Articles > Corking Good: Baltimore

Baltimore, West Cork is the sort of place you come back from making plans to move there. Within an hour of arriving for a weekend family break from Dublin, we had booked to go back for a longer stay in the summer. Popular with rich English sailors and new-ageish, well-heeled continentals, this tiny out-of-the-way fishing village attracts property prices almost as high as the capital.

It's hard to put your finger on what is so appealing about the village. Despite the scenic setting, facing out to Roaringwater Bay and the 100 Carbery Islands, Baltimore is more work-a-day than twee. Like the village in the film 'Local Hero', it seems a world in itself, almost a parallel universe. Here the boat is more important than the car and ferry times from Sherkin Island tie in with the generous drinking up hours.

It's not the kind of place you hurry through on your way somewhere else. In fact you can't - the road peters out at the Beacon, a white landmark on top of a cliff, which looks like a giant oasthouse. The drop down to the sea, frothing white round the rocks, is dizzying. Below, yachts and dinghies play in the bay and the bright red ferry leaves for Cape Clear, off which lies the Fastnet Rock, Ireland's southernmost point. Divers explore shipwrecks among the subtropical marine life, and dolphins, whales, sharks, turtles and seals may be spotted.

The weather in mid-April caught me by surprise. I had packed for cold Atlantic gales, not taking the Gulf Stream seriously. But the weather was mild and spring well advanced. On a morning jog towards the cliffs, I was inspired by a rainbow dipping out of the only cloud in a blue sky to land at the foot of the Beacon. By the time I reached the tower, several minutes later, hail stones were plastering my T-shirt to me and my hair was streaming. The weather had cleared when I arrived back at the Baltimore Harbour Hotel and requested my key from the bemused receptionist.

The rest of the family were enjoying breakfast in the restaurant, from where the night before we had watched the sun turn the sky an astonishing deep purple. While they planned a morning in the pool I headed for an aromatherapy massage. A couple of hours later I was aboard the Cape Clear Ferry feeling nicely spaced out and hardly in the mood for The Baltimore Challenge. Run by Cape Clear's outdoor adventure centre, Cleire Lamuigh, this is a series of tasks set to tip you out of your comfort zone and show you your true potential.

The sea was calm and the sky clear as the other participants and I veered round rocks and islands towards the island. We were following the route taken by Algerian pirates who raided Baltimore in 1631 and whisked off 100 villagers as slaves. A poem commemorates the event. It starts: 'The summer sun is falling soft on Carbery's hundred isles, and continues: 'Oh! Blessed God! The Algerine is Lord of Balitmore.' The bracing 45-minute crossing past empty islands almost made me want to write a poem myself. The woman who runs Cleir Lamuigh greeted us and told us, too late, that you were supposed to compose a song or poem on your way out to ensure your safe crossing back.

We were then divided into groups and told to allot tasks such as kayaking, snorkelling and archery to various members. Dynamics soon became apparent. Each group included people who didn't mind getting wet and non-joiners like myself who opted for walking to the lake. The result of our endeavours would earn materials for making a landing craft for an egg.

At the pub later the by now intimately-bonded groups worked out their scores and were given a certain number of plastic straws, balloons and strips of sellotape accord to their merits. With these we had to construct our landing craft. At the end of the session, a member of each group stood on a pub table, raised their arm and dropped their egg. My group's remained intact and so, thanks to some industrial espionage (they stole our idea), did another group's. Amid much merriment we made out way back to the ferry where the ride back was like a roller coaster.

A further exploration of Cape Clear Island, home to 100 native Irish speakers as well as rare birds and plant life, will have to wait until my return trip, as will a visit to Sherkin Island. Only a ten-minute boat trip from Baltimore, it is less rugged than Cape Clear. In summer a tractor and trailer await ferry passengers to take them to its long sandy beaches.

There is no need to leave Baltimore at night for the village has over a dozen pubs and restaurants, mostly lined up along the harbour. The choice and quality rival many cities. Chez Youen, a Breton restaurant which serves seafood in its shell, is a winner of the Best Irish Fish Restaurant award.The two hotels The Baltimore Harbour and Casey's also have good chefs. On a hill above the village, a German sculptor runs Rolf's Hostel, which doubles as a restaurant and gallery for new artists. At night the main street is buzzing with music and voices, from the Algiers Inn to the traditional Bushe's Bar. Declan McCarthy's pub attracts big name performers. A poster advertised Beth Orton. Facing the dark open sea and silent of traffic, the village at night is a bubble of conviviality.

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