Cabs, ferries and taxis....beating the ash on my way from Belfast to London

ON THE WAY TO LONDON – That was pretty easy.
I’d love (well, journalistically, not from a lifestyle standpoint) to be writing a tale of wonder and woe about my horrible, twisted, tortured journey from Belfast to London to beat the ash off that Icelandic volcano. But, truth be told, it wasn’t that tough.

I spent a final night Sunday at the remarkable Merchant Hotel in Belfast, an old bank that’s been turned into a magnificent hotel in the suddenly chic Cathedral Quarter, then got up early for a cab to the ferry docks. Kind of a weird feeling sailing from the same city as the Titanic about 100 years ago, but I kinda figured a trip across the Irish Sea in 12 degree weather in April wasn’t too dangerous.

I had a wonderful cab driver, who was wonderful for three reasons:
1. He was a nice guy.
2. He thought I had a good idea to at least make way to Heathrow in London in case flights suddenly opened up, rather than sitting on my arse in Belfast and waiting to make a connecting flight on BMI. And,
3. He was pretty funny.
We were talking about my plan to get to London and he said he was glad he wasn’t that important in the

world and didn’t have to worry about such things. I said I thought he was pretty influential as he was getting me to my ferry, to which he replied in a wonderful Irish brogue, “That’s what I tell the drunks at night in my cab; listen, I’m the most important person in the world to you right now.”

Anyway, he said one of his buddies had been asked to drive someone to London from Belfast, using the ferry of course, and got 700 pounds for his trouble; well over $1,000 Canadian. Not bad. My tour guide in Belfast, the highly entertaining Billy Scott, told me had hoped to lead some Americans on a tour of his pretty cool city on Sunday morning but had to cancel. Earlier, as were about to depart on his “Black cab” tour of the town, one of the concierges at the Merchant suddenly came running over to the cab to ask if Scott knew of any place where some wrestlers who were in town for a WWE event could find a cruise boat or another large ship to get them to their destination.

“Damned inconsiderate of Iceland to put a volcano on a flight path,” he said with a laugh.

Anyhoo, it was a nice ferry, operated by Stena Lines. A couple of cafes, one of which was serving plenty of full Irish breakfasts with a fried egg, watery-looking bacon, sausages, mushrooms and baked beans. Some other folks were having bacon or sausage with egg on a bun; something we’d call a breakfast sandwich but which they call a “bap.” I fell in love with the word in Wales last year, and I’m thinking of starting a movement to make it a required term in Toronto restaurants. “Two ham baps, please.” By the way, speaking of Toronto-Canada-Ireland connections, I’m proud to report I spotted a Tim Hortons outlet inside a variety store in Belfast. I’m told there are a couple of them in Dublin, too, but I didn’t see them.

Anyhoo again, the ferry was just fine. There was a line to get on but there appeared to be enough empty seats. Lots of kids were sleeping on board, but that would happen on any ferry at the ungodly-for-teenagers-hour of 7:30 a.m. We passed out of Belfast harbour and pretty soon were in Scottish waters on a cool but lovely morning for a sail. Wonderful views of the Scottish coastline. I wasn’t sure it WAS the Mull of Kintyre I spotted to my left, but just in case I put the Paul McCartney song of the same name on my iPod as we sailed past. I later checked the map and I’m 99 per cent sure I was right.

I had never heard of the Scottish port of Stranraer, but it was kinda pretty. Lovely cliffs and a huge harbour and a nice little beach with pretty hills all around and that dark, Scottish-home style made for a pretty decent picture. It’s in a part of Scotland called Wigtownshire, and isn’t that great? What do they call themselves, Wigtownshirites? Wigtownonians? I don’t know but it’s a great name.

The folks at Scottish Rail held the 10:07 train to Glasgow until we could get off the ferry, meaning me and a few hundred others, but it wasn’t all that crowded on the way to Glasgow. The train DID stop for a good 20 minutes along the way, for no apparent reason, and we ended up about 40 minutes late arriving in Glasgow. Who put the TTC in charge of Scottish rail, I have no idea.

It’s always interesting coming into a city on a train, as you often get to see the unseemly side of things as well as the glories. This was no exception. There were decrepit-looking suburbs with all sorts of trash tossed behind fences, including an electric lawnmower that sat five feet from the tracks. There also were abandoned factories left to the owls and mice, with graffiti sprayed everywhere. Yet when we pulled into town I could see gleaming glass towers, church spires and carefully restored buildings along the river, so apparently things are going okay in Glasgow.

The folks at the train station were hugely helpful, steering me to the “immediate travel” window. I just missed one train, but got on the Virgin train at 2:40 p.m. with no issue. A nice guy from Virgin helped us avoid a long walk and put us at the front of the line for a seat in the non-reserved section. I made a bit of a dash to the unreserved carriage to be sure I got an electrical outlet and a table for my laptop, but the car was virtually empty. It got crowded around Preston, as I recall, but it was just fine aside from the ridiculously tiny space for storing luggage. There had to be 100 people on board the car I was in by the time we got to London, but the luggage rack held maybe three regular-sized suitcases. Amazing.

