It started off as an experiment and ended up - albeit for just a week - as a way of life. The idea was to get away from Playstation, Gameboy, The Simpsons, popcorn, coke, videos, satellite television, multiplexes, shopping centres - the quick pop culture fixes. Our children, Paul (10) and Sarah (8), are reasonably balanced, we think, we hope; quite polite, well versed in their pleases and thank yous, though prone to being spoiled now and again by their parents and the network of relatives that ably supports them.
By and large, they appear to have a healthy view of what informs their world. They're not perfect, but then neither are the people who love them. But we wanted to take them out of their environment of text-message culture, their close-to-Dublin existence and plonk them into a bona fide country area with no Big Macs, few gadgets, no skateboards, no micro-scooters, no rollerskates, no one-minute drying nail varnish and no Limp Bizkit. Where else but Connemara?
There's a scene in the movie Shrek where the ogre's new-found, overly enthusiastic friend (a donkey voiced by Eddie Murphy) trots over a hill where he views a big lump of rock sticking out of the ground. "I like that boulder," he says admiringly, as if envisioning it taking up pride of place in his living room. Connemara's a bit like that - you start out admiring lots of boulders. Of course, after a few days, the boulders and stone walls blend into the background. The beauty of the place lies not so much in its inherent barrenness as in the pace of life, which was exactly what we wanted for this particular family holiday.
We stayed in one of a cluster of cottages called Rossaveal Luxury Holiday Homes, which had been recommended to us by similarly addled parents. Situated off the main Rossaveal road, about a mile away from the ferry link to the Aran Islands, the newly built, three-bedroom dormer cottages had beautifully panelled kitchen ceilings, and came equipped with all the utilities we needed (dishwasher, washing machine/tumble dryer, cooker, microwave, en-suite bedrooms and an open fireplace).
Surrounded by fields, we soon adopted the Connemara stroll - a leisurely gait - and wandered uninterrupted by mobile phones, e-mail or shrieks from children who have just grazed their skin from falling off skateboards.
Plans and schedules necessarily went AWOL. Each morning we woke up, looked out the window, and decided what to do. One day we didn't leave the house - we read from morning until night. That's another reason why we wanted this type of holiday - as a break from the brat race. While Sarah is a voracious reader (she's gone through the Harry Potter series twice, and has no sooner put one book down than she picks up another), Paul reads in stops and starts and has a short attention span for anything that doesn't interest him. In Rossaveal, there was little for him do but read and engage in conversation. which meant he started and finished Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, discovering in it a world about which he knew little but which he quickly learned to love.
Other days we dossed about playing mock tennis in the back garden ("just because I'm your daughter," said Sarah, "doesn't mean to say I 'm going to show you mercy"); drove to Carraroe's wonderful coral beach and watched long-haired wind surfers and canoeists going through their paces; or headed into nearby Spiddal and walked around the town's scenic harbour. On the last day, we flew over to Inis M≤r with Aer Arann (no baggage or flight delays there, thank you very much), where we took a pony-and-trap to D·n Aengus and gasped at the sheer drop from the fort into the sea and where our trap driver, Michael McDonnell, explained the island life, relating facts from both the past and present.
If it sounds idyllic, then for this type of holiday it probably was: here were two bright young kids, suckled on the silicone breast of pop culture (some of it vicious and invidious, some of it full of epiphanies and enlightenment) who had no problem leaving it behind, and didn't once ask what time Futurama was on.
The experience led my wife, Angela, and myself to realise how crucial a holiday like this was for our children's development and how redundant so much of what passes for children's entertainment actually is.
The downside? The scenery, although beautiful was hardly awe-inspiring, and even Paul and Sarah soon got fed up with the boulders, no matter how big they were. Also, with a couple of exceptions, there wasn't exactly what you would call a restaurant culture in the area (it was more or less fine for a 10- and an 8-year-old, but we were dying for more than fish & chips by the week's end).
The following week was Westport: pony trekking, swimming every day and more restaurants than you could shake a spaghetti stick at. But that's another story altogether - and another Harry Potter book. Another set of good memories, too.
Rossaveal Luxury Holiday Homes, tel: 091-572 491; e-mail rossavealholidayhomes@ yahoo.com
