Thrones and Games of a Different Kind in Antrim.

When I first moved to Cavan 23 years ago, I used to enjoy driving into Northern Ireland because the road infrastructure, the houses, and the high streets reminded me of home. Driving across the North this week to and from the Glens of Antrim made me realise how Irish I’ve become. Until I reached the glory of the Glens (and it is truly glorious), I found the Northern countryside flat and uglier than I remembered. In the South, there are hedgerows and green fields, and a lingering sense of ‘beyond’. There, I felt trapped in the here and now of the Northern Irish industry of road structure. Driving yesterday, I was happy to get back to Aughnacloy and cross the border into Monaghan. However, I was not happy to leave the Glens of Antrim which is a truly gorgeous part of the island.

I had picked Cushendall, County Antrim for a short break because it is, moreorless, the one area in Ireland I haven’t visited. As a result, I didn’t have particular expectations when setting out, except that when I mentioned to people we were going, they nodded and said, ‘yeah, it’s nice up there.’ Nice? It’s truly gorgeous. I loved it.

Cushendall is a busy, small town, by the sea and at the foot of the glens. During our stay, we slept under either side of the glorious Mount Lurig, and enjoyed two very different, but very friendly guest houses. By chance our visit coincided with the annual Glens Festival held in August when there are food fests, markets, masked balls, a run up Mount Lurig, sports competitions, plus much more. Local people were out and about, very friendly and welcoming, open to conversation whether you met walking on the cliff tops, in the shops, or were sat at the next pub table.

The first evening we strolled into town from our first guest house and got our bearings. We wandered down to the beach and while Jerry ambled around the prom and playing fields, I went up the cliff walk which was stunning and well maintained. I was lucky, the sun came out, and the sea turned blue. The clouds turned into fluffy cottonwool and the butterflies fluttered about (I haven’t seen many butterflies this year). The views were amazing and my heart soared. At the top I came across the old ruins of Layd Church, chief burial place of the MacDonnells. It was nestled very prettily among the lovely houses and small fields of sheep scattered among the bushes and trees of the Glens. I wended my way back to the town, passing and examining the architecture of the beautiful homes on the way down. I bumped into Jerry at the bottom at Cottage Wood which we decided to explore the next day as now it was time for an aperitif at Harry’s Fish Bar where I concluded my evening with the best seafood tagliatelle I had eaten for ages.

After a month and a half of rain this summer, I woke up the next morning to sunshine. I leapt out of bed, showered (the guest house had my favourite dead sea face wash) and headed out. I wandered along the beach and the front, meandering through the caravan park, the marina/boat house, and the camp site. At the end, I came across a family of five, all standing on two benches outside a pod, staring into the rising sun of the ocean, hands shading their eyes.

‘You all look a picture’, I said.

‘We’re watching a shoal of Dolphins’.

‘Oooh, can I join you?’

They made room and we all stared with awe at the dolphins, spinning about the bay, jumping, putting on a real performance, leaping out of the water, zig zagging together in rows. It is truly magical seeing nature in its glory. It made me a feel a part of something bigger and very special. I went back to the guest house, and celebrated with a hard boiled egg, cheese and a yoghurt for breakfast in our room, sitting under Lurig Mountain.

After a little walk in Cottage Wood, we decided to explore the area, driving across the cliff roads on the different peninsulas. First, we went to Cushendun, just up the road. It’s a tiny place with the strangest architecture, much of which was designed by the Welsh architect Clough Williams Ellis who designed Port Merion in Wales, home to the film set of The Prisoner. He was employed by Lord Cushendun and the houses with their Mansard roofs were designed to look like fishing cottages from Cornwall which was where Lord Cushendun’s wife was from. Anyway, what really made this village famous were the caves which were used by The Games of Thrones series in their filming. Would you believe, we forgot to visit them as we got distracted by me having a dip in the coldest but clearest sea water I have ever seen, followed by a pint of bitter shandy in the infamous Mary McBride’s pub. It is full of nooks and crannies and has the GoT oak carved doors.

