The Lowell Courtney Travel Blog

Reader's Christmas questions.

Hello - and I hope you are surviving the Everest-like approach to Christmas.  A well-read client has asked the very reasonable question: So, how do the Irish celebrate Christmas?

Well, it's a long story.....but since you asked:

It all kicks off tomorrow night when the only honest people on the island - the pagans - celebrate the longest night of the year.  I say "only honest people" 'cos most of the rest are dishonest pagans, having abandoned their respective churches and chapel and the love of God for the love of mammon years ago.  The excuse for the big cars, houses, overseas apartments and overdoses of drugs is that Ireland is on the bounce from years of being "oppressed" by the bogeyman next door.  That excuse went out the window about 1960, Ireland having been run for years by an old fool still fighting the wars of the nineteenth century - and employing the economics of an alchemy set to boot.

A very long-standing (20 years) and long-suffering friend of mine (she lost the love of her life and nearly her own life while staying in a hotel near Derry over 10 years ago and has never regained her health nor one penny of compensation) is a pagan. Delightful lady.

The police will be breath-testing old fools like me who have had two glasses of wine and who can find their way home at 35 mph, blindfold.  They will ignore the coked-up youngsters who do over 100 mph on country roads at 2 am, kill all their friends - and are then given eulogies by various ministers of religion who will portray them as near saints, full of promise and love of life - for which, read "tearaway."

The retailers will rub their hands like Ebeneezer Scrooge and count their euros, right up to the last minute  especially the large supermarkets who sell beer at about 10 cents a can as a loss leader and who then, along with all the brewers and distillers piously wash their hands while urging everyone to "Enjoy (insert brand here) responsibly."  Britain's largest supermarket chain - coming your way soon as a revenge for Walmart buying the No 2 operation - is opening its stores at one minute past midnight on Monday - "so that you get 5% extra shopping free."

The churches will conduct candlelit services, just as long as they have carried out full and comprehensive risk assesment strategies and can produce documentary evidence that they are fully health and safety compliant and that all Christmas services are being conducted in line with current best practice.  (Eastern potentates are particulary asked to note that sword-sharpening may only be carried out before soldiers are dispatched to search out newborn children and that any soldier who is accidentally scratched must, within 30 days or sooner, produce a certificate of innoculation against tetanus.)

Taxi drivers will be dreading tomorrow, known colloquially as Black Eye Friday.  This is to mark it out in contrast to Bloody Sunday, Bloody Friday and every other bloody day on which two tribes have been at war, either personally or by proxy.  Tomorrow is the day on which  the building trade downs tools for 10 days at lunchtime; everyone repairs to the pub and by 3 pm all bonhomie has gone the way of all flesh and carefully nurtured revenges for grievances will be produced, exhibited and extracted, like marrows at an agricultural show, with an equal amount of competitive jealousy and ensuing violence.  An acquaintance of mine who owns a hotel on the border has spent 2007 recovering from the application of a club hammer to his skull by one of his bricklayers one year ago to the day.  It is rumoured that he can once again spell "cat".

The broadcasters will be unveiling exactly the same new, dynamic programming as they unveiled last year - hence The Prance of the Seven Veils.  Sentimentalists (no, not you, dearest)  will be scanning the listings for "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Miracle on 34th Street" whilst dreaming up new and fiendish ways of adding Cialis and/or Exlax to the Christmas stuffing being lovingly prepared for the visit of the in-laws.  Golfers will be wondering what the long, thin, club-headed and carefully wrapped parcel under the tree might be - the garden rake will come as a terrible disappointment - and the doctors and nurses in A&E will be preparing good-one liners for their colleagues in theatre, such as "Merry Christmas from the Staph."

But apart from that, we'll all be doing the same as you - a petite glass of sherry, a little nut roast with one veg and plenty of good bracing walks in the glorious sunshine.

I don't think.

Merry Christmas - and thank God we'll be spared Bing for another 11 months!

Putting the CO into coach

I never was strong on geology.  Even training as a tour guide, I had difficulty with pre-Cambrian cretaceous depoits and the like.  Mind you, having taught for 18 odd years, I am very familiar with the cretinaceous period, but that's another story.  To me, rock is Led Zeppelin; shale is a petrol (gas) station, gneiss is how you're supposed to treat people and as for schists - well, let's not go there.

Now you're wondering what the blazes this has to do with CO -or Continental Airlines, to give them their title.  Well, since the rocks in Wales (pre, post or rugby-playing Cambrian - I don't care) are the same as the rocks in Newfoundland, the tectonics gurus have decided that what is now western Europe was once joined to what is now North America. 

Unforutnately, since the two bits began to drift apart, quite a body of water now intervenes - about 2,000 miles at its narrowest. This poses a wee bit of a problem for us who want to visit with you - and vice-versa.  So God gave us Red Bull. Or rather, wings. Or more precisely, Wilbur, Orville and the rest of the lads and lassies who get us backwards and forwards. God bless 'em - t'aint no glamour no more.