There was some lovely scenery along the way, including a couple glimpses of the canals where people sail tiny barges through quiet and still country a couple hours north of London. I didn’t have my camera on at the time, but I spotted a couple called “The Mouse” and “Tisha.” They look cozy but perhaps would feel a touch cramped after a few days of barging.

I also spotted a man and his son, perhaps about four years old, standing in a field of greens and watching my train roll into London. I don’t know if they go out in the field regularly to watch, but it looked vaguely romantic to see a father and his boy catching the magic of a train skipping past at a fast clip.

There were a few annoying rings of people’s cell phones on the five-hour or so trip from Glasgow to Euston Station in London, and it made me wonder why people torture themselves – and the rest of us – with tinkly versions of Stairway to Heaven and similar tunes. Can anyone please explain? I did figure out, though, that when the guy from Virgin asked me if I wanted a quiet coach he meant a part of the train where cell phone conversations are banned. Hallelujah to that.

I’m supposed to arrive in London around 7:15 British time, which is just a few minutes from now. Barring a wild taxi driver who tries to take me to Westminster via Bolton or Coventry, I should have had a very uneventful travel day, for which I’m quite grateful. The worst part of my trip was looking out the window at Troon golf course in Scotland on a lovely day and thinking, “Damn, I’d love to play that course.”

Lots of folks have suffered real hardships the past few days. I was at the Ballygally Hotel in Northern Ireland on Saturday, and there was a wedding going on. The father of the bride missed it as he was stranded in Portugal, which is really a shame. There were far worse episodes, I’m sure, and I’m thankful all I had was a very small blip in the road. I’ll miss some work in the travel department, but spending a couple days in London is a pretty fine way to spend a travel delay.

There were reports on Monday that some British airports would open Tuesday morning, although it seemed London’s Heathrow might be later in the day. British Airways said it would try to resume some flights on Tuesday, but I hadn’t heard anything from Air Canada.

As of 1:30 p.m. Toronto time on Monday, the notice from Air Canada on its website, aircanada.com, was from Sunday. Absolutely shameful.

Get with it, folks. Even if you just say, "stay tuned, we're monitoring things and hope to have more news shortly" it would at least as if someone's awake at headquarters.

“WE’RE NUMBER 25, WE’RE NUMBER 25!” ASK MEN RATES TORONTO

Not sure about this one, but I got a press release from a website called askmen.com to tell me that Toronto had placed 25th in its list of the 29 top places to live in the world. Why 29? I have no clue.

Anyway, top spot went to New York, followed by Melbourne, Tokyo, Madrid and London. Montreal beat out Toronto, finishing 22nd. Vancouver didn’t make the list. But neither did Brantford or Barrie. Behind Toronto were Kyoto at number 26, followed by Bogota, Rome and Las Vegas. The folks at askmen.com (I’m not endorsing the website by the way, or its lurid use of lovely women for photo galleries not that I noticed) said the survey was based on employment figures, green space, cuisine and the “ratio of single, educated women.”

Thought you’d like to know.

Northern Ireland's coastal wonders...Surprising Belfast...Hoping to get to London

BELFAST, Northern Ireland – Quite the surprise.

I really didn’t know what to expect when I crossed the border into Northern Ireland. I did think there would be a sign. Likely not a Checkpoint Charlie, mind you, but at least something that said, “You are now in the U.K.”
Instead, I think the first thing that made me take notice was that the road signs suddenly indicated miles instead of kilometers. That was about it, really.

I’ve heard a lot over the years about the Giant’s Causeway (see photo) and Bushmills distillery and the rope bridge in Northern Ireland, all major tourist attractions on the coast just east of Portrush, which has a lush and lovely links golf course that I was positively drooling over.

The golf looks great. The Giant’s Causeway is wonderful. But it was the overall feel and dramatic sculpture of the coast drive that really had me thinking these folks are onto something really, really good.

I had some nice coastal views in the Republic of Ireland, but nothing as spectacular for driving as the northern coast of Northern Ireland. Wonderful vistas at every turn, plus cute villages/towns, tons of sheep and cows and lovely restaurants and hotels, including the Ballygally Castle.

Belfast itself was a huge surprise. There’s tremendous, old architecture as well as great shopping, fine restaurants and a real sense of a city that’s on the rise. Sure, you can visit sites where Catholics and Protestants made war, but there’s also some cool parks and great food and wonderful streets for walking about. Not to mention the hotel the tourism board put me up at: the Merchant. Wow. And wow again. It’s an old bank, and there were cherubs and stained glass windows hovering over my shoulder at breakfast under a giant dome.

The rooms are lush and the entire feel of the place is solid and fashionable and simply marvelous. It’s fairly new; located up in the Cathedral quarter not far from St. Anne’s and close to the magnificent City Hall and the pubs of Great Victoria St. A great Irish band was playing at the Duke of York pub on Sunday night, and I had a great steak ciabatta with skinny fries at a French brasserie near the hotel. Deane’s, a Michelin starred restaurant near City Hall, serves up classic dishes in a lively atmosphere with plenty of beautiful people.
Hard to believe this place has seen so many, well, troubles. But it appears those are pretty much behind a city that has so much to offer. It ain’t Dublin. It’s not London. But it’s got a charm and a personality that’s very enjoyable in a “second city” kind of way.

