EPlC LANDSCAPES, lNlMlTABLE CULTURE

AND ROMANTlC MUSlC - THE ONLY THlNG

OUTDOlNG THE AUTHENTlC PUBS AND
FRESH FOOD OF THE EMERALD lSLE lS
THE FRlENDLlNESS OF THE lRlSH PEOPLE.
Text and Photos by Daniel Corrigan
m a Dubliner. My father and my fathers father were Dubliners
before me. I grew up in 80s Ireland and saw the country
transition from a fedgling country with newfound independence
to the fastest growing economy in the world - the Celtic Tiger -
when the countrys average growth rate was around 9.4% over
six years. The rags-to-riches society made scores of millionaires and
elevated almost the entire country into middle class. An Irish social
economist, Dave McWilliams, coined the term the Wonderbra
effect as the entire Irish society was quickly pushed up to middle
class and the country become voluptuous and appealing to foreign
suitors. By the time the Tiger was slain by bad governance and
self-serving bankers in 2008, I had long left Ireland and was well-
settled in my adopted home, Bangkok.
But I still yearned for Ireland and its culinary and musical
delights, so when my wife planned us a trip to Dublin, I knew
exactly the route I wanted to take for our two-week holiday: Dublin,
Dingle and Connemara the connoisseurs choice. On a rainy
Bangkok night we boarded Etihads business class fight to Dublin;
we put our seats back, feet up and washed down two glasses of
champagne. And when I was served with freshly chargrilled Irish
Wicklow lamb as a main course, I knew that the luck of the Irish
was with me.
Fifteen hours later we landed in Dublin, Irelands capital. Dublin
is a small, Georgian-style city more like a large village, actually
which is best navigated on foot, but we hired a car to travel to the
west of Ireland to discover its hidden gems away from the tourist
routes. My intension was to quit wasting time and dive head frst
into one of the best things Dublin has to offer the amazing pub
culture. First stop was the Shelbourne Hotel and this hotel was not
just any hotel.

For almost two centuries, Irish culture has revolved around the
Shelbourne Hotel on St Stephens Green in the heart of Dublin.
It boasts a guest list that would put New Yorks Chelsea hotel to
shame: the Irish Constitution was drafted there in 1922, James
Cagney danced on its piano, Peter O Toole bathed in a bath of
the Horseshoe Bars fnest Champagne, Charley Chaplin sang in
its lobby and Bill Clinton well, lets not go there. A consortium
of Irish businessmen bought the hotel in 2004, and decided to
restore it to its former glory. Soon after, a team of historians and
heritage architects set about the job and it took almost two years to
complete. It was so painstakingly restored, if Charley Chaplin were
to waddle through the open lobby, he would notice little difference.
Our room was on the top foor and the frst thing I noticed looking
out the window was that although Dublin had grown, no buildings
or skyscrapers have defaced the citys skyline. I had beautiful clear
views of the city and its encircling mountain and sea. This city has,
luckily, remained Joyces city. In his ground-breaking novel Ulysses,
Joyce wrote that a good puzzle would be to cross Dublin without
passing a pub. I was ready for the challenge.
But why go to Dublin and try to avoid the bars? Staying in the
heart of the fair city, the frst bar I was pulled into was Mulligans
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on Poolbeg Street. Mulligans is a Dublin institution and has been
at the centre of Dubliners lives for almost 300 years. Originally
a Sheeben (an illegal drinking venue), it became legit in 1782
making it one of Dublins oldest bars. Not the oldest, mind you,
that title goes to The Brazen Head, which dates back to 1198.
Mulligans regular patrons have included James Joyce (he wrote
about Mulligans in his classic Dubliners), Oscar Wilde, and even
a young John F Kennedy visited in the mid-ffties to see where his
hero, James Joyce, would perch himself at the bar. It was clear
from the ancient, unchanged oak dcor that this pub certainly
had history soaked into it, but I wasnt there for that; I was there
because Mulligans has the reputation for serving the best pint of
a certain black stout in the world, and the frst pint for diaspora
arriving back to Irish shores, is a very important one. So, was it the
best pint in the world? Well, you will have to visit yourself to decide
that one. I will however, say there is nowhere in the world where that
drink tastes better than Dublin.
As a point of interest, in 2011 an Irish software developer wrote
an algorithm that claimed to have solved the conundrum set out
by Joyce almost one hundred years earlier. It was later discovered
that the route had passed by hotels that had bars in them. Proud in
defeat, he is quoted as saying his next challenge is to work out an
algorithm that routes passing as many of the citys drinking houses
as possible. I look forward to that one.
