Sentinel editor stops traffic in westport

Diane and I spent the most wonderful two days there recently at the Castle Court hotel, which can boast one of the friendliest hotel staffs on the island of Ireland, or anywhere else for that matter.

Come to think of it, I can’t think of a friendlier town than Westport.

Apart from the person who stole my cherished and not inexpensive umbrella on the wettest night of the year when I hadn’t bothered to bring a coat, that is.

The manager of the restaurant in which this happened was suitably horrified, and insisted that none of their usual clientelle would do such a thing.

The missing brolly might have suggested otherwise, but it being the weekend of a Bluegrass festival, I am happy to believe that it was taken by a blow-in.

That aside, I can’t say enough good things about Westport and the people who live in the shadow of Croagh Patrick. I love everything about this town, from the river that flows through it to the busy streets housing so many locally owned and specialist shops.

A lot of town centres could learn from Westport. If you build the right brand with the right goods and services, they will come. Little wonder that Westport was named by the Irish Times last year as the best place to live in Ireland.

I guess as it was the weekend of the Bluegrass festival the town was even busier than usual, with a large influx of music lovers, plus one thief.

I’d stayed at the Castle Court on a couple of previous occasions and it’s always busy with a really pleasant type of clientelle. This weekend was incredibly busy. It’s also a great hotel in so many other ways, and I just love its nooks and crannies where you can find solitude no matter how busy the hotel gets.

Thankfully for Diane, there was a wedding reception on the Saturday afternoon, so we could make the best use of the nooks and crannies to watch the guests arrive; I was able to catch up with people on social media while listening for the cues to add my oohs and aahhhs to Diane’s. I’ve become quite good at that, and yet they say men can’t multi-task.

The wedding aside, the weekend held other pleasures for us. We decided to treat the break as a research mission for my sister-in-law, her husband and two children as they had been talking about taking a family holiday in Ireland.

So we set off for Westport House, and what a place that proved to be. It was as fascinating as it was beautiful, and I can say without fear of contradiction that this just has to be one of the most impressive stately homes anywhere in Ireland.

Westport House and Pirate Adventure Park has welcomed over 4.5 million visitors with its range of heritage, family-fun, camping and adventure activity offerings.

The 18th century Westport House is privately owned and operated by Jeremy Browne (The 11th Marquess of Sligo) and his family, who are direct descendants of Grace O’ Malley, the famous 16th Century Pirate Queen of Connaught.

From small beginnings of 2,700 visitors in 1960, it has become one of Ireland’s best loved attractions and was recently voted one of the Best Family Visitor Attractions in Ireland by Primary Times magazine.

Check out the website – westporthouse.ie – this house is steeped in history and the rooms are laid out to reflect that. There’s even a dungeon which brought out the child in me!

Once the inner child emerged, I wanted to try everything, from the Pirates Adventure Park facilities, to the archery, to the Swan pedalloes, Zorbing, Canonball Run, log flume ride, laser clay pigeon shooting etc etc etc.

Once Diane saw the miniature railway, out came the little girl in her, so now that our mental ages were matched, we skipped aboard and took the Westport House Express around the grounds, waving at the other visitors and marvelling at the monkey railway workers.

The weather wasn’t great but we had a wonderful time and we’re now recommending it to relatives with suitably aged families. And we’ll definitely go back ourselves next time we’re in Westport.

The next day was just as much fun and just as much a voyage of discovery. Maybe cycle of discovery might be more appropriate, in this case.

Still feeling young at heart I hired a bicycle. The last time I rode a bicycle was about 30 years ago, in Holland, in the middle of woods, in the snow. And needless to say, I slid, crashed and plummeted down a steep bank. That put me off cycling, as did getting my driving licence.

But re-energised by our adventures at Westport House, I did what everyone else seemed to be doing – hired out two wheels and determined to cycle to a village that was situated about 15 miles away.

Now, I haven’t been the most physically active or fit person since my heyday as a volleyball enthusiast two decades ago, nor have I been at my best weight since I decided to stop smoking 14 years ago – when for a while I swapped cigarettes for cream buns.

But they say that once you’ve ridden a bike you never forget, so I handed over the fee, slipped on my crash helmet and set off on the road.

Okay, there were a few unsteady swerves at the start before I got the hang of the bike, and after I’d gone a few miles and realised I wasn’t knackered, it became enjoyable.

The original arrangement was that Diane would go in front of me and pull in from time to time, so that we could pile the bike into the car boot whenever I decided I could cycle no more. But I was enjoying it so much that I simply waved at her as she waited about two miles along the road and swept past with a big smile on my face.

That was a mistake because after another nine miles, I realised she hadn’t passed me and wasn’t going to.

And unilke the previous day, it was very hot. Having turned and cycled back to the starting point, I returned the bike and then found her calmly sitting on a bench, munching a sandwich and enjoying a cool drink in a little park nearby.

“I have never laughed so much as watching you trying to ride that bike when you first got on it,” she said.

“You were all over the place. Cars coming from both directions had to stop and you were swaying about from one lane to the other.”

I could see the tears of laughter running down her face.

I admitted I was aware of a little swaying, but was oblivious to being a serious traffic hazard.

“You were that bad, I just decided that if you were going to die, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it,” she answered.

“So I came here to wait until I saw an ambulance going up that road.”

Hmmm. I enjoyed that cycle so much that I intend to do it again next time I’m in Westport, which will hopefully be soon.

So can the emergency services please take note?

If I’m found dead in a ditch, my next of kin will be the woman laughing her head off while enjoying a solo picnic in a nearby park.