ON  MY WAY TO LONDON…MAYBE

Well, this is gonna be fun.

I had a flight booked for Sunday morning from Belfast to London Heathrow, but BMI flights into Heathrow were cancelled due to the volcano in Iceland. Join the club, Byers. It looked on Sunday morning as if flights might be grounded for days, so rather than sit in Belfast and hope to get a BMI flight I opted to take things into my own hands and aim to get to London.

That way, I figured, if Air Canada suddenly started flying again on, say, Tuesday, I would only have to haul my butt from central London to Heathrow and not have to worry about a connecting flight from Belfast. Good theory, I thought. So I spent several hours on the Internet, trying to book a ferry and a train to get me to London from northern Ireland. Of course, it was complicated. One ferry goes to Liverpool but it takes eight hours. That didn’t sound appealing. So I opted for a two-hour ferry ride to Stranraer, Scotland. Where on earth that is, I had no idea. On the coast, I figured, being a geography whiz. But not much else came to mind.
I’m supposed to take a 7:30 a.m. ferry to Stranaer, which takes a couple hours. The first train I could find was at 12:40 p.m., which means I’ll be doing some serious raiding of the scones at the Stranaer train station.
It’s then a, wait for it, 10 hour friggin train ride to London’s King’s Cross Station. It could be a lot worse, but that’s a long time.

Getting the reservation was hilarious. I went to Google, naturally, and found a national rail web site. I clicked through five or six times before giving up. It simply wouldn’t let me purchase the ticket I wanted, so I called. They put me through to East Coast train lines, or some such. They couldn’t help. The guy said something about how I could make a reservation but I couldn’t’ actually buy a ticket until I got to Scotland. Made absolutely no sense to me.

Then he said it wasn’t their train, anyway. Why they sell tickets for someone else’s train I haven’t a clue. He said it was Virgin’s train. Virgin has trains? The planes I knew about. But I didn’t know Sir Richard Branson was into trains. So I went to their web site. Naturally, I couldn’t get it work. So I called. Same rigamarole. There was a good 10 minutes of explaining what train I wanted, and I went through a big procedure and the guy asked me all sorts of questions.

Did I want a window seat or an aisle? An aisle. Might have to pee.
Did I want a fold-down table? How the hell would I know? Sure.
The best question? Did I want the quiet section?
No, actually, I’m stuck on a 10-hour train ride after a two-hour ferry ride and a three-hour scone inhaling mission on very little sleep and I’d much rather sit with some howling children and maybe a couple live chickens.

Geez.

Finally, after this big procedure and my explaining I wanted an aisle seat in a quiet part of the train, the guy said I couldn’t actually book the ticket until I got to Scotland.
Why?
Apparently it’s an automated system called Fast Ticket or some such, and this little port in Scotland doesn’t have a machine. They have people who can sell me a ticket, but not a machine that will spit out a reservation.
This of course, sent me right around the bend in full Bill Bryson exasperation mode, not to mention making me think of the great Seinfeld episode about having the car rental company TAKE his reservation but not actually HOLDING the reservation, which is the most important part as anyone can just take ‘em.
I had to ask the guy on the phone.
“So, why can’t you call the guy who works at the train station and tell him it’s okay and he can sell me a ticket now?”
Naturally, the guy on the phone had his head spinning.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
No, it doesn’t. Turns out you can buy a ticket from a machine, but you can’t buy one in advance from an actual person.
And people wonder why Britain doesn’t rule the world any more.
Why are all these different companies running trains? Why do the websites not work and why do they quote wildly different prices? Why can’t an ACTUAL PERSON make a reservation for me and take my credit card number and hold my ticket for me until I get there?
I have no clue. But they can’t. So I have to wait until I get to sunny Stranraer to find out if they have space on the train.
I can hardly wait for the fun to begin.

 

Volcanic ash travel woes...beautiful northwest Ireland...Jim's deals of the day

DONEGAL, Ireland - What a mess.

Aviation officials over here are saying the airport chaos in Europe is worse than it was after the Sept. 11 attacks on the U.S., and that's saying something.

I'm booked on a flight out of Belfast to London Heathrow on Sunday morning. So far, so good. Ryanair has cancelled all flights until Monday, but luckily I'm on BMI. BMI's website, at last check, said they hoped to be up and running Saturday some time. And it sounds like Air Canada flights and flights to North America in general are getting out of Ireland and the U.K.; I'm guessing by flying around the ash in a way that other flights simply can't manage. (Hey, if they need my flight to go through, say, the Canary Islands with a stop along the way I could probably handle the disappointment.)

The ash from the volcano in Iceland seems worse in northern and central Europe than in the U.K. and Ireland, but it's still bad enough in these parts to be causing lots of headaches.

