By Andrea Cleghorn
Heading toward the capital city from the south, it is worth a detour to slow down, get out of the car and experience Dalkey, a little enclave of non-traditional houses covered with luscious vegetation known as the Irish Riviera.
The houses may be tiny or mansion-size, but there is not a cookie cutter look from one to the next. Many are perched on hillsides; almost all seem to have views of the Irish Sea Below. On a “soft day” (read: misty and somewhat drizzly) an informal walking tour was eye candy for two architecture aficionados.
There were trailing vines, and flowers, flowers, flowers. Hydrangeas in every shade from off-white to pink to magenta to blue, calla lilies, roses, flowering maples, dahlias were crowded into spaces a weed would not dare to venture. Many of the houses tucked into the windy streets had names on plaques fastened to the wall in front, as in Sorrento Village, Alfresco or Portofino.
Just as I had decided my dream of getting a house in this country featured a little stone cottage surrounded by sheep on a hillside, I was having second thoughts. If this neighborhood was good enough for the late novelist Maeve Binchey it was good enough for me, and Bono has a house just up the road in case I would be in need of a loan of a block of Kerrygold butter.
We happened by a sweet little place that momentarily brought us back to traditional Ireland called Biddy’s Cottage, featuring story-telling and folk art…and Biddy McLaughlin herself, who invited us in.
We chatted and had a good time absorbing the ambiance of the tiniest, most charming cottage ever, which featured religious icons, this and that…sensory overload of the nicest kind. Biddy’s own museum-caliber folk art was on the walls, a touch of lighthearted humor.
Biddy’s sister Aisling, an actress scheduled to star in that very place, was comfortably seated in a robin’s egg blue rocking chair by the fireplace. There was a couple on the couch opposite who had stopped in with their family: Four-month-old girls, Rose and Lily, and a lively brown and white terrier.
“This is a rambling house, all are welcome,” Biddy said, as she offered us oatcakes, refusing remuneration. We could return on certain evenings for one of the storytelling nights, 20 euro. Biddy said goodbye at the bright red Dutch door of Rockbrook Cottage on Coliemore Road where she lives and works, , her sunglasses the only incongruous note in the scene. “We have a crazy family, we’re doing ‘Virginia Woolf’ right here, we try all kinds of things,” she said, laughing.
We moved on, gawking, and ended up the Corner Note, which seemed to be the place for a great outdoor lunch and chance to meet with the locals in the center of Dalkey. There was a small display of products to borrow to protect ourselves from the Irish sun, hats and sun cream, but didn’t need it that day; we were more in danger of a lashing rain than sunstroke.
Inside the Corner Note were paintings, sculpture and crafts displayed by artists in the area, including some by our new friend Biddy.
When the iffy weather turned to rain, we reluctantly canceled the rest of our walking tour and dashed for the car.
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