There’s an old Irish proverb that God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from ruling the world.
We don’t have any data to back up this statement but after an evening at Zetland Country House Hotel spent sampling (with enthusiasm) their whiskey, sushi and chocolates we can’t imagine that ruling the world would be more enjoyable.
We were on a trip in the Wild Atlantic West of Ireland and our hosts had arranged the stop at Zetland House. By the time we got there it’d been a long, rainy day and we were bedraggled and crabby. But Colm, our host, was so charming, his food so fresh and his whiskey pours so generous that we soon perked up. Oh and did we mention the homemade chocolates, some of which are sprinkled with sea salt taken directly from the seacoast that borders the property?
Zetland Country House Hotel is exactly what the name says it is and more. It’s a 4 star hotel with 16,000 acres for shooting various flying things and deer and has 23 square miles of salmon and trout lakes. They clearly, and justifiably, pride themselves on the level of hospitality they provide. In addition to all of that several years ago they started their own independent whiskey distillery.
It did seem odd out in the bogs of Connemara to be served trays of sushi but after a little whiskey (at least when you aren’t used to it) everything seems either a little odd or not the least bit odd.
And to back up the name of their whiskey, Zetland House even provided an energetic, skilled fiddlerette. Nothing like a tall, nicely dressed, recently bathed (one presumes) attractive woman to make you realize you probably smell like a bog and look like a creature from one. Fortunately, the fiddlerette never betrayed any dismay she may have been experiencing.
After an all too brief night we were up and at ’em going to see a hooker in Roundstone Fishing Village on a misty morning. (You know there could make a name for a band out of this. Hookers in the the Mist. Must check on securing rights.)
But this hooker wasn’t some bored old broad with a cigarette (at best) stuck to her lips sizing us up for a trick. That would have been so cool but this hooker was a Galway Hooker. And to mount this hooker we had to climb down a steep slippery ladder.
We would not have been on a sailboat anywhere else in the world in such uninspiring weather but it was sail or be a wimp and we apparently have some unresolved childhood issues and didn’t want to be the wimps. If you look carefully at Brunette in the picture below you can see that she’s wondering how she ever got talked into this but she’s being a good sport about it.
The guide from Walking West told us that Galway Hookers were originally designed to carry loads of turf (peat basically) for fuel across Galway Bay from Connemara and County Mayo to the Aran Islands and the Burren. On the return trips they would typically bring limestone to try to neutralize the acidic soil in Connemara. Other sizes of hookers were used to carry fish and cargo and the boats were carefully crafted to handle the strong seas in the area.
In recent years there’s been a revival of interest in the Galway Hookers and quite a few have been painstakingly restored or constructed new. However, now that the Celtic tiger has been turned into more of a domestic kitty, many of the younger men who were learning to build and operate the hookers have had to leave and go to cities or other countries in search of work. It’s now harder to assemble a full crew. We had 6 men operating the boat we were on although 7 was the number it would normally require. As you can see from the bloke above they had it well under control or at least certainly looked as if they did which was good enough for us.
After our sailing trip we were taken to the Fjord Restaurant at Portfinn Lodge in the village of Leeanne. The restaurant overlooked Killary Harbour which has the only fjord in Ireland. Leeanne looked like it would be fun to explore but there were other plans so we were whisked off to Killary Adventure Center.
We were presented with a wide variety of optional activities all of which exceeded our athletic abilities . We had signed up for sea kayaking (must have done that after drinking some of the whiskey because we are terrible kayakers who go in circles giggling and banging into other kayaks, the shore, whatever there is to bang in to). But when the moment of truth and a hearty new spate of raindrops came, we decided to shoot clay pigeons.
To come clean here we really wanted pictures of us firing guns to amuse/impress/horrify our friends and Brunette’s sons none of whom could imagine either of us doing anything with a gun. It was kind of fun to assume the position, yell “fire” and pull a trigger but the guns had a strong kick and no clay pigeons were harmed in the making of this blogpost so we soon went inside for some hot coffee and cake.
A few of the other bloggers on the trip really enjoyed something called The Giant Swing which is apparently just what it sounds like and others liked the high ropes.
We’d had a busy 18 hours which may have all been a (successful) plot by the bus driver and our guide to get us so tired we’d sleep and be quiet on the bus ride to our next stop, Galway. If so, it worked like a charm and the Irish have plenty of that!