A woman at the front desk of the Solis Lough Eske, an old castle turned into a hotel where I'm staying outside the town of Donegal, said they've had a few folks ask to extend their rooms because they can't get out of Dodge. At lunch in the town of Ardara, at a sleepy seafood spot called Nancy's with incredible fish soup/chowder, the owner's son said he had hoped to fly to his home in London on Thursday but his flight was cancelled. Ditto for Friday. And maybe Saturday.

"My boss is giving me grief but what can I do," he said. "I can swim, but not that far."

The Irish television station RTE was showing a video clip today of a couple members of the Harlem Globetrotters, who apparently are stuck in Dublin. Not a bad place to be stuck in, but still a drag.

It sounds like the worst of it could be over by Sunday, but we'll find out. I might have to spend another night in Belfast, which would be far from the end of the world.

Stay tuned to weather reports and check thestar.com for more details. You also can go to thestar.com/travel to find airport flight and arrival information at Pearson.

Meanwhile, you gotta feel for poor Iceland. The economy collapses, now there's volcanic ash and flooding and likely more tourists staying away.

Ireland has had its troubles on the economic front, as well. You can see mile upon mile of new highways and other projects funded by the EU, so there's obviously been some pretty good news in the country in the past few years. Taxi drivers in Dublin say it's been slow, however. And there seem to be some pretty good hotel deals, so it's a very good time to visit the Emerald Isle (actually, it's kind of brownish-emerald right now given a harsh winter and very little spring rain), but we'll let it go.

A tour guide in Dublin joked the other day that for a while the joke in town was: "What's the difference between Iceland and Ireland? One letter and six months."

Let's hope not.

A TURN FOR THE BETTER

Sometimes in travel you just gotta go with your instincts. I was at a great hotel, the Ashford Castle in County Mayo, the other day and a marketing person who works there admonished me for asking questions about the place and the history instead of just getting out and exploring. Well, I happen to think it's an important for a journalist to know details; who built what and when, what the style of architecture might be, who the gargoyles on the side of a medieval building might be modelled after; but that's just me. 

Anyway, I'm plenty open to simply going where the road takes me; or where a road I suddenly choose will take me. I do it quite often, and I did it on my from Cong to Donegal.

I was having a coffee not far from Yeats burial ground (I don't care much about dead poets, or living ones to tell you the truth) and spotted a little smudge on the left side of the main called Mullaghmore. There was no mention in the tour book I had but something about it said, "visit me." I almost opted to drive straight on to Donegal and check in early at my hotel near Lough Eske, but I looked over to my left and spotted some homes on a hillside and a brief stretch of beach. So I took a turn and drove down a narrow road toward...an incredibly beautiful beach.

It looked to be about two miles long; a big, sweeping curve heading up towards the mountains/hills made famous by Yeats. I counted three people on the sand in brilliant sunshine and temperatures around 14 degrees, albeit with a stiff wind. There was a tiny "town," mostly just a hotel and a pub or two. I thought again about turning around but decided to drive on past the businesses. It was, in a word, glorious; green fields with rock walls, sheep, a vast expanse of surging blue sea heading up towards the cliffs of Slieve League and a horse rubbing its neck on a  bbarbed wire fence. Then, suddenly, a decent-sized castle looming on the top of a green hill.

I counted two cars and four walkers on a looping road that was perhaps two miles long. Incredible. How there's not a huge resort and a golf course on this peninsula is beyond me, especially when the nearby resort town of Rossnowlagh has a huge, new hotel and a lovely inn at the top of a bluff called Smuggler's Creek, where the views of the Rossnowlagh beach are just perfect.

Drove from there up to Solis Lough Eske hotel. It's an old castle that fell into disrepair and has been fully modernized. The public areas and bars feel very castle-like and are quite nice. But the rest of the place is super-modern. All the modern conveniences, but perhaps not the place if you want something that feels old world-ish.

Anyway, it seems fairly crowded and there was a fine if expensive meal in the main restaurant, with excellent sweet potato and parsnip soup and a fine duck breast with roasted root vegetables. There's a nice spa and the lake, Lough Eske, is only a five-minute walk away.

Driving today to Donegal town, then up to Slieve League. Saturday it's the Giant's Causeway and into Belfast, then home on Sunday - volcanic ash permitting.

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More Galway...Plus the stunning Ashford Castle in Ireland - with palm trees!

CONG - It's a strange name, methinks, for a lovely village in Ireland. "Cong" just doesn't roll off the tongue

like Kinvarra or Doolin or Galway, where I spent the a fine morning checking out the shops in and around Kirwan Lane and the lower part of the town. Some have labelled the part of old-town Galway down near the
river as the "Latin Quarter," but my tour guide dismissed it as tourism nonsense.

Anyway, it's a fine place to wander about. Judy Greene has a lovely pottery shop with all sorts of knickknacks that even guys might like. Around the corner is Sheridan's wine shop and cheesemongers, where they have perhaps two dozens types of Irish cheeses alone. One has cow's milk and seaweed, and it's actually pretty tasty. You barely taste the seaweed, to be honest.