The night was young, and having the frst pint ticked on my list,
I decided to move down my list to food. Ireland may not have the
greatest food culture in the world in terms of variety, but it certainly
wins in terms of produce. With the highest food and hygiene
standards, organic markets are held weekly in towns and villages,
with artisan food producers and chefs respected like heroes. Two
food legends I wanted to meet were the Cullen brothers, Dave and
Jeff at their restaurant Vinos in Greystones, Co Wicklow. In 2008 an
international survey voted Greystones the worlds most livable village
in the world, and it was also the year that Dave and Jeff set up shop
to serve customers locally-sourced food with an international twist.
Dave woke at 5am earlier that morning to walk his dog to the pier
and collect the turbot that was being prepared in the kitchen for
me. The meaty fsh was served in a white wine and mussel sauce
fnished with Dalkey mustard. Dave knew everything about every
ingredient on my plate; where it came from, when it was produced
and its certifcate number. He told me, its all about the produce.
If you want to make a good meal great, you must source the best
produce. I left the restaurant satisfed that I had experienced a
true taste of the Emerald Isle, and I was ready for a night in Dublin.
As you might have guessed, a night painting the town green in the
capital is not the easiest to remember, so the details of the night are
sketchy. I can tell you that it involved bar hopping to at least seven
bars, oyster tastings, singing on Grafton Street, lots of music and of
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course Irelands most important value, having the Craic, meaning
having as much fun as possible.
The Shelbourne Spa made the next morning bearable, but
although I was smitten by Dublin and its buoyant atmosphere, it
was time to move on. The distant views of the mountains from my
hotel room reminded me of why I was in Ireland: to shake off the
fast pace of Bangkok through the beauty of the Irish countryside.
And even though Dublin feels more like a village, its still a city
far-removed from the green pastures, fresh seafood and talented
fddlers that I missed so much when in Bangkok. It was time to take
the M8 and head into the west.
Exploring Ireland can certainly give you quite an appetite. And
despite the bust and boom, Ireland has remained an agricultural
country that produces more than it can consume. Its green,
fertile land and temperate climate ensure an abundance of fresh
ingredients and superb meat and dairy produce. So on route to
Kerry, we decided to stop at Cork, Irelands second largest city, for
lunch at The English Market, one of the fnest epicurean markets in
Europe, to sample some of its produce. The market began trading
in 1788 and is one of the oldest municipal markets of its kind in
the world. Its fares are as diverse as the people who shopped there:
artisan cheeses, traditional salted cod, smoked mackerel pts
and Drisheen fresh blood drawn from a cows neck and pan-fried
with milk, oatmeal, and spices. But I had a hankering for Corks
specialties, so I followed my nose to the Farmgate restaurant on
the mezzanine and ordered the Whiskey-Marinated Smoked Salmon
and half a dozen fresh oysters. There are two constants in Ireland:
brown bread and perpetual chat. I discovered this when I asked the
rosy-cheeked waitress what was served with the salmon and oysters.
Twenty minutes later when the conversation ended, I knew that the
oysters came from the bay that morning, the smoked salmon was
smoked up the road (meaning 30km away) in Midleton and, of
course, marinated in Midleton Whiskey, one of the fnest whiskeys
ever made, according to uncle Paddy, and he knew his whiskey
(sure, wasnt it the death of him eventually a terrible man for the
stuff he was or so I was told). Oh, and I fnally discovered that the
salmon and oyster came with bread...from Mrs. Murphy, down the
road, and she knew her brown bread.
It took two hours to drive from Cork City to Dingle in County Kerry
but I was happily fed and watered and would have been happy to
enjoy the ride for longer. To the Irish, Kerry is known as the Kingdom,
an apt name refecting the majesty of its landscape. Its here you will
fnd the Ring of Kerry, a 179km drive along the coast and through
the mountains that is often voted the most beautiful drive in Europe.
Kerry is very mountainous and in many areas the mountains touch its
golden, sandy beaches, which in turn touch the deep-blue Atlantic.
Seconds before we drove into Dingle town, we veered right to drive
over the Conor Pass, the highest mountain pass in Ireland, to our
home for the week, Pedlars Lodge in Cloghane. The Pass is a narrow,
twisting road that weaves its way around the sharp cliff faces, past the
high corrie lakes and down to Cloghane. We were greeted at the house
by Brendan Lovett, the owner of the house, which had been passed
down through fve generations. He was a charming, sun-freckled
farmer who spoke with a musical Kerry brogue. As a welcoming gift
he brought us the two Irish constants, brown bread and perpetual
chat, and a recommendation to travel to Brandon Point to a little bar
on a pier that serves pints and lobsters as big as a toddler. He told us
the history of the 130 year-old house and the best megalithic sites
around the area, then shyly took the fee for a weeks accommodation.