All of which brings us to transatlantic carriers, of which there have been a fair range over the years.  Politics, finance and Open Skies being what they are, we are now in the happy position of having several airlines operating between Ireland and USA, with numerous alternatives via London. And it is only in the past year that we in Northern Ireland have had our first direct service from our shores to yours.

Now I don't know what induced - or even how much induced - Continental to add Belfast to its British and Irish destinations -and legion they are, including Glasgow, Edinburgh and Bristol - but I and many another weary traveller are very glad that they have done so.  For years we have had to rise at dawn to catch the first flight to Heathrow (sometimes at over half the transatlantic fare) to connect to one of the Big Four or we have had an equally ungodly start to join the happy throng at Dublin, an airport built to serve 11 million per annum and now handling 17.2 million, Gawd 'elp us.

But now we just dawdle along to Belfast International (aka Aldergrove) and quietly get on a nice wee 757 which takes us to Newark between 2 and 3 pm, leaving plenty of time to wander over to the main east coast line for trains north to Noo Yawk or south to Baltimore etc etc - in fact all the way to Atlanta and N'awleans. And the return trip (jetstream assisted) took all of 5 hours 20 mins, which is on a par with the flight to the Canaries for the winter sun holiday.

And I'd like to compliment the cabin crew: civil without being unctious; attentive without being smarmy and professional to the core.  Murphy's law being what it is, no doubt the next transatlantic flights will be as smooth as Hilary's campaign; as punctual as  El Nino and as tranquil as the Superbowl but so far, so good. I shall report anon but for now, you might want to think about CO -and no, they haven't paid me a dime. Leaving my own experience aside, they do have the benefit that you can fly into one part of the British isles and out of another and whilst their fares are not cheap, I think they represent pretty good value for money.

Over to you, folks.  Your thoughts always welcome.

Putting on the greenbacks

Yes, I'm sorry that the title is another dreadful pun but it is the season of festive cheer, good spirit etc etc.  What? Someone just said: Bah, humbug! Who dat man?  Ah, 'tis a weary American golfer who has just looked at the 2008 rates on Irish golf courses.

Now you might say that it ill behoves an irish tour operator to be in any way remotely critical of the rates being charged by irish golf courses.  Accusations of "betrayal", "petty-mindedness" and "have you seen the rates charged in GB and US?" will be flying through cyberspace. With due respect, lads, I'm only trying to do what any sensible operator might do: put the customer first.

For my sins, I travel around the United States twice a year in the off-season and listen to my clients for the rest of the time.  And I get the distinct impression that €180 (Ballybunion, Tralee, Portrush, Co Down and others) is getting a tad much, no matter what the visitor figures may tell you.  Not to put too fine a point on it, "there is evidence of increasing consumer resistance".  In other words: "How much?!!"

Now of course, there's nothing we can do about the relative value of the euro and sterling versus the dollar - way beyond our control. And there is a strong argument that, were the boot on the other foot, we would have to pay up or shut up.  Anyone who has bought the full Disney World package will be nodding vigorously. But, but: whilst we are very grateful for US green fees - how much would your sub be otherwise, ladies and gents? - it might be more acceptable to the client if you were to show some hospitality to make them feel that they are getting value for their hard-earned money?

There are courses which excel at making the visitor feel welcome -and there are others where you get the distinct impression that you are only cluttering up the place. No names -and don't shoot the messenger - but it might be a good idea to stroke the hand that feeds you.

And please don't tell me that the welcome is even worse in our nearest neighbour and competitor. I know -and have been treated like a pariah in certain establishments who should know much, much better.  That's not the point.  If you are going to take the folding stuff, just please make sure that the failte is up to scratch.

Hot tubs and hard work

There's a world of difference betwen style and substance - you should know: ask any politician.  And in an age when so often the reality not only fails to live up to the hype but even struggles to draw breath, it's a pleasure to see the occasional establishment work hard to transform the copy into comfort.

These thoughts were occasioned by a visit to a Northern Ireland hotel which has gone out on a limb to make the necessary investment in both the folk and the facilties. Let me explain: the recent building boom in Irish hotels has been a function of the Celtic Tiger and the massive house construction which has been necessary to accommodate a growing workforce.

Many of the new hotels were put up by builders seeking to reduce their tax liability or to diversify.  Fine as these places may be, a management company can rarely bring the same dedication to service that an owner-managed outfit can.  All of which brings me to the Hill family, who own Belfast's Ten Square and the Galgorm Manor near Ballymena in County Antrim.

Now Ballymena could not - and would not - claim to be a tourism hotspot. Lying half way between Belfast and the north coast, its residents enjoy an unfortunate reputation for being pretty presbyterian towards their neighbours and their cash. So it is all the more welcoming to see a hotel where the owners have increased their investment from £11 to £17 million ($35 million), a massive investment by anyone's standards.

For their trouble, the Hills have a splendid 75 room manor house hotel beside the river Main with a fabulous new spa, four self-catering cabins beside the river and other cottages nearby.  And whilst many a reviewer would pass this off with an affected sneer: "Oh, but just everyone has a spa these days, dahling", perhaps the more sober-minded might like to look a little more closely.