I was shocked at the heavy traffic heading out of Galway towards Cong in the evening, but luckily I had a beer down in the Salthill area along Galway Bay, stopping at a low-key "Cheers-like" pub called Lonergan's for a pint where everybody truly seemed to know each other's names. Salthill isn't the best part of Galway but it's got a fine waterfront promenade that's perfect for the summer-ish weather Ireland has been experiencing ever since I got here.

Got to spend the night at a ridiculously sumptuous spot called the Ashford Castle, which dates back to 1228 or thereabouts. It's got a moat (it has to have a moat to be a castle, my host at breakfast, Martin, told me today), and my room has cilings that are rougly 20 feet high, not to mention a four-poster bed,
intricately carved, wooden furniture, a gorgeous view of Lough Erne (the second biggest lake on the island of Eire) and endless gardens. My room was in a corner, and there were two bits of exposed stone and stained glass...in the shower. Best shower I've ever had! They've got a small golf course, fishing, archery, tennis and more. They even have a falconry school. They offered me a lesson but I've never much liked birds flapping around near my face, so I opted to try the boat ride on Lough Corrib, which looks a bit like the Irish version of Muskoka. Or maybe it's the other way around.

The hotel has a great afternoon tea, a spa and a couple very nice restaurants. I opted for the basement spot, called Cullen's in the Dungeon, which has a very, well, dungeon-like atmosphere with deep red walls, barrel-arch ceilings and flags of various Irish clans hanging from the walls and ceiling. Excellent food and a breakfast to die for upstairs in the King George V dining room.

They had pineapple at breakfast, and it seems to be a theme around here. I've had pineapple often on this trip. At a great shop in Galway called McCambridge's I bought some local honey with mango. And the whole area of western Ireland is dotted with palm trees; not mighty coconut palms but smaller, slightly scrubbier versions that stay warm thanks to the Gulf Stream waters that swirl up the eastern coast of North America and then across the north Atlantic.

Driving today up through Sligo to Donegal. Five days driving on the left side of the road and maybe I've runinto the side of a bramble bush just once so far. Turning takes a bit of thought, and a busy Galway roundabout at rush hour isn't much fun, but I don't really understand folks who refuse to drive in the U.K. or Ireland or Australia or some such. It's not a big deal, folks. I managed on some really, really tiny roads in Barbados last June, so Ireland hasn't been an issue at all. Mind you, I've probably just put my foot in it and will end up running into some poor, stray sheep today. Or, heaven  forbid, a giant lorry (if that's the term in Ireland as well as England. You never quite know, and I'd hate to insult the Irish by using an English phrase that they don't have in their vocabulary).

The Burren's crazy cows, and the fine town of Galway....Jim's Deals of the Day

GALWAY - We hear a lot about Dublin, of course. And Cork. And Waterford crystal. And the Blarney Stone and Belfast. But for some reason this town doesn't get the publicity of its rivals.
I didn't have a strong mental image of the place, I must admit. I'd seen the odd picture or two. I knew it was on the coast and quite Gaelic.

But I didn't know what a cool city it was to hang around in, especially on a lovely afternoon with thousands of folks sipping a Guinness in the April sun. There are only a few remnants of the old walls still intact, but it still reminded me of Quebec City with its pedestrian streets and old-world architecture.
But the Irish pubs are slightly more authentic than Quebec, I think. At least the one I checked out after dinner at the Malt House, a trendy spot in the old part of town with great salmon, a fine if slightly overcooked duck breast with onion and pancetta and a wonderful appetizer of crab claws in chili oil.
Anyway (and sorry to drizzle all over the keyboard like that), the pubs were awesome, with both Irish music

and some North American fare at The King's Head, where the guitar player did a mean "Sultans of Swing" and also "Like a Hurricane" for the Canadian from Neil Young's old North Toronto neighborhood.

Great time getting hear from Doolin, driving along the coast at the edge of the barren, rocky area called The Burren. Feels a bit like a moonscape at times but the water is lovely, and I ran into a small pack of cows that escaped their pens. They did fine, but it was kinda interesting to drive through them. One small step and my Hyundai might not have been doing so good.

Great hotel, too, the g hotel (for glamour, not Galway). Very trendy, lovely rooms and wild colour schemes in the lobby areas make for a very unique and hip experience in a part of Ireland you might not expect it. They make a great birchermuesli at breakfast and serve the sweetest, white melon you've ever tasted. They insisted it was honeydew, but it didn't look what we have back home. Either way, a great breakfast. The hotel is a bit out of the way from downtown, which is the only drawback I could think of.

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Cliffs of Moher...and delightful Doolin, Ireland...Music night at O'Connor's pub

CLIFFS OF MOHER, Ireland - The weather continues to hold for the luckiest travel editor around. I’ve had a couple bad days when I’ve travelled but I usually come up on the right side of things, and this trip is  no exception. I haven’t had a drop of rain and hardly a cloud in the sky since I got here Friday, and it’s been stunning.

I didn’t care that much about the weather in Dublin, but I had prayed for good visibility if not warm temperatures for my visit Monday to the Cliffs of Moher in western Ireland. It’s one of the iconic places I’ve always wanted to visit. And it was just stunning. The cliffs, all jagged brown and green shards of rock,   cascade some 250 metres straight down from the barren plains above to the surging green-blue Atlantic.

