It wasn't really the sort of day for a tour in an open-topped bus. The sky had a leaden look to it and a breeze which had nothing to do with the helicopters droning overhead blew through Galway's Eyre Square. At every bus stop, women in their finery held onto elaborate hats. Why, I wondered, was everyone done up to the nines? I twigged when I saw one of them running a pencil through the racing page. Of course, this was Thursday, ladies day at the races. They would be needing the hats.

"The bus is a 1963 Leyland half cab," the driver told me, giving it an affectionate pat. "Almost impossible to turn over if the wheels are level. There's no power steering, though," he admitted ruefully. "It can be very heavy in traffic like this."

He wasn't joking about the traffic. It took us 40 minutes to get round Eyre Square and the JFK Memorial Park. This was the first bit of information Aindrea, our friendly guide, gave us. The central green space in the city was named after the American president but the name never took off. If you were to ask any Galwegian where J.K.F. Memorial park is, you'd be likely to be greeted with a blank expression. And no, the hooker sculpture at the top of the park is not rusting from neglect. The oxidised metal is intended to mimic the colour of the boat-sails.

We paused for a moment in Shop Street to look at one of Galway's most venerable monuments, Lynch's Castle. Actually, this isn't a castle at all, it's more of a merchant tower house. No mention was made of the original builder, who hung his own son from one of the top windows on some obscure point of honour. The traffic was so bad we couldn't turn right into the Claddagh. We had to make a detour around the docks. Crossing the Claddagh Bridge I noticed - and I had never noticed before - how the Portmore building has the shape of a train, facing out to sea like a big toy.

When we did get into the Claddagh and turned round by the sea-front, the wind threatened to blow Aindrea off the top of the bus. Her commentary on the various ways of wearing the Claddagh ring got whisked out into Galway bay and across into Clare. Only when we got into Threadneedle Road could she manage to catch her breath and make herself heard again, for a lightning history of Galway's recent housing boom. By this time, the sky had lowered to just over our heads and we were experiencing that most quintessential of Galway things - rain. By the time we got to the top of Circular Road, thick sheets of mist obscured the city below. By now, only the hardiest of us had remained on top, all windswept and rose-cheeked. If nothing else, we were getting plenty of fresh air.

We were now into the final leg of the tour, passing the university and cathedral which was consecrated by a Cardinal Cushing in Boston, who put his hand in his pocket to fund it. No mention was made of Bishop E. Casey and his dependents in America.

Back in Eyre Square, we got coffee and sat chatting in the empty bus. "This rain and the Troubles in the North have had an effect this year," Aindrea said. "The first year we did this was 1995, the year the sun split the stones. But it's still popular. You'd be surprised the number of Galway people who go on it, using their kids as an excuse."

But it's not buildings or monuments which interest most of the tourists.

"Pubs," Aindrea said with hesitation. "Everyone wants to know about Galway pubs."

Old Galway Tours can be contacted at 091 562905.