A lovely lady dressed in a full length heavy topcoat--the kind horsewomen wear in bad weather--and a motor cap complete with goggles, stood in front of a long carriage drawn by a single Irish work horse. The lady told me the breed, but all I remember is that it was one I had never heard of. Standing next to her was the driver, a roundish gent dressed in pretty much the same outfit as the lady.
"This is like a fairy tale, isn't it?" were the first words out of her mouth.
I couldn't disagree.
This was our first full day in Ireland. We were standing in front of The Adare Manor, about to climb into the carriage with our hot chocolates in hand to take a ride through the estate. I've always wanted to take a carriage ride through an estate.
The previous morning, our plane landed at Shannon somewhere between six and six-thirty in the morning after a six hour flight from New York. We cleared "customs" in the blink of an eye and were greeted outside by a man carrying a sign with our name on it. We were escorted to a black Mercedes and by seven-fifteen we were at the manor. The doorman, P. J., led us to the check in office, opening doors all the way. Everybody knew our name. On the way to our room, a random bellman wandered down the hall, nodded, and said, "Have a wonderful stay Mr. and Mrs. Starkey." We assured him we would.
The room was huge and the linen, a thread count of alarming proportions. The bathroom had a separate shower with one of those rain shower heads.
Most importantly, the place was quiet. Everybody seemed to whisper. Fur Elise kept playing in the background.
We had spent the previous three days in New York. We figured we would break up the flight to Shannon with a stopover. We spent a morning and afternoon with Gavin, a beloved student, and had three great meals with Joe and Carol, our Jenny Lake friends. The company was great, the food was sensational, but the corner of 54th and 6th Avenue is a lot busier than the expanse of lawn and woods outside our window at Adare Manor. And we seemed to have the whole place to ourselves whenever we took a walk around the grounds. Central Park, while a truly amazing expanse, has other walkers and bikers and runners and strollers and dog walkers and guys selling things that you have to move aside for. It is just different.
We sat in The Drawing Room one afternoon at the manor having drinks. In front of us was a perfect garden in full bloom stretching to the victory circle above the 18th green--they plan on hosting the Ryder Cup in the not too distant future. Off to the side, along the sidewalk, I noticed a groundsman (they have 70) with a straight spade and little rake making sure the edge was straight. It took him two double scotches to finish the task.
Perfect. I used that word twice in the last paragraph. They use it a lot in Ireland, "I'll have half a dozen oysters." "Perfect, Mr. Starkey."
Brilliant is another word frequently in use. "I'll have the pinot noir with the main course." "Brilliant."
Lovely is the other. "I'll have the lamb however the chef is preparing it." "Lovely."
Katherine and I have tried to figure out the hierarchy of the three comments. We even asked the lady serving us afternoon tea at the Ashford Castle. She was of little help. However, when I told her we would have the champagne pairings along with the tea, she smiled, nodded, and said "brilliant." I took it as a compliment.
We left Adare after three days that were indeed like a fairly tale and then another guy in a Mercedes picked us up and we headed off to the Ashford Castle and the little town of Cong, where "The Quiet Man" was filmed back in 1951.
On route, our driver stopped at the Cliffs of Moher and told us to take our time nosing around. There was a sign at the beginning of the trail that read "This is to honor those who have died at The Cliffs of Moher." It was a little daunting, but we followed the mobs of people climbing up to the summit. There were people posing on the edge while family members took photos. This is happening in the beginning of May, remember. When June rolls around and the temperatures climb, I can't begin to imagine the traffic jam going up the trail. And the trail gets really close to the cliff and there are signs that say the cliff edge is in fact crumbling into the sea. The Cliffs of Insanity indeed.
The room was smaller and the whole place was a little dark, but Ashford Castle is all about elegance and spot on service. And the food was just as good as the manor, maby better.
Mostly though, Ashford Castle and grounds is a place made for exploring. There is an easy walk into Cong (Innisfree for all you John Wayne fans) that goes right past the spot where Father Lonergin loses a monster salmon and scolds Maureen O'Hara for not sleeping with her husband.
We took one long walk past the archery range, the skeet shooting area, the equestrian center, and the falconry field and ended up in a series of gardens--walled gardens, terraced gardens, hidden gardens--each one more lovely, perfect, or brilliant than the last.
We stopped at Pat Cohan's Bar more than once. The taste of Guiness (The Ashford Castle used to be the Guiness family home) has grown on me. We shopped and bought a couple of tees and a big green hoodie for me.
Another driver; another Mercedes. We left the Castle and stayed at the Bunratty Castle Hotel just outside of Shannon for our final night. When we first got there, it was a little uncomfortable waiting for someone to open the door. I finally rolled my eyes and opened the damn thing myself. You just can't get good help anymore. Our plane left at 7 am. After a short flight to Heathrow, a long layover and a nine hour flight to Denver, we made it home.
Fairy tale over.
Memories just beginning.
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