There are some nice walking paths, well protected from the edge of the cliffs, and a very good visitor centre. Of course, nearby you can find not only the Cliffs of Moher but a shop called, wait for it, The Gifts of Moher. Sigh.

Anyway, it’s jaw-dropping scenery. There’s a tower called the O’Brien Tower that you can climb for a couple of Euros and get a better view. Best advice is come early for views to the west, with the sun behind you, or go late if you want to shoot off to the east, also the sun’s rays not wiping out your photos.

The actual paths don’t run all that far; it’s about 10 minutes – max – to walk to the tower at one end and maybe three minutes to the west before you’re confronted with signs warning it’s private property. Maybe they don’t mean it but I didn’t see many folks that way so we took a pass.

I hadn’t read much about it but  I spotted somewhere during the day that you can get a boat from nearby Doolin, where I was staying at the Sea View House/ Bed and Breakfast (along with a woman guest with the most teased-out blonde hair you ever saw and a New York Yankees jersey). It was an amazing, beautiful boat ride; one hour for about $20. A helluva deal. The cliffs are beautiful from above but to really sense the power and the sheer size, it’s best to head out on the water.

They say the Cliffs are lovely at sunset, but I was busy having a few pints at Gus O’Connor’s pub in “downtown” Doolin- a stretch of eight to ten shops on a gently flowing hill surrounded by grazing cows and horses. It’s the closest thing I’ve ever seen to Hobitton; all tidy and green. Didn’t see anything called The Prancing Pony, but the Harp was cold and the music was outstanding; a guy on the fiddle and another who alternated with a flute, piccolo and other wind instruments and a bodhran, or Irish drum. Very nice. Some singalong action would've been nice but nobody volunteered to sign when the two older guys playing issued an invitation.

I’ve already memorized most of “The Wild Rover” and have heard more versions of “A Nation Once Again,” than I thought was possible. Hate to say it, but my first – and until now, only – exposure to the song is when the guy who plays Paul McCartney’s grandfather in A Hard Day’s Night (Wilfrid Brambell; a brilliant acting job I’ve always thought) sings it out loud to some British police officers who had rounded him up for disturbing the peace.

QUEEN LIZ COMING TO EIRE?

Appropro of nothing, a tour guide told us in Dublin that no head of the British monarchy has ever visited the Republic of Ireland. There’s talk Queen Elizabeth will come in 2011. Seems only fair.

Off today to Galway, which I'm told has come a long way. Then further north to Donegal and on into Northern Ireland before coming home....

Summertime springs in Ireland/Whiskey lessons/GPS woes/Cashel and Adare

They said it was the worst winter in memory. But spring – actually, summer – has suddenly sprung in the land of Erin Go Bragh.

Friday was nice. Saturday was terrific. And Sunday was glorious, with a riot of spring flowers in bloom and folks celebrating the season with coffees – or beers – at sidewalk cafes from Limerick to Dublin in record, 20-degree weather.

Managed a weekend tour of both the Jameson Distillery and the Guinness brewery in Dublin, and I was just slightly proud of myself on the Jameson tour, I must say.They asked for volunteers at the start of the tour of one of Ireland’s great whiskey-producing spots. I, being the shy and retiring type, and also having read about the tour in advance, volunteered.

All it really got me was a chance at the end of the tour to taste three types of whiskey, or whisky, depending on your perspective. They put tiny glasses of Kentucky whiskey, Scotch and Jameson’s in small glasses on a paper mat and asked about eight or 10 of us to try each of them.

Foolishly, they labeled the three glasses so we could tell what we were drinking. The idea was to tell our tour guide which we preferred. But that wasn’t good enough for a self-indulgent Canadian travel editor, who insisted that a fellow volunteer mix the three glasses up so he couldn’t know for sure which was which. I’m sorry to say that I’ve had enough whiskey in my day that it wasn’t all that hard to tell the difference.

The Kentucky stuff is made with corn and is quite sweet. No problem to identify that nose and the taste. It took a brief second to catch the difference between the clean Jameson’s and the peat-y Scotch stuff, but just a second. The tour guide made me feel good by saying she was surprised, but even a casual whiskey drinker shouldn’t have that much trouble sensing the difference between Scotch, Irish whiskey and Jack Daniel’s.

They’re all good, but there is something about Irish whiskey’s clean, snappy taste that I quite like. It’s said that when Julius Caesar came here once upon a time (a package tour, I’m told), he said something like, “This beats the hell out of Asti Spumante,” or words to that effect.

I must say I wasn’t quite as taken by my tour of the Guinness brewery. It’s just a bit too much for my North American beer tastes. But a fun tour, and the so-called Gravity Bar on the seventh floor of the brewery is a fabulous spot to people – and city – watch and sample the goods.

From there it was on to the Rock of Cashel, not far from Tipperary. A beautiful old abbey it is, and of the great ruins of Ireland.

There are frescoes inside one of the chapels that date from 1130, although Cromwell’s forces from England destroyed most of them.

