The new 'Lonely Planet' guide to Ireland has given poor reviews to Larne and Armagh. FIONOLA MEREDITHvisits both and finds Armagh may have been unfairly maligned. Larne, however...
IT MAY BE THE ancient ecclesiastical capital of Ireland, but the small cathedral city of Armagh is one of a number of Northern towns to get a qualified thumbs-down in the latest edition of the Lonely Planettravel guide to Ireland. "Despite having a number of attractive Georgian buildings," says the guide, "the town has a bit of a dreary, run-down feel to it, with gap sites, wasteland and boarded-up windows spoiling the streetscape."
The Co Antrim ferry port of Larne fared even worse. “With its concrete overpasses and the huge chimneys of Ballylumford power station opposite the harbour, poor old Larne is a little lacking in the charm department,” says the guide, with barely concealed pity, adding that “there’s no real reason to linger”.
So is this a fair judgment on Armagh and Larne? Striving to leave all preconceptions aside, I visited each town "as a tourist", to test Lonely Planet's advice.
Armagh is more of a country market town than a city, a perception underscored by the high number of muck-spattered tractors clogging up the main road into town as I arrive on Saturday morning. That £5 car wash I got in Belfast before departure is already money down the drain.
However, the drive into the city is enlivened by the strange sight of two donkeys picking a fight with a lone sheep in a roadside field. Two against one: it doesn’t seem like a fair contest.
At first sight, Armagh is appealing. The bare branches of horse-chestnut trees cast long shadows over The Mall, a wide and grassy cricket ground, and the spires of the town’s churches and cathedrals rise above streets of beautifully preserved Georgian terraces.
On a bright winter morning, this feels like a spacious, prosperous, well-ordered place – until you walk up the hill to English Street and encounter all those boarded-up shops that the Lonely Planet guide mentions. The closed shutters and grilled windows, some still showing dog-eared posters for events that happened months ago, give a sad, diminished impression. Yet this is clearly a town where some effort has been made: look down, and you notice that the street names have been engraved in the elegant granite paving stones. Somehow, though, this serves only to emphasise the dreariness.
It’s not all bad news. The streets are packed with Saturday shoppers, and the St Patrick’s Trian Visitor Complex is open for business. Although I am the only visitor, there is an exhibition about pipes and piping (the musical variety), a show by Armagh Art Club, and a perky little gift shop selling some rather cool retro handbags made from old vinyl records. Back on the street, the genteel and the down-at-heel jostle for space – a posh interiors shop selling Farrow and Ball paint and wallpaper sits alongside garish pound stores and charity shops.
As the Lonely Planetguide acknowledges, Armagh Public Library, on Abbey Street, founded in 1771 by archbishop Richard Robinson, is well worth a visit, especially to see Robinson's fascinating personal collection of 17th- and 18th-century books on theology, philosophy, medicine and law. The Greek inscription over the main entrance means "the healing place of the soul".
If lunch is on your mind, the Bagel Bean, run by local philosopher king Roger Mallon, looks like a popular choice, with plump sausages sizzling on the grill, and a mysterious quote from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, chalked up at the bottom of the blackboard menu, “And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips”. Clearly a passionate spot.
Dinner is more uncertain, but at the Charlemont Arms Hotel every night is steak night, as long as you arrive between 6.30pm and 8.30pm. Around the striking white modern exterior of the Market Place Theatre (home of the John Hewitt summer school), there are several bright and breezy cafes, and one even promises “late night coffee” until 9.30pm.
There’s a cheerful market stall selling Oriental rugs and fake leopardskin car-seat covers. The sun comes out, the granite paving stones twinkle, and suddenly Armagh doesn’t seem like such a dreary place to spend an hour or two after all.
NEXT STOP, LARNE. The ferry port is one of the main entry routes to Northern Ireland for visitors coming from Scotland, and the unprepossessing town is regularly the butt of jokes by local comedians.
For enhanced authenticity, I drive to the ferry terminal itself, and then back towards the town, to recreate the impression a first-time visitor would get. It’s not pretty. Chugging along behind one of the many freight vehicles recently disembarked from the ferry, you cross a bleak industrial wilderness punctuated by derelict petrol stations, muddy roundabouts and a giant KFC outlet. A solitary public bench stands in front of a vast sweep of rubbish-strewn wasteland. The temptation is to put the foot to the floor and follow the road out of town, but I’m determined to give Larne a chance.
There are no elegant architecture or carved paving stones here, yet the town’s main shopping street is all a-bustle. Like Armagh, there is a proliferation of pound shops and empty vacant lots, but some independent businesses are clearly flourishing.
The Hands Down sports massage clinic looks prosperous, there’s a sale in the Wear It Out clothes shop, and a very flashy looking butcher and deli, all glass and chrome frontage, is trading well. The window display of the Heart Foundation charity shop – dominated by a large red ceramic bulldog, adorned with a Union Jack flag – is attracting a lot of attention from passers-by.
The busiest shop in town is Travel Seekers, the holiday shop. It’s absolutely packed. Food options seem rather limited; if you’re hungry, you might be best to settle for a fresh cream bun in Ann’s Pantry.
Unusually, the public toilets come equipped with a functioning shower, should you need to freshen up.
There are some valiant signs of municipal pride: the town’s sign is set in a wooden basket of primula flowers, and Larne’s infamous blocks of high-rise flats, recently demolished, used to have images of jolly things such as dolphins and parasols on them, in a desperate attempt to ameliorate their ugliness. The effect was poignant.
But the truth is that Larne is emphatically not a tourist destination. Unlike Armagh, it does not have a rich history to draw upon. Yet the town clearly has a busy life of its own: for instance, I can tell you that St MacNissi’s Choral and Dramatic Society will shortly be performing Robinson Crusoe, according to a large flashing electronic billboard in the town centre.
But you get the feeling that Larne's face is turned away from outsiders. This is a grimly functional town that does not expect to be loved. As Lonely Planetsuggests, don't linger.
The best advice for visitors is either to take the wild and beautiful coast road north out of Larne, towards the Glens of Antrim, or to get on the motorway and zoom towards Belfast. You might be lucky enough to get a late-night coffee there, even after 9.30pm.
