There's a house on Ballylumford Road, number 91, to be precise, in a village just north of Belfast, that is really rather special. True, the property, which is now a guest house, offers a beautiful view of the birds swooping over Larne Lough, and the house's cream-coloured exterior assumes a pretty, salmon-pink hue during a spring sunset. But what is really special about number 91 is that it has an enormous, prehistoric stone monument sitting smack-bang in the middle of its front garden.
We first came across number 91 while we were driving northwards around the perimeter of Islandmagee, a seven-mile-long peninsula a few miles from Northern Ireland's capital, Belfast. Blink, or fail to drag your focus from the surrounding scenery, and you would miss the 4000-year old monument, which is hunkered down in front of the inhabitants' front door. Actually, it is easy to miss, because Islandmagee is crammed with wonderful scenery that constantly demands your attention.
We drove a little further on around the remote peninsula – it might only be a short distance from Belfast, but feels like a million miles – and arrived at the Gobbins, a series of spectacular cliffs constantly battered by the thrash of the Irish Sea. Before the Second World War the cliffs, which are now home to a wide variety of wildlife, were more popular a tourist attraction than the Giant's Causeway.
Nowadays the terrifying networks of footpaths that once ran along the Gobbins are closed, but it's an atmospheric place – not least when you discover its bloody past. In 1642, a number of local Catholics were driven over the cliffs by the British Army, falling to their gruesome deaths on the sharp rocks below.
To this day, word has it that you can still see their blood on the weather-worn stone.
I was touring Northern Ireland for five days, in an Auto-Sleeper Sigma EL, with my partner Matt. I'd been there many times before, but he hadn't, so I was keen to show him this wonderful place. While Southern Ireland is romantically beautiful, the north is rugged, craggy and wind-beaten. If you're into history, as I am, then your appetite for yesteryear can't fail to be satiated: you're never far from a stone circle, ancient cairn or fairy ring.
Tourism in Northern Ireland has suffered during its recent, bloody history, of course. But the past few years have delivered a whirlwind of peace: these days, Northern Ireland is as safe a destination as you will find anywhere in Europe. 'The troubles' meant that the tourists stayed away but nowadays, as they begin to return, you will discover those same historic monuments relatively untouched. Also, Northern Ireland is easy to reach. In other words, there has never been a better time to visit.
On this trip, we were on a tight budget (and besides, we were travelling in the off-season so there were not a huge amount of campsites open) so our first night was spent at the Caravan Club's lovely Ford Farm CL (certificated location) just outside Larne, which suited me just fine because I love small sites. In the morning, we began our journey north. Our plan was to stick roughly to the coastal A2 road, one of the most spectacular in Ireland, to see what we could find.
As we drove, we enjoyed some stunningly beautiful scenery: the road from Larne follows the coast, right alongside the sea, curving around headlands, dipping down to almost touch the shore. On our left were the magnificent Glens of Antrim, of which there are nine. A railway line used to run along this same route, and remains of it can still be seen – an old bridge here, an abandoned platform there, much of it clearly having dropped into the clutches of the sea. Still spellbound by the beauty of the mountains looming above us, we took a turning for the Glenariff Forest Park which nestles in the Glens of Antrim.
It is a winding road, but easily driveable, and there is a decent-sized car park in which to leave your 'van.
We spent a couple of hours wandering along the waymarked paths around the park, which take in spectacular waterfalls and views down through Glenariff itself – considered by many to be the most beautiful of the nine.
Although we were blessed by the weather that day – a clear, blue sky shone above us – there was a chill in the air so we headed back to our motorhome to warm up. Rather than turn on the Sigma's efficient heating, our 'warming up' was to be a visit to the Bushmills distillery, just a few miles further on around the coast, for a guided tour around the production line and a tot of whiskey (…any excuse!).
Actually, this year is a great one in which to visit Bushmills because it is the distillery's 400th anniversary. (Its licence was granted in 1608, which makes it the world's oldest licensed distillery.)
And, to mark the occasion, Bushmills has produced a whiskey, appropriately named '1608'. So, we parked our 'van in the large car park and headed inside.
A tour costs £5.50 per person, and it's great value. You get a fascinating, guided walk around the place, all the time accompanied by the glorious bouquet of the spirit and, finally, you can sample the product.
Bushmills produces a number of varieties but I chose the ten-year-old, which is incredibly smooth, and designated Matt as driver so that I could make the most of mine (this is my story, after all). After that, I tried a shot of the 1608, which is absolutely delicious. Only a limited number of cases have been produced, which means that it's in high demand (we were told that a bottle recently sold on eBay for £90). Nevertheless, 1608 was on sale in the Bushmills shop for £45 and, being mildly inebriated by this time, I felt tempted to buy a bottle. Fortunately for my pocket, and for our tight budget, Matt pulled me out of the building, away from the clutches of temptation.
Extract from an article in the May 2008 issue