By Dylan O’Connell

If Irish football is one large pyramid, very few have a view of it like Bandon native Richie Holland. The Galway United coach has seen and done it all, from working at local level to standing on the line in the League of Ireland while overseeing the development of a number of underage internationals. Holland’s pathway to the top of the domestic game has taken a lot of turns, and he tells Dylan O’Connell all about his road to the top.

“I took over an under 18 team in Bandon – I was only a couple of months over age actually,” says Holland, looking back.

“It was my mates and stuff. They had no coach. So I could do it and all that kind of stuff. It kind of kicked off from there.”

That was the start of a career that would take Holland from the Cork Youth Leagues to the League of Ireland Premier Division, to his current home at Galway United where he works under Enniskeane native John Caulfield.

What took things to the next level was a FÁS coaching course run by Cork City legends Mick Conroy and Paul Bannon.

“I really got into it properly when I was in the FAS course with Mick Conroy and Paul Bannon,” he explained.

“I was at Cork City at the time as a player as well. I got an injury on the course, on the FÁS course.

“I broke my foot. Mick got me to take charge the team for a couple of games because he saw the kind of leadership qualities in me. That was my first kind of taste of doing tactical stuff and being involved with players while doing team meetings and stuff.

“That was the first kind of exposure to it. So I went on and did my introductory badges while I was injured. I just continued it from there.

“Then I started taking teams when I could in the evenings. I started getting my hours in, in terms of coaching sessions around West Cork. I was doing different teams and all the rest of it.

“I went into the West Cork League and I did two Kennedy Cups with them, the West Cork League. I continued with Bandon and I coached some underage teams at Ballinhassig. Eventually then went on and did my B licence.”

Holland had serious momentum at that point in his career and he used it to gain more coaching roles around Cork.

“I was working for the Cork ETB as a sports tutor in Cork city,” he added.

“I was going around to youth centres and doing football programmes and stuff while I was still playing as well.

“Eventually did my A licence. I was Kennedy Cup manager for Cork as well in 2017. I got the Noel O’Reilly Coach of the Year Award from the FAI that year as Grassroots Coach of the Year.”

“I got the call from John Caulfield in the middle of 2017 to say I would come into Cork City and work in the academy. I was in the academy and Colin Healy got involved  after. We were on the same team then, their Under-19s. I worked with the academy and kept up my education. Eventually Colin progressed to academy manager and first team manager. I went in with him then.”

Holland and Healy went into a City team that desperately wanted to feel good about itself after experiencing relegation in 2020 from the Premier Division, just three years after claiming a league and cup double. The coaches led the club to promotion in 2022, at the expense of Galway United and Waterford, an emotional achievement that was celebrated across Cork.

That was made even better by the emergence of David Harrington, a goalkeeper that is now declared for Wales at international level. Mark O’Mahony and Franco Umeh broke in, and now ply their trades with Brighton and Hove Albion and Portsmouth in addition to the Republic of Ireland Under-21s.

At Cork City, Healy departed a year later and Holland was put into the hotseat during a campaign that ended with relegation through the play-offs.

Holland later joined Cobh Ramblers, to work under former Iran and Qatar coach Mick McDermott. They proved to be a winning combination as the club won the Munster Senior Cup and pushed for the First Division title, only to fall short in the final few weeks of the season.

Holland is now at Galway United, and he is back coaching in the Premier Division with an FAI Cup tie to come in July.

“It’s a different part of the country and there’s great people up here,” Holland talked about life at Eamonn Deacy Park.

“Galway is pretty similar to Cork in terms of they’ve got their own club in the city. The games at Eamonn Deacy Park have great atmosphere.

“The Premier Division is going from strength to strength every year with the quality of the players and stuff like that. We’re taking it game by game but there are no illusions where we are compared to other teams in the division, budget wise and resource wise.

“We’re competitive in every game and hopefully we’ll push for the second half of the season.”

Galway United were in midtable at the midseason break, but a strong finish could propel the club up the table and into the European spaces. The club have also been drawn against amateur side Crumlin United, a winnable tie on paper that could set up a trip to the Aviva Stadium in the winter.