After a pint we went on our merry way across the cliff tops, taking in the stunning views of the Mull of Kintyre. It looked so close, it was unreal. I began to see why Borris wanted to build a bridge. I really did feel I could put out my hand and grab a Scottish boulder. It’s mad, isn’t it? To feel so excited about being able to see the land of another country from where you stand. I felt similar when I could see the white cliffs of Dover from Wimereux, France, last year. I just wanted to reach out and touch.

Instead, we reached out and touched Ballycastle where we had a delicious ice cream and watched the red sea (yes, the waves were blood coloured) splash onto the rocks. I assume the red colour was a result of the iron pier, rather than murdered bodies cast into the ocean! After our ice cream and watching family holiday scenes on the gently spinning cups and saucers, it was time to return to check into Guest House number two on the other side of Mount Lurig, and take a short walk along the boardwalk, along the beach from Waterfoot to Cushendall for the food fest. At the Food Fest, I ate lamb mince and God knows what poured over chips and Jerry had two beef burgers while we wandered and watched the girls, the boys, the families meander up and down the high street, lingering, chatting, queuing, tasting, dancing, drinking at all the food trucks. I slept well that night.

Glengarrif Forest and the waterfalls was our objective for the next day, then to visit the Dark Trees (from the GoT). We saw the first fine waterfall together as it was only two minutes from the car park. We then studied a very confusing map of trails to examine how to get to the next. We knew it was halfway up the glen. The plan was for Jerry to return to the car after seeing the waterfall and then drive up to collect me at the top as I wanted to walk. We disagreed on which trail was the easiest to the waterfall, so we set off, amiably, I hasten to add, in different directions. Jesus, after ten minutes, I was hoping that Jerry’s path was easier. Mine was steep, beautiful, meandering but steep. And, as my pace slowed to a crawl, I didn’t come across any waterfall. As time went on, I came across other trails, and other people, all looking for the second larger waterfall. None of us had any reception so we couldn’t google maps it. We walked together, got to the top and discovered that the waterfall was down a different slope altogether. Unsurprisingly, it was another steep descent and I knew I had to climb back up to meet Jerry who would have driven to the top, as agreed. Jeez, I thought, surely once you had seen one waterfall, you’d seen them all!!! So, I turned around and trekked back up. Jerry and I shared tales of our adventures over a cup of tea and a scone and set off for the Dark Trees which, of course, are not Dark but certainly beautiful, mad and glorious.

After having joined the flood of people visiting the Dark Trees (I was amazed), we decided we should really take this GoT tour more seriously and go back to see the Caves. So, we headed back, cross Glens, to Cushendun to explore the Caves and have a pint (taking the opportunity to taste the chowder at Mary McBride’s at the same time). The caves…well, they were nice, like caves…nothing special, mind you, but I tell you, by the time we got back to the guest house, I was ready for my nap…and then me dinner back at the Lodge at Glengarrif Forest in the evening. This GoT touring stuff is exhausting business…particularly when you didn’t even watch a lot of it.

I woke up at 5am on our final morning, and leaving Jerry sleeping, drove five minutes up the road, back to Glengarrif Forest. I was determined to see that waterfall. It was definitely worth it. It was so high, so forceful, so noisy in such a silent place. I climbed further up and also walked the Rainbow Trail which was full of spiders webs weaving amazing colours in the rising sun. I wondered if that is why it was called Rainbow Trail.

At breakfast later, Rose, our landlady said that on our way home we should go on a jaunt to the Hidden Village, another GoT place, as it was on our way to Ballymena where we were going to Sainsbury’s (to pick up a few Goosebury Fools – nothing, I should add, to do with GoT). It had become a gloomy, misty morning…the perfect atmosphere to climb an outcrop of rocks over a grey foggy sea in search of a Hidden Village. We didn’t even know the story behind the Hidden Village, and Jerry didn’t remember it in the series. Never mind…by this time we were loyal GoT sight seers, so up we traipsed. At one point, out of the gloom three people emerged…locals who told us that before we left the area, we should visit St Killian’s school around the next glen which was built by the grandmother of Winston Churchill. It was nothing to do with GoT but when we saw it, we wondered why not.

Finally, we got to Sainsburys  and I got my fools. Then we negotiated a long drive home through never ending Northern road network until we eventually descended into the valleys, hedges and fields of Monaghan, Cavan, and home.