The house had fve bedrooms and ten friends were joining us for
the week, so EUR50 each for a weeks accommodation in the most
beautiful area of Ireland. Seven Euros each per night was sinfully low
so we decided 10 Euros per head was only fair. We later wandered
to Brandon Point and rested at Murphys Pub. In the distance we
could see golden felds of buttercups, traditional thatched cottages,
and green mountains. The sound of an old man singing Sean-Nos
(ancient story telling style) drifted from the pub, and as we sat on the
pier with a pint in hand while watching the sunset and kids jumping
into the sea, we decided that it doesnt get much nicer than this.
We had arranged to meet our friends in a very odd pub by the
name of Dick Macs. Odd because, it wasnt only a bar, it was also
a shoe shop and hardware store. And its assistant manager is a dog
named Gypsy. Unsure where Dick Macs was, I parked my car on
the street beside a gentleman sitting on a bench and staring at the
sky. The conversation didnt last long: Excuse me sir, do you know
where Dick Macs is?
I do said he.
Could you please tell me where it is? I asked.
I can, its opposite the church, he said.
And where is the church? I asked
Oh, he said, that would be opposite Dick Macs.
It turned out he was sitting on a bench belonging to the grounds
of the Church. He then saluted me and said You have a lovely day
now and be careful of Gypsy hes an awful character with drink in
him.
I was happy to see that Dingle was exactly the way I remembered:
packed full of characters and friendly beyond belief. In other ways
it had changed, but not for the worse mind you. The Celtic Tiger
brought to Dingle a food culture that had never existed there. The
90s saw high scale restaurants open and exploit the fshing towns
best resource: the fares of the wild Atlantic. And while the days of
the Celtic Tiger are gone, the restaurants have remained. We ate
in Out of the Blue, a small, bright-blue restaurant on the harbour
front that proudly displayed a chalked sign warning customers that
they serve nothing frozen and to NEVER, ever ask for chips. Inside
above the lobster tank another chalked sign tells you that if theres
no fresh catch, they dont open. The meal was wonderful, but the
main reason for travelling to Dingle was not for the food, but for the
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GETTlNG THERE
Etihad fy twice daily fights to Dublin via
Abu Dhabi.
WHERE TO STAY
The Shelbourne Hotel is a must for
Dublin if doing it in style is your thing.
Sip white wine and eat oysters in the
Horseshoe bar, and clear your hangover
at the Spa. Prices start at EUR160 per
night well worth it.

one thing that gives Dingle its magic. Inspired by the landscapes,
revolutions, love, poetry and history, the music of Dingle has been
passed down through generations and nowhere in Ireland is it
played with such passion.
In the early 90s a renaissance occurred in Irish traditional music.
It was the second summer of love and dance music was blossoming
in Europe. Trad music (as its known) was a cultural precursor to
the DJ driven beats that were spreading throughout the world like a
virus. And there were vast similarities: the deep beat of the Bodhran
drum (pronounced Bow-rawn), the hypnotic repetition of complex
reels, the long build-ups, and the bacchanalia of staying awake all
night dancing. Like the Irish, the music is passionate and almost
schizophrenic: jigs and reels (styles of playing) are memorised and
shared down through generations, communities and sessions (when
players come together and play). And when the blink-of-an-eye
change from a minor chord lament to a major chord reel happens, it
hits you like a punch in the stomach; the crowd scream and whoop,
and like it or not, you become part of the music. I experienced this
frst hand when I stumbled into a dimly lit bar on the main street
in Dingle, An Droichead Beag (Gaelic for The Small Bridge). At
frst, when I walked through the door I thought I had come across a
prayer meeting: candles illuminated the bar and silence dominated
the room full of punters sitting on low stools. I quickly realised,
that it wasnt a prayer meeting. My luck was in when the sound of
a button accordion starting a reel drew my eyes to a dark corner.
A young musician much younger than his peers led a group
of musicians. He stared into space and they started at him in an
attempt to keep up with his complex scales of music. The music
was so tight, fast, uplifting and commanding that the tourists in
the crowd didnt really know how to react. I overheard an American
tourist turn to his friend and say, Ive never experienced talent like
this its sublime. The locals, with closed eyes, just smiled and
listened to Damien Mullane, a Fleadh Champion and probably the
best accordion player in world. And thats what Dingle is all about:
stunning scenery, Atlantic seafood, quirky bars, and a mecca for
musicians from the four corners of Ireland. It was diffcult to leave
Brendan, the man on the bench, Damien, Gypsy and Conor after we
hit the road to our fnal destination, Connemara.