The sky is the limit for Galway United and the club, just three years on from winning promotion to the Premier Division. Holland is a large part of the club’s revival and current position in the Irish football pyramid.

His work now serves Galway United, and as an inspiration for any coach starting out in West Cork and Cork city.

The weather has been so beautiful  it is hard to believe we have passed the summer solstice and St John’s Day (June 23-24 ). This time of year marks fullness in every sense of the word. The crops are growing and gardeners are fighting a losing battle with weeds, as well as nurturing fruit and vegetables to maturity. We seem to have forgotten that traditional Irish and European midsummer traditions offer genuine health benefits – supporting physical wellbeing, mental balance, community connection, and seasonal adaptation.

In Ireland, St John’s Eve is celebrated as Bonfire Night, when communities gather at sunset to light bonfires on hilltops and crossroads. The fire creates a public space for singing, dancing, storytelling, and shared meals. This is not merely folklore; it is a form of social medicine and I am sorry to say I did not see any in my area this year, which is also understandable with the rush to get grass cut and saved for the year. It may also be the case that the community bonfire has moved to its modern iteration of the BBQ.

But why are community bonfires beneficial for health?  Firstly, regular social connection reduces stress, lowers risks of depression and anxiety, and strengthens immune function. The bonfire night brings together children, elders, couples, and neighbours, creating a sense of belonging that buffers against isolation.

 The traditional community bonfire involved the youth jumping through flames to show their prowess but this probably best not done  today. However, the tradition of carrying some of the embers home to light the fire in one’s own home illustrates the how each household depends on community to survive 

Pilgrimage is also associated with St john’s Day. There are many holy wells called after St John and it is customary to visit them at this time. The one at Mushera near Millstreet is famous for healing warts and the one near Carrigaline for headaches and eye ailments. Midsummer also sees guided walking pilgrim journeys along Ireland’s passported pilgrim paths, including routes to Mount Brandon and Glendalough, as well as Gougane Barra.

Going on a pilgrimage has the advantage of combining  gentle physical exercise, rhythmic movement, and purposeful intention. Walking improves our  cardiovascular health, as well as strengthening muscles, and supporting joint mobility. We can also see the ‘deiseal’ (sunwise) rounds around wells as adding a gentle rotational movement that engages balance and coordination, as well as reminding us of the natural movement of the sun on its daily round.

A pilgrimage also fosters attention, as it has a purpose. It is not mindless but is undertaken with a purpose. Walking, thoughtfully, is a form of meditation and the reflective attitude that lowers cortisol, improves mood, and reduces excess worry.

Midsummer is the peak flowering time for many aromatic herbs:  vervain, yarrow, mugwort, chamomile, elderflower, lavender, rosemary, thyme, sage, and marjoram. Traditional belief holds that herbs gathered on St John’s Eve carry special potency. Modern phytochemistry supports this timing: many plants are richest in volatile oils, flavonoids, and antioxidants when in full bloom. This is the best time of year to pick lemon balm, its lemony flavour making a lovely refreshing tea

The benefits of these different herbs are varied:  Vervain and chamomile are calming, reducing tension and supporting sleep. Yarrow and mugwort have anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial properties. Elderflower and lavender soothe skin and reduce stress. Rosemary, thyme, sage, and marjoram are rich in antioxidants and support digestion and cognitive function.

Making teas, syrups, infusions, or drying bundles at midsummer provides a seasonal ‘materia medica’ that carries through the year. Eating midsummer foods – bread, milk dishes, berries, salads, and herbs –adds vitamins, minerals, and phytochemicals that support immunity and cellular health.

Gathering herbs outdoors is also beneficial, as it engages the senses. Aromatic plants release volatile compounds that can calm the nervous system, improve mood, and support respiratory function. The act of identifying, touching, and smelling plants also promotes embodied learning and mindfulness, which reduce stress and improve attention.

Midsummer sits opposite midwinter in the annual cycle. It follows the spring surge of Bealtaine and anticipates the harvest emphasis of Lughnasa. It represents fullness, flowering, blessing, and the beginning of the turn to shorter and darker days. Being aware of this annual cycle helps one to adapt to seasonal changes. Noticing when light peaks, when plants flower, and when the year begins to lean back toward darkness creates a sense of continuity and meaning. This can reduce the disorientation that can come from modern life’s constant, artificial schedules. Being aware of the seasons flows naturally into awareness of the circadian rhythm and helps regulate it. 

