the harp stylings
of Mairead Slattery.
The harp is, of course, the official symbol of Ireland . But as anyone will tell
you--and they do frequently--that symbol is allowed only by arrangement with the
Guinness Brewery. The harp has long been part of its trademark, and the Republic
had to agree to reverse the profile of the instrument for its official use.
 Mount Juliet Golf Course, Co. Kilkenny
You could spend a happy life at Dromoland, but we had an itinerary down the road
less traveled. We headed east toward Kilkenny, where the Georgian manor house of
Mount Juliet awaited. Sounded good to me since "manor house" equals "castle" in
my book. Countless little towns dotted the way, each with their histories, pubs
and people ready to tell you about the harp. By the time we got to County Tipperary
, though, all attention was arrested by the sight of the Rock of Cashel, arising
above the horizon like something out of "The Lord of the Rings." This mount, topped
by a fortress, was the seat of the Kings of Munster, circa 360. Something must have
happened to the Munsters , though, because the only people here are tourists come
to see 1600 years of architecture and where St. Patrick performed baptisms.
In the town of Cashel , check out "The Rock Pub" for a little profane after all
that sacred.
An hour farther on (nothing, not even Tipperary , is a long way in Ireland ) we
made it to the long driveway up to Mount Juliet . You expect Barry Lyndon to walk
out the door, but a bellman will do. Expansive windows brighten the mansion's pastels
and whites and serve as a tonic to the castle-besotted. It was built and named after
the wife of the first Earl of Carrick, just over 200 years ago. Particularly elegant
and delicate is the decor in the Lady Helen Dining Room with its intricate bas-reliefs.
As with all the castles, Mount Juliet offers an array of "country pursuits," from
shooting to angling and riding. It also boasts a gorgeous spa. I thought that sounded
a little indulgent. I was already staying in castles and manors. Further pampering
would only lead to more years in Purgatory. So I opted to go riding.
"Eeejit! Oh, you eejit. Stop it, you eejit!"
I was ashamed a half-hour later in the corral, flailing about in the saddle.
"You're an eejit, Caesar!"
Wait, my instructor wasn't yelling at me. The object of her scorn was the idiot
horse under me. I think Caesar knew I was a novice rider and wanted to take advantage
of the situation.
Then my teacher turned her attention to me.
"Stop. Go. Whoa. Kick him. Control him. Careful. Don't!"
I'd hoped to cut a dignified figure in my riding gear, but the only hat/helmet that
fit my apparently gargantuan cranium was a bulbous monstrosity that made me look
like Dukakis in that tank. No heaping of embarrassments, however, could dampen the
pleasure of trotting around Mount Juliet , admiring the River Nore, the gently sloping
countryside and immaculate grounds (there's nary a garbage can in sight).
Mount Juliet may be tucked into the countryside, but anyone wanting a taste of lush
Irish golf should seek it out. The Jack Nicklaus-designed course, the host of three
Irish Opens, had its profile raised last year when the World Golf Championships
American Express Championship came to town. Tiger Woods won it, going 25 under par.
As harsh and stark as the courses are on the coast, this parkland 18 is verdant
and obviously forgiving.
I was in the mood to break 70, though, so I left the big course and traipsed to
the nearby 18-hole, par 53 putting track.
As a hearty veteran of countless rounds of mini-golf ("novelty golf" over here)
I figured I was ready for this challenge. Instead, this little course proved as
daunting as Pebble Beach . There are neither spinning windmills nor giant clowns'
mouths in sight, yet every hole demanded thinking, strategy, discipline and technique.
I was able to muster none of those and watched as my balls sped around curves or
ended up in the drink. It may be maddening, but you want to keep playing it over
and over again.
After a few enjoyably hermetic days of castles and golf, we felt it was necessary
to reconnect with regular life. Nearby Kilkenny is a city of 18,000 (and 68 pubs)
that is too often overlooked as tourists flock instead to coastal Waterford 30 miles
south. It's an intricate town, which maintains much of its medieval street layout
and architecture. The main attraction is gigantic Kilkenny Castle (ah, back in a
castle), which was in the control of the Butler family from 1391. Something must
have happened to the Butlers because they handed the place over to the government
in 1967. The tour is a quick way to get a sense of 600 years of Irish struggle and
to study the flow of Butler genes in the football-field sized portrait gallery.
Just across the street, the castle's stables are now artfully converted into the
Kilkenny Design Centre, a workshop and display area for Ireland 's finest craftspeople.