Think rolling green mountains painted with moving light from
cumulus cloud, crystal clear rivers with otters catching salmon,
and meandering roads that seem to be going nowhere; now you
are thinking of Connemara. Ten days of travelling, catching up with
friends, and soaking up the atmosphere (and the local brews) of
Irelands unbeatable pubs and towns had taken its toll, and the
only remedy that could balance me before returning to the heat
and bustle of Bangkok was three days in Delphi, Connemara. About
40 minutes drive north of Galway city, you know you are entering
Connemara when roads become winding, the walls become stacked
stone, and you drop your speed from 80kmph to 10kmph to take
in the beauty. Due to the lack of bars, houses and accommodation
in Connemara, it has remained untouched by tourism. This is land
that inspired William Butler Yeats poetry, yet in all its beauty, there
is a strange melancholy about the place. The great Irish famine
of 1845 that caused the death of more than a million souls, and
the emigration of even more, is remembered in this wilderness
through shrines and famine cottages dotted along the route to
Delphi. One of the memorials quotes Ghandi, How can men feel
themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings? A
bleak reminder in stark contrast to the serenity and silence of this
ancient land.
About six kilometres before Delphi, knowing the next pitstop
could be 100km away, we stopped at Hamiltons in the small town
of Leenane for fuel. This was strategic on my part as Hamiltons, as
well as being the only petrol station for hours, is a traditional pub
renowned for its deliciously creamy pints. After handing the keys to
my designated driver, I stood with a pint in hand, and chatted with
the owner while he fuelled my car in an attempt to fnd the best
food in the area.
The best food! he exclaimed. Youll fnd no better food in
Eire, than you will a few steps from here in the Leenane Hotel.
Pedlars Lodge for Kerry the only
house on the Conor Pass, one of
Irelands most beautiful passes over
a mountain, and a real Irish welcome
from the owner Brendan Lovett. Book
directly with Brendan for the best rate
on +353 85 140 9355, or check out
their Facebook page
WHERE TO SAMPLE
THE BLACK STUPP
Mulligans Bar on Poolbeg Street in
Dublin, magical Dick Macs in Dingle,
and the Leenane Hotel in Connemara.
WHERE TO LlSTEN
Nearly all of the pubs in Dingle have free
live music so the best way to fnd the best
music is to pick up a free Dingle guide in
any shop or Pub and look out for names
such as Damien Mullane, Eoin Duignan
or Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh. Alternatively,
just do a pub-crawl to sample the various
local brews styles of Kerry music.
In the near distance at the foot of the mountain and facing the
only fjord in Ireland we saw our destination. Walking into the lobby
of the Leenane Hotel and Seaweed Spa was like time travel back to
the 1920s. The black and white foored dining room was decked
out with lace curtains and an array of antique decorations: 400
year-old shields, bells from ships, and an encased monster pike,
caught in the fjord almost 100 years ago. We ordered three dishes:
Connemara Lamb, the Home Smoked Black Pudding, Potato Rosti,
Apple & Onion Relish and Cleggan Crab Claws in a Chilli, Ginger
& Herb Butter. When the huge steaming pot of crab claws came,
we regretted ordering the extra two dishes. At six inches each, the
claws were the biggest Id ever seen and the best Ive ever tasted,
and when the two others dishes came, we had no hesitation eating
them. When the meal was fnished, my wife and I agreed we had
just had the best meal of the trip. Wishing we could stay at the
hotel, we left with a promise to come back one day, soon.
As I boarded the fight back to Bangkok I thought to myself that
although Ireland has suffered extremely diffcult times over the past
fve years, many positives came out of the economic depression.
When I left Ireland, it was at the crossroads of becoming a consumer-
driven society with many of its traditional values forced aside to
make way. And now, Im happy to see the revival of community and
the realisation among many Irish that the country was headed in the
wrong direction and there was more to life than a second or third
home. Gone are the super bars owned by conglomerates, as are the
high prices and champagne lifestyles. Irelands bohemian charm
WHERE TO EAT
Vinos in Greystones, dont miss out on
their seafood dishes; The Temple Bar
Food market in Dublin, if visiting over
weekends; Out of the blue in Dingle; and
certainly dont miss the Leenane Hotel
for the best food and a super-friendly
barman.
has been restored and small businesses and producers are being
innovative and competitive again. But through the rise and fall,
Irelands constants always remain: the beauty of the countryside,
the magic of the music, the friendliness of the people...and brown
bread and perpetual chat.
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