Galway on the hoof

IT’S easy to get lost around Galway. The county roads seem to have no names or numbers, and no matter how many well-meaning locals you ask for directions, none really seems to make sense until after you stumble on your destination. There was a lot of stumbling on our family’s visit.

Our journey to Ballinakill (or was it Kylebrack?), 15 miles east (25km) of Galway quickly went from elementary to baffling. Finding Loughrea was easy enough as it’s on the main N6 road from Dublin. But once you hit the back roads it really gets tricky.

Finally, after an hour or so of trial and error, we arrived at Cartron House Farm, thanks to a group of fellows who said we could follow them. Phew.

Along with my wife Holly, daughters Heather, 14, Hazel, 9, and four-year-old son Matthew, I’d come to try a taste of the Wild West in the Irish west. The plan was to leave the car at the hotel and, much to the delight of the kids, take a horse-drawn caravan through the meandering routes of Galway. If this sounds a little ambitious, well, turned out it was.

Our intention had been to go the whole hog, sleeping and cooking in the caravan and camping out in fields along the way. But right away it was apparent that it would be cramped for five (though a couple with a small child would manage nicely), and my insurance policy of comfortable back-up rooms at Cartron House paid instant dividends.

We settled instead on the day-trip concept. Next morning Larry Gohery, owner of the Into the West caravan company, fitted the bridle to our eight-year-old horse Billy, and attached the beast to his burden: our caravan. He encouraged Billy through the gate and on to the road, then Billy found momentum and dropped into his own rhythm.

The gentle clip-clopping of Billy’s hooves had a calming effect on Matthew, who is normally hyperactive, and he was content to sit out front watching the rolling greenery pass by while the girls took turns on the reins, blurting out “Euuuuuugh” in unison whenever Billy deposited a load of fresh manure.

At a gentle canter of about 2mph, we’d occasionally jump out and jog ahead of Billy, although you had to be careful as he’d sometimes suddenly break into a trot, forcing similar acceleration on our part. Uncertainty over directions also forced us to make a couple of three-point turns — a tricky business with the hefty combined weight of a horse and caravan. Billy didn’t have a reverse gear, responding — well, most of the time — to the simple commands “Whoa!” and “Giddy-up.”

The few motorists we passed going in the opposite direction waved cheerfully. The sun shone and we rolled merrily along. Mid-afternoon, we pitched up at the car park of the Hilltop Lounge and tied Billy up at the gate, giving him a bucket of water before going in to slake our own thirsts. The place looked closed, deserted, even, but within moments mine host appeared from nowhere, and opened up just for us to dispense black goodness and soft drinks.

So this was the famed Irish hospitality; and it was easy to get used to. Ann Garnsworthy, our kind host at Cartron House, mothered us throughout our stay, cheerfully whipping up hearty breakfasts and dinners — often a challenge for a fussy vegetarian family. And in the evenings, she’d accompany guests — including all our children — and staff to her local, the Curra West Golf Club.