BY JOHN LEE
Running late for a train when you’re carrying a backpack the size of a VW Beetle is rarely the best way to start a trip.
But when I burst — red-faced and wild-eyed — into Dublin’s Hueston Station, a loquacious guard stops me in my tracks, asks me where I’m heading, then walks me circuitously to my platform as if there’s an hour to spare. No matter what the urgency, the Irish always have time to chat.
Dumping my bag and collapsing in a seat just as the train pulls away, I take a deep, restorative breath, then look around the half-empty carriage. Elderly couples, cellphonewielding businessmen and a family arguing over what to buy from the passing tea trolley are my fellow passengers. Each with our possessions arranged around us like nests, we’re all eyeing the paint-peeled house-backs and cowstrewn farmlands unfurling outside.
Ireland’s old railway network has introduced some snazzy new inter-city locomotives. And with the 2007 launch of a hop-on, hop-off Eurail Ireland Pass, it seems an ideal time to check out the land of rolling green hills, funky old-school pubs and energetic towns dripping with history and culture.
Speeding south through sun-dappled Newbridge, Carlow and Kilkenny, we jerk to a halt in Waterford around noon. Dropping my bag at the station’s left luggage counter, I take a taxi through winding, grey-brick streets to the area’s main attraction.
Waterford Crystal’s gift-friendly glassware has become internationally popular since the company reopened here in the 1950s, following a century-long hiatus. A swish visitor centre and behind-the-scenes tour were added in 1997.
After a hearty roast pork lunch in the factory’s on-site restaurant, I join a chatty group of crystal fans to watch glassblowers, cutters and etchers — many employed here for more than 25 years — as they work on intricate vases and stemware and a smattering of sporting trophies.
Back on board a couple of hours later, I change trains at Limerick Junction before arriving in Cork around 7 p.m. I stroll into the city centre and arrive at my hotel a few minutes later. Partaking of a quiet pint in the lobby bar, I plan tomorrow’s exploration.
Up early to encounter a historic city that, although divided by a river, is easily explored on foot, I amble absent-mindedly towards a church tower in the Shandon area, discovering Linehan’s Sweets on the way. It’s one of Ireland’s oldest handmade candymaking operations.
Chatting to twinkle-eyed owner Danny Linehan in his white-tiled kitchen, I crunch on a delicate cloveflavoured confection as he adds a snowdrift of white sugar to a pile of shiny, sour apple candies. Danny has plenty of colourful stories about old Cork, but my tight schedule eventually pulls me back downhill towards the other side of the river.
The centre of Cork is a web of brightly painted pubs and busker-lined thoroughfares teeming with busy locals. Since it’s time for lunch I weave around the English Market to sample what’s on offer. The rest of the afternoon is spent walking off my overindulgence, with visits to the hulking St. Finbarre’s Cathedral and Shandon’s St. Anne’s Church, where visitors can ring the bells for fun.
Since most Irish Rail lines radiate from Dublin — and there are few links between the end stations on each of these “spokes” — vacationing passengers often have to double back on themselves to get to their long-distance destinations. There’s no direct line between Cork and Galway and the guard on my train confirms I’ll have to travel back to Dublin before heading out again.
I’m not too bothered about this — Ireland is small enough that no train trip lasts more than a few hours — until the first leg of my journey suddenly grinds to a halt after 45 minutes. A train ahead of us has broken down, leaving passengers in my carriage grim-faced for a wait that slowly stretches to more than an hour.
As the restaurant car serves free drinks, I collar the guard to tell him I’m worried about making my Galway connection. He rubs his chin and says he’ll get back to me. He returns to tell me he’s arranged an unscheduled stop at an upcoming station, where the Galway-bound train will arrive a few minutes later — also on an unscheduled stop — to pick me up.
When we later crawl into the deserted station, only three passengers jump off the train. We’re amazed that the inter-city service has stopped just for us. Five minutes later, we’re relieved when our Galway connection eases into the station. In Galway by mid-afternoon, I drop my bag at a B&B and hit the streets.
A once-gritty fishing settlement, Galway is as pedestrian-friendly as Cork for those who like exploring on foot. I nip into the 14th-century St. Nicholas Collegiate Church, where local legend says Christopher Columbus stopped en route to the U.S., before ambling around the clamorous street market encircling it outside.
Galway’s heart is lined with ancient bars — the city is often referred to as Ireland’s drinking capital — and pub crawls are possible with very little walking required.
It’s a slow start the next day — Guinness can take its toll — but I wander towards the train station around noon. Finding a near-empty carriage, I snooze in the warm afternoon sun.
Back in Dublin a couple of hours later, I head for a hotel in the tourist-friendly Temple Bar area. It’s walking distance to the Writers Museum, where local literati like Oscar Wilde and James Joyce are celebrated. Over an afternoon meal that doubles as both lunch and dinner, I reopen my guidebook and pull out my dog-eared Irish Rail timetable. Now, what time is tomorrow’s train to Sligo?
The Calgary Herald
Appeared in the Ottawa Citizen, July 7,2007