My colleague David Hudson and I spent a fascinating two hours in the company of the bubbly Sharon Stuart, who has returned home after many years of selling upmarket hotels in Scotland.  It is a pleasure to see someone who takes such a pride in their property - it is much, much rarer to meet a real professional who understands that concrete must always defer to consideration; that even the most luxrious of outfits is useless without colleagues who attend to the client first - and everything else in second place, no matter how urgent it may appear or how insistent Accounts, Housekeeping or even the GM (who doubles as God) may be.

In all our years of tour operating (10 and counting), we have always striven to build a link to those people who have the same priorities as ourselves. I suppose the "do as you would be done by" ethic is way too simple for the purveyors of massive management tomes but it'll do nicely for us, thank you.

So good luck to all the folk at Galgorm.  To paraphrase Kipling: "If you can meet with divas and madonnas/And treat those two imposers just the same....."  you will succeed.  And there's nothing sweeter than turning bubbles into booty, provided you cherish your real treasure - your reputation.

In the belleek midwinter

Yes, I know it's a shocker, but you have to remember that our associates are an educated lot and therefore get the joke. A bit like the punchline to the Tom Brokaw joke: "I'm only a common tater" - and no, we have no clients that I know of in Idaho, but we're always open to offers.

Today is raw.  Not as in dubious videos or peeled onions but as in "It wud skin ye".  The wind is from a bearing somewhere between Cape Cod and the polar ice pack; the showers are vicious; the sea is heaving and a motley collection of sea foam, sticks and a startled sparrow just flew past my window.  Now you know why Dunluce and other medieval castles only had slits for light.

This is the sort of day which cleraly illustrates the metaphorical step from having the skin being peeled off your back to being "skinned" financially, a process which is known chez vous by the grand old American word of "gouging", which I detest.  However, it is also the sort of day which is a good agument for travelling off season, as I do westwards.

For the past three years, I have visited USA in either November or late February/early March and, hypothermia apart, it is an unmitigated pleasure.  People have time for you (even in Gotham), most things run on time (tho' a certain amount of manana must be allowed for) and you are not boiled to death.

Which is why I enjoin all and sundry to think likewise in t'other direction. I remember guiding a party one January along the Antrim Coast Road and being berated by the driver for not encouraging everyone to admire the 10'-12' waves which were pounding the shore. "How many people in Peoria get to see that?" said he.  Point taken.

And even Belleek, the little village with the pottery wihich straddles the border, is great at this time of year. Few tour coaches; leisurely tours, good warm Irish stew - and the opportunity to savour a spectacle to match the Superbowl in all its splendour.  I passed through Belleek last week and saw to my great sorrow that I had just missed the local Gaelic club's grand fund-raising event: Live Pig Racing.

You couldn't make it up.  You just couldn't.  Keep warm.

No beating about the Bush

The news that Donald Trump, having been temporarily rebuffed by the environmentalists in Aberdeenshire, has been offered a nice parcel of land in Northern Ireland has caused great seasonal merriment amongst us worshippers of the mashie niblick.  Purely coincidental then, that the Chuckle Chums (First Minister Paisley and Deputy First Minister McGuinness aka the Yogi Bear and Booboo of NI LLC - Low Life Consolidated) met with Mr Trump in New York today and encouraged him fervently - if not reverentially - to invest in our dear little province.  And certainly no conicidence whatsoever that the speculative site (and I use the term advisedly) should be in First Minister Paisley's North Antrim constituency.

Now you might be thinking -as indeed might the Great Magnate himself - that negotiating with an 81 year old fundamentalist in a fedora and the runner up in the Art Garfunkel lookalike heats would be a breeze.  Donald, me boy, between them these two jokers held two governments to ransom for over three decades, bamboozled more than a few delegations from your own fair capital and held out to the bitter end until they finally decided to cut a deal on their own terms.  Do not be deceived, my son. If you go down to those particular woods today, get a good lawyer.  Get several good lawyers.  You'll be lucky to see it built in your lifetime.

And now our Dear Leaders are off to DC by Amtrak. You're too late, boys. Got there 3 weeks ago. By a strange coincidence, it is rumoured that the proposed site for the Trump course might be beside the Giants Causeway, so if you're talking golf with W, there'd be no point in Beating about the Bush.

open for business

Hello and here we are - open for business again.

After months and months of renovations and restorations, I bring you the happy dispatch the Belfast's magnificent Crown Bar is once more fully ornate, refurbished and serving a wonderful pint of Guinness in the heart of the city.  For those of you who think that Ireland is still all shamrocks and leprechauns and that the north is peopled by trogdolytes - well, you may have a point -  but I'd far rather you'd have a pint instead.

And at this juncture, I'd like to say a very sincere thank you to the endlessly creative and patient Mr John Flanagan (www.mygreenisland.com) and his chaming wife Margaret without whose never-failing labours neither the Lynchpin site nor this blog would ever have happened.  (So that'll be a pint and a paddy, thank you, John.)

Seriously, this blog is a ragbag of news, reviews, opinions and accounts of our adventures in Irish tourism.  Please enjoy and keep in touch.  We get lonely out here in the tundra.