GPS WOES

The GPS I rented at the Dublin airport got us to our hotel, the fine Clarence Hotel in Temple Bar area, with perfect ease. But Sinead, that’s the name I’ve given her, doesn’t like the new M-series highways between Dublin and Limerick as she kept telling me to make left turns when there weren’t any and to occasionally make a U-turn on a divided highway. I deemed this unadvisable.

I must’ve heard the words “recalibrating” a hundred times before I switched the damned thing off. Hoping it works better today once we get away from the new highways, which must not be programmed or something. Which is a rather long way of saying poor old Sinead had her troubles getting me to Adare, but it was worth it. I find the thatched roofs a touch twee for my tastes, and pardon the excessive alliteration, but I can see why some folks call it one of the prettiest villages in Ireland.

The Irish tourism folks back in Toronto (thanks Judith and Andrea) put me up Sunday night at the ridiculously beautiful Adare Manor. It almost killed me not to play golf on the Robert Trent Jones Sr. course, but I instead went for an hour’s walk around the grounds before having one of those eight-course tasting menus.

You don’t hear a lot about Irish food back home but it was absolutely tremendous. There was a goat cheese wrapped in paper-thin pastry alongside honey and lavender soaked rhubarb; one of the top dishes I can remember anywhere – plus smoked salmon, a beef cheek tenderloin in a beef bourguignon sauce served inside a small, perfectly chewy pastry, a turnip gratin to die for and a lovely serving of perfectly moist John Dory with a lemongrass and coriander sauce and a seafood risotto. All with matching wines picked by a wonderful sommelier from Versailles. Wow. Oh, and a lemon and thyme "drizzle cake" with a mascarpone sorbet and blueberry compote. I hadn't had one of those in a couple days.

The grounds at the manor feature a lovely, formal garden that’s only now showing a bit of spring form, plus a billion trees and a nice walking path along the river. It’s the sort of place you expect to see a gallant price or duke come charging over a hill with a pack of baying hounds in search of a dashing fox.

A great room with exposed stone, big windows and a large, modern bathroom make for a wonderful spot to sit and watch the Masters play out, albeit on a fairly small screen with a terrible picture. (The other stations were quite clear but for some reason the feed from Georgia looked as fuzzy as Tiger Woods after a late-night encounter with a fire hydrant. It was likely the networks' fault, not the hotel).

Anyway, off today to the Cliffs of Moher, where I’ve always wanted to visit. And a stay at a more modest B and B that’s much more in line with a wrinkle-shirted scribe from Canada.

James Joyce not for everyone - including some Dubliners...Jim's Deals of the day

DUBLIN - I felt a little guilty arriving on the very, very green shores of Ireland and not having ever read a single word of James Joyce.

Not that I have anything against him; I just had other priorities.

But I felt a little guilty today as my excellent tour guide, Dave Harrington, a retired executive with Aer Lingus, walked me around Dublin and past some of the sights Joyce had made famous. One of them is a very cool pub, the Davy Byrnes.

It's not far from the chi-chi shops of Grafton Street, but it's quite fun to check out. WIth the sun finally peeking through these parts and temperatures up around 12-15 degrees, everybody and his sister was out enjoying the relative warmth.

As I was saying, though, I felt badly about not having read any Joyce. Until Harrington confessed he hasn't, either, at least not all of Ulysses.

"I tell people, 'I can't remember if I read five pages 10 times or 10 pages five times,'" he recalled with a laugh, one of many he provided on a lovel afternoon tour.

Earlier, Harrington was talking about how Irish fans feel about the English when it comes to sports.

"We're not biased against the English," he insisted. "We don't care who beats them."

Delightful stuff.

Friday, however, it wasn't the English who were a local concern but the French. There was a big match in Dublin Friday night in the Heineken Cup rugby quarterfinals, with local heroes Leinster taking on the Clermont Auvergne of France.

The blue-and-yellow-clad French supporters were all over Temple Bar on Friday, shouting it up nicely and proving that England isn't the only country with lager louts.

It sounded menacing, but Harrington insisted it's all in good fun and that there was zero chance of any real problem.

Anyway, it was a fun couple hours on the tour and very instructive. Got to see part of Dublin Castle, as well as the Book of Kells and the incredibly sumptuous Long Room library at Trinity College. Haven't had any beer yet, but looking forward to a Harp later tonight (not much of a Guinness fan, I'm afraid, but I guess I should try one here).

Staying at the Clarence Hotel in Temple Bar, which is owned by the guys in U2. Very nice room with a partial view of the Liffey, not to mention a bottle of chilled Champagne in the room (they obviously must've thought someone else was coming). But there wasn't any hot water when I wanted to soak after a long day of walking, which is a drag.

Still, it's a cool spot in a great location and I'm looking forward to sampling some local pubs and maybe seeing some of the rugby match between sampling the goings-on at Augusta National.

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Pay for carry-on bags - bah!....Off to the Emerald Isle

More on this in Saturday's Travel section, but for now suffice to say we've witnessed yet another sign of impending doom in the world with news that Florida-based Spirit Airlines will charge up to $45 TO BRING A CARRY-ON BAG ON BOARD A PLANE.