The real kick in Kilkenny is walking the narrow, winding streets and checking out
haunts like Kyteler's Inn , which they say dates to 1324. Ensconced under the heavy
arches in the downstairs room is a life-size doll made up as a witch. That would
be Alice Kyteler, who was once accused of being a sorceress. I ordered a Guinness
there and it came in mug with the harp logo on it. Perhaps having heard my American
accent, one of the regulars at the bar asked, "D'you know how that harp there came
to be the country's symbol?"
A few days earlier someone had told me to say something, anything, to any stranger
in the country and then just sit back and listen. It was advice that had served
me well so far. So I said, "No, tell me about the harp."
Kilkenny is not entirely quaintsville, though. Those in the know (and who knew I
like things luxe) always pointed toward a little restaurant on William Street called
Cafe Sol. This unexpected pleasure specializes in seafood, local ingredients, fine
wines and non-stuffy atmosphere. There's nothing about Irish food that a charming
bistro can't cure.
The perfect nightcap was found at Tim Hollan's pub. After ordering a pint of the
local brew, Smithwick's (inexplicably pronounced "Smidix"), we settled in to experience
the legendary love of Irish music. Packed to the rafters, the crowd listened for
hours to a group called Whiskers of Lichen (inexplicably pronounced "Whiskers of
Lichen") as they worked their way through traditional tunes, sing-along stompers
and even a brief segue through some Celtic-tinged Led Zeppelin. All this on a Wednesday.
Another day, another castle.
Luttrellstown Castle , about 20 minutes from central Dublin , dates from the 15th
century and is now expertly restored. The entire place, with its sumptuous drawing
rooms, library and peat-burning fireplaces, is available to rent on an exclusive
basis. Mortals may enjoy the 560-acre grounds and its views of the castle and Dublin
Mountains by playing its parkland golf course, which has also hosted an Irish Open.
From there, a brisk drive through Phoenix Park leads to busy central Dublin . We
checked into the Conrad Hotel, which makes a case as the perfect place to stay in
the capital. A traditional favorite like the Shelbourne Hotel has history and in-the-thick-of-it
location, but the Conrad is sleeker and more modern with bleached wood accents in
the rooms and glassy gloss in the restaurants. It sits just slightly away from the
bustle on the far corner of St. Stephen's Green, which means it's far enough from
the madding crowd, but just a walk through the pretty park to Dublin 's excitement.
It's tough to get off the beaten path in Dublin , where the attractions are so familiar.
What were new to me were the mere sights and sounds. As Ireland 's economy has thrived,
so too has Dublin 's status as an international city. Grafton Street , always the
high-end shopping district, is now thronged with folks speaking a translator's fever
dream of tongues. Most amazing, perhaps, are the navels. Exposed navels! This in
a city that always cloaked its conservatism in grays, blacks and earth tones.
All of which helps explain the existence of a restaurant like L'Ecrivain, one of
Dublin 's finest. Its cool factor is enhanced by its location tucked into an alley.
The combination of artful homages to the country's literary superstars and sophisticated
French dining is worth the quick cab ride. There's nothing about Irish food that
a gourmet restaurant can't cure.
But I was looking for Ireland to yield one more surprise.
When I ended up standing in front of the prime minister's desk, I knew I'd found
it. Bertie Ahern wasn't there, but in the post-911 era it's still amazing to be
able to take a rare Saturday tour of Executive Office Building that includes a walk-though
of the prime minister's office. I checked out his photos (John Kennedy, of course)
but was really interested in the contents of that in-basket.
The trick is to know the tours only take place during certain hours on Saturday
and that you have to get tickets, for some reason, at the National Gallery. Surreal.
As we were walking out of the seat of government, one of the others on the tour
slipped on a Guinness sweatshirt, complete with the harp logo.
I figured now or never: "Say, did you know--"
John Barron is the Sun-Times features editor.
IF YOU GO
If you plan on combining prime destinations,
lots of driving and big-time golf while in Ireland , it is probably best to work
with a tour operator. One of the best is run by the affable and informed Declan O'Brien.
His companies, Destinations Ireland and Destination Golf, offer a variety of options
and packages for any size group. O'Brien and crew know all the best hotels,
have access to drivers and vehicles of any size (an extremely important consideration
when golf clubs are involved) and have reserved tee times at all the key courses
in Ireland . They can also help chart a series of self-drive tours. Reach them at
destinations-golf.com or destinations- ireland.com or call (800) 832-1848.
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