Rock stars of Ireland
The Antrim Coast Road is regularly cited as one of the most beautiful roads in the world, up there alongside the San Bernardino Pass between Italy and Switzerland, the Monterey-Carmel Coast road in California or Scotland’s Road to the Isles.
There is one significant difference, however, between all these undoubtedly spectacular thoroughfares and the one that clings to Antrim’s towering cliffs from 60 miles, from Ballygally Head to Portrush. Antrim is unlikely ever to be clogged up by traffic. Now you probably won’t need me to tell you that this is because of the Bother which blighted this corner of Ireland until the mid nineties. With the peace train still chugging its way through the land, the place is gradually returning to normal. The broken glass has all been cleared up now, new hotels, restaurants and theatres have opened — but there’s still not been a huge influx of tourists.
Mind you, I have a bit of a prediction. We only need another suffocatingly hot summer in the likes of France and Spain this year, and places like Antrim are going to clean up. Last summer in Ireland was spectacular (by Irish standards) with temperatures regularly in the mid seventies — beaches like those at Ballintoy, Magilligan and Whitepark Bay were probably just about the best place in Europe to be. And on a more melancholy note, if international terrorism begins to blight life on mainland Europe, it will be a terrible irony that places like the North of Ireland could well be seen as havens of sanctuary in such a political climate
Leaving aside such melancholy concerns in the meantime, however, let’s journey up the coast road to see what it has to offer.
This route along Ireland’s north eastern seaboard, which within living memory was little more than a rough track bedded with basalt and chalk chips and pitted with potholes, is probably best begun at Glenarm. The village huddles at the head of one of the Nine Glens (the Coast Road passes the foot of each of the glens) , and is a place so picturesque it looks as if it’s tumbled out of a John Hinde postcard.
The ancient 17th Glenarm castle of “Randle McDonnell, Erle of Antrim” is still there, and well worth a look round, despite an “itinerary” written in 1822 which states: “Strangers are not permitted to enter without leave — and there is nothing to be seen worth the asking.” Obviously the spirit of Céad MÌle F·ilte hadn’t yet got off the ground.
Tranquil though the town seems, a walk along the seafront past the former RUC barracks, reminds you that history is still lurking round the corner. The barracks continue to be buried beneath a ton of concrete and barbed wire, making Colditz look undefended. Soon (hopefully) this will just be a historical curio, as redundant as the granite ramparts of Edinburgh Castle. However, for now the PSNI still keeps a vigilant watch on those who pass by.
Just outside the town is the curious rock formation called Madman’s Window, which looks over the Irish Sea to Scotland. Up in these northerly climes Scotland is closer than Dublin Airport is to the Dublin City centre, and it shows in the speech, the character of the towns and even in the landscape. Sea fishing is now available from most of the harbours which dot this area — I must say I’m not hooked on the sport, but I don’t mind my dinner being hooked. Even hypocrites like a nice bit of fresh salmon.
From Glenarm the Antrim Coast Road snakes past glorious sandy beaches, through red sandstone tunnels, past monasteries perched on cliff tops, and eventually pulls into Carnlough. Sweet Carnlough Bay, as the song has it, is well named — and you may rightly feel that this is a place to stop off for refreshments. It’s a predominantly nationalist town, but the main hotel is still called the Londonderry Arms, once owned by Winston Churchill. Curiously, locals shorten the place to ‘London’ not ‘Derry’ as in, “Fancy a pint down at the London?” Odd, to say the least.
Cushendall and Cushendun are both renowned for their traditional music pubs as well as their views out across the bay. For the archaeologists amongst you, interested in dating any old thing, the key to the whole chronology of the Irish Stone Age is to be found here. Tools from Irish people going right back to the end of the Ice Age have been found here, just outside the town. So if you’re doing any beachcombing, you never know what you might come across.
Of course, the one thing everyone knows about the Antrim Coast Road is that it eventually leads to the Giant’s Causeway. For centuries Ireland’s most famous rock group was a geological wonder known only to kelp gatherers and sheep herders, and referred to back then as Clóchan an Aifir. The formation, today famous throughout the world, was formed by the slow cooling of lava which poured through the crust of the earth splitting up the basalt rocks into polygonal columns. Grade A strangeness, without a doubt. On the right day the deep green of the water in these parts, the jet black colour of the basalt, and the rich red of the iron seam is truly a wonder to behold.
But of course it’s not just fortresses, impossible rock formations or truly scary pedestrian bridges like the Carrick-a-Rede Rope bridge which make a holiday. It’s the people, the pubs, the craic and the seisúns — and you’ll find plenty of the latter in this neck of the woods. It’s an odd irony that here in this most British part of Ireland — Antrim and Down are the only two counties which still have a Protestant majority — old Ireland can still be found. This is partly because of the rugged terrain, but mostly because of the spectacular lack of visitors. Tourists from abroad haven’t ventured here in years, and unlike the more nationalist counties in the North visitors from the Republic have been very thin on the ground. The result is a place which is, to dust down that very useful cliché, virtually unspoilt, with the landscape, the values and even the music of an Ireland which has largely disappeared, still alive and kicking. Just like it says in the song, “You’d imagine a picture of heaven it could be, Where the Green Glens of Antrim are calling to me.”
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GREEN GLENS OF ANTRIM
Far across yonder blue lies a true fairy land,
With the sea rippling over the shimmering sand,
Where the gay honeysuckle is luring the bee,
And the green glens of Antrim are calling to me.
Sure if only you knew how the light of the moon,
Turns a blue Irish sea to a silver lagoon,
But imagine the picture of heaven it could be,
Where the green glens of Antrim are calling to me.
Soon I hope to return to my own Cushendall.
‘Tis the one place for me that can outshine them all.
Sure I know every stone I recall every tree,
Where the green glens of Antrim are calling to me.
But I see where the people are simple and kind,
And among them one who’s been in my mind.
Sure I pray that the world would in peace let me be,
Where the green glens of Antrim are calling to me.
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