Do these people have no shame? Honestly, folks. Pay for a carry-on, PLUS paying for a regular bag?

Spirit (somehow the name doesn't fit, does it) says folks can bring a personal item like a knapsack or a purse but it has to fit under the seat in front of them. If it doesn't fit, and has to go in the overhead, then whammo, you pay. There are discounts if you register your carry-on in advance (only $30 in that case), but that means more paperwork so thanks for that.

If you join their Fare club for $9, you pay less still. (I think UNFAIR club is more like it).

Ridiculous. But, then again, if folks pay it who's the fool?

IRELAND BOUND

Never been to the Emerald Isle. But I'm leaving for Heathrow in a few minutes and will fly on BMI (should be interesting) to Dublin Friday morning.

Spending two nights at the Clarence Hotel, the boutique spot in Temple Bar that's owned by the guys from U2. I somehow doubt I'll spot Bono or the Edge, but ya never know.

If anyone knows of some great spots in Dublin, send me a note at jbyers@thestar.ca. I think they just might have a spot or two to down a pint...or two.

After that it's Tipperary, Cliffs of Moher, Galway, Ashford Castle, Donegal, Belfast and back home. Can't wait.

Look for more on Ireland, of course, in coming months in Star Travel. With the Canadian dollar at a 10-year high against the Euro, and the British pound suffering against our mighty loonie, there really hasn't been a better time to visit Europe in quite a long while....

Pearson Airport - step up to the plate fergawdsake...Intercontinental iPads...

I really should go easy on them sometimes. I really should change my tune now and then so as to not get too predictable.

So I'll actually give the folks at Pearson Airport here in Toronto a small kudo, if that's a proper word and I don't think it is but I like it so too bad: they have done a much better job with luggage handling the last couple times I came home. There. I said something nice. The baggage handling has usually been terrible in the past, but the last couple times my bags have arrived reasonably soon. So maybe they've made improvements.

But,looking at a nice story today in the travel section of USA Today (USA Today today?? USA Today squared??), I see an old complaint of mine rearing its ugly, ferocious, morning-hair, hangover-looking head, and that's wi-fi.

Here's Pearson, lugging along with a pretty standard and boring airport compared to many in the world, and we still have to pay for wi-fi. And don't even get me started on the $2 charge they slap on you to borrow a luggage cart. That's probably more appalling, as you could at least make the argument that people with laptops have slightly more money than your average consumer. If I had my first pick, I'd say make the luggage carts free, as they seem to in many if not most airports around the world. But if Pearson wants to make a name for itself, it should follow places like Vancouver, Boston and Seattle and provide free wireless signals. Passengers have a choice on where to go and what airports to use, and the more Pearson can do to set itself apart the better off it'll be.

And, while we're at it, how about making the airport a bit more Canadian? We DO have Tim Hortons, yes, but

it would be nice to have a bit more of a "local flavour." Charlotte has become famous (well, perhaps "well-known in travel circles" is a better phrase) for having rocking chairs in the terminal for folks who want to sit a spell. Why not a few dozen Muskoka chairs at Pearson? They have some down at that artificial beach on Lake Ontario at Harbourfront, why not inside the terminal at Toronto's main airport? How much would it cost? Maybe even sprinkle some paintings of the Group of Seven on a couple walls while you're at it.

A good hotel, I say, should always give you a sense of place. The Wickaninnish Inn in Tofino uses dozens of natural products inside its rooms and public spaces and you just know exactly where you are. Ditto for Hotel Hana Maui on my favourite island in Hawaii. Why can't an airport do the same thing?

Even if Pearson didn't go all Canadian on us, a few little perks would help. In Jacksonville, they gave out 1,500 red and white carnations on Valentine's Day. In Amsterdam they have full lounge chairs at Schiphol Airport that are almost like a chaise lounge. Nashville and Portland, Oregon have live musicians to entertain folks near security. In Tahiti, there's a band of local musicians playing swaying, South Pacific tunes when passengers get off the airplane. I'm not suggesting Pearson hire the Tragically Hip to serenade folks at Terminal 1. I think folks from China, or even Indianapolis, might get a little confused by hearing Gord Downie singing about a girl who helps him loosen his grip on Bobby Orr. But there have got to be a lot of buskers hanging out in the subway system who might want to try a gig at Pearson some time.

Food for thought, guys.

INTERCONTINENTAL iPads

The L.A. Times reports that Intercontinental Hotels is giving iPads to their concierge crew at four of their 166 hotels: the New York Barclay, Atlanta Buckhead, London Park Lane and Intercontinental Hong Kong. Sounds like another good, forward-thinking group of business people. If nothing else, they know how to capitalize on the iPad "craze."

Personally, I don't see what an iPad would do for me. I have a laptop, and I have a Blackberry and I have an iPod that's actually an iTouch device with wireless capability I've never used, although I really should. What would an iPad do for me? If anyone out there is reading - not you, Dad, sorry - I'd love to know. And if you know of any applications (I refuse to use the word "apps") for my iTouch that I really should be using, I'd love to hear about them. Thanks. email is jbyers@thestar.ca. Or you can leave a comment here on the old blog.

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