Friday 22 December 2017

How welcome do you feel?

As an addendum to yesterday's report....

To get to the famous Cliffs of Moher, which are hard to see because of their remoteness, you do have to drive really quite a long way, through the Burren landscape which is pretty empty. On a drear day, with clouds barely higher than the stunted trees, and with rain pelting at your windscreen, and a winter solstice gloom cloaking round you as you press on into the bogs, it's a mournful ride.

But the enticement, the excitement is, that you will at last see these famous cliffs - a massive dark barricade which rises up to face the unrelenting battering of the Atlantic. It's odd to think that (as far as we know) people have only been to see such awe-inspiring places for pleasure since the 18th century. The Romantics who trekked up to Scotland and the Lake District, or into Germany, were deeply moved by the silent and dramatic power of the mountains and chasms, and their enthusiasm helped spark off the whole of modern tourism. People - peasants and their landlords - who had previously lived in blissful unawareness of the rich opportunities locked up in the rockfaces, came to realise they could get money out of other people's pockets in return for lodgings, food, and a nice place to stand and look.

Thus it was that our long drive out to the Cliffs of Moher, through lonely hills and winding lanes, between endless stone walls, past ancient farmsteads and ruins, splashing mud as we went, silent as we progressed towards one of Nature's great marvels, ended with a truly horrible experience.

We could - just - see the Cliffs as we wound our way along the coast road.....



Double yellow lines appeared on either side of the empty road - for a long way.   In the distance, we saw a set of barricades and a huge carpark - once a whole green field - with huts, fencing, lines marked out, ominous signs and control barriers, some sort of traffic light system on the pedestrian crossing.   There were about five men, maybe six, wearing high-viz jackets which shone out of the gloom like traffic lights. It looked like the entrance of a concentration camp, or a toxic industrial plant.   It is quite clear. If you want to see the Cliffs of Moher (from the top) you have not only to brave the elements in the middle of nowhere - the blistering wind, the soaking rain, the mud on the path - but you also have to park in this place which represents the worst possible aspects of human life. Greed, control, power, concrete everywhere, domination. Here, where Nature has mutely offered up one of the wonders of the world - a spiritual place, historic, inspiring, memorable - Clare County Council has stepped in with its jackboots on. The cost is €6 per person, from which, we learned, they derive €7m a year.  Good for them.

I cannot believe this is the way to do it. Having been through the whole of France, the Pyrenees and Northern Spain earlier this year, where there are similar landscape marvels to see, somehow the authorities have devised ways of accessing these places without this brutal harrumph, this handbagging.  It's almost unbelievable. It's the most inhospitable thing I've seen in Ireland.

We didn't get out of the car.  We certainly did not go into their brutal naked horrible carpark. It made me think of gas-chambers to be honest.  The weather didn't help, and yes, I know it's the darkest time of year - but surely, this can be managed better.   The Clare Museum in Ennis (by contrast) is welcoming and fully textured with great displays and good information. And the shops are marvellous.

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