I'm good at waxing lyrical over the west of Ireland...mainly because it's easy enough to do so...it really is 'The wild and wonderful west' the tourist guides say...
We don't have many tourists...those we see tend to be flying past in a luxury coach on the main road...probably on their way to Donegal and the Giants Causeway. After all, it isn't everyone who wants to take photos of the orchids on the bog road or spoil their new white runners walking through the wood to see the stone fort...I'm not sure where you'd need to go to buy a pretty postcard actually...probably the Museum, which is forty kilometres away.
Now some areas of Ireland simply heave with sweaty humanity...the Ring Of Kerry in particular...the coastal road is mind-boggling beautiful...each bend in the road throws up yet another gorgeous view...but you can't stop. You can't stop and linger...lean on the wobbly stone wall and take photo after photo...unless you were to go in November, I expect it's quiet enough then.
Rental cars are head to tail...enormous coaches practically knock you over the cliffs into the sea...like a cup of tea? Don't even think of it...should you happen upon a cafe it'll be crammed full of shouty people with a queue out the door...
Stop at a pottery to buy a souvenir to take home and feel queasy at the prices, while holding your elbows tight to your sides in case you knock a mug on the floor...all the while surrounded by those shouty people from the cafe who arrived before you because the coach driver has a schedule to keep to.
Perhaps you really want to kiss the Blarney stone at Blarney Castle...don't bother...please, please spend the day doing something else.
You'll probably have heard about Newgrange or you looked it up in your tourist guide...listen to me carefully...it is one of the most over-rated sites imaginable...you'll pay out vast amounts of euro to park your car...then to actually get close enough to it to see it properly...and guess what...all those shouty people are already there with expensive movie cameras and their brightly coloured shorts.
Then there's Dublin...I love Dublin...I love the small squares surrounded by neat artisans cottages...I love the side streets and the buskers...the flower market, which is a riot of bright colours...I like seeing girls wearing the hijab...sultry eyes heavily outlined in black with dainty high-heeled shoes on their feet...they walk past...aloof and other-worldly. I even like the rough Traveller women with huge gold hoops in their ears and long black skirts, who carry a basket filled with bunches of violets or heather according to the season...their feet are encased in mens shoes without the laces...their heels yellowed and cracked...their faces wrinkled and brown.
The Trinity students go by in earnest groups...arms waving to make a point in the conversation...they dash across the street in front of the traffic and take flying leaps onto a passing bus...
There are solemn lawyers coming out of the High court for lunch recess, they eat sandwiches on benches in the street or crowd into a favourite bar...the women in impossibly tight black skirts and four inch heels.
Dublin has Museum's and Art Galleries and quiet Georgian squares...tobacconists in tiny shops who sell Turkish cigarettes and Churchwarden pipes...you could eat fish and chips at Beshoff's...drink small cups of strong coffee at a table on the pavement outside a 'pub bedecked with hanging baskets...
Take a taxi out to Glasnevin...stand in front of 'The Big Fella's' grave and marvel at the display of fresh flowers...discover all the final resting places of those who died 'for freedoms sake'...
And of course you might not mind in the very least being part of the tourist trail...you might well wear brightly patterned shorts and have an expensive camera hung round your neck...you might be a bit on the shouty side actually and demand iced water and poke soda bread suspiciously...that's alright...we wouldn't mind.