Midsummer teaches us to appreciate fullness and gratitude for the earth’s bounty. It also reminds us, like the Yin Yang symbol that, in the fullness of light, there is the seed of darkness and that the wheel will turn. 

My mother comes to visit me every year in Clonakilty for a gorgeous week in O’Donovan’s Hotel. The trad session in the bar is one of the highlights for my mam, both for the music and the chats with locals and visitors. It was one of these random encounters, which inspired our recent trip to France. We met a couple from Wexford, celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary, and learned that the husband regularly took off on the boat from Rosslare, to France and back, just for the spin. Tim and I had also met a group of sea- and bird-life watchers on the ferry from Bilbao, who were on an overnight trip, bringing little else but a camera  binoculars, and a toothbrush. 

My mam, Dee, doesn’t fly, has always had a fear of it,  but loves to travel by boat. My family have taken the Brittany Ferries Cork-Roscoff ferry many times, but always en route to the rest of France. It occurred to me that we could make it a trip in itself, and the mammy was game ball.

Roscoff is a small town on the north-west coast of France. It’s very pretty, right on the sea, with ancient granite buildings housing creperies,  bakeries, cafés, shops and small hotels. Everything seemed to be owner-run – it reminded us of Clonakilty, just in French. 

We didn’t take the car, as we were just staying one night in Roscoff, which is a five-minute taxi ride from the ferry port. There was plenty of help available, which you can request when booking, for Dee getting on and off the boat,  as the pedestrian ramp is fairly long and steep. The staff at the Brittany Ferries terminal are well geared up for helping those with mobility challenges, having wheelchairs with designated staff to push them,  elevators and a car to take you on and off in Roscoff,  where the terminal building is a bit further from the boat. 

I had chosen our hotel based on a few criteria: it had to be in the centre of town, easily walkable to everything, a sea view was a must, and we needed a lift. I also wanted a small hotel with a bit of character. The Mercure Hotel fit the bill perfectly, and the friendly, warm staff were the extra the bits you can’t see on the website.

Our trip started on a Wednesday afternoon, with a four o’clock departure from the ferry port in Cork.  Help arrived to wheel Dee on board, with plenty of good-humoured banter. Safely delivered to the door of our cabin, all we had to do was drop our bags and head to the bar for our first taste of France – you’re in Brittany once you board the ferry. This is one of my favourite things about travelling by boat, the holiday starts right away. Sitting in the gorgeous bar on the boat, sea views all around, having a cold glass of Muscadet, I always feel a calmness washing over me. It’s a very different experience from the stress of air travel – longer, more expensive, yes, but definitely calmer.

There is great food on board, the Pont Aven having a particularly beautiful dining room. The food in the more casual setting on the Armorique was varied and tasty, and I went straight in with the cheeseboard and a nice bottle of red. 

There’s entertainment in the bar if you fancy that, with live music and a pub quiz, and activities for the smallies. There’s a cinema and a pool,  playroom and games room, but nothing was taking me away from my cheese. 

We arrived early on Thursday morning, and the hotel had arranged a taxi, so we were having breakfast in Roscoff overlooking the sea, by 9am.

Our hotel was in the middle of town, so, although we couldn’t check in till later, we left our bags and headed out to explore. It’s a beautiful town to wander around, just enough to spend a couple of days in, with a good variety of shops for my retail-loving mammy. 

Checking out the Breton food was a joy: crepes, savoury galettes, all manner of fish and seafood, really good ice cream, and the insanely tasty kougn amann, a Breton pastry soaked in caramel. The most famous wine from this region is Muscadet, just perfect with the oysters and mussels which are served everywhere.  

We just stayed one night,  with two full days on either side, as the ferry left at 11pm on Friday night. A gorgeous dinner, lunches, breakfast watching the seagulls swooping and the tide coming in, ice-cream stops, and coffee and kougn amann mid-morning filled the days easily, with the obligatory shopping in between.

This trip isn’t for everyone, I know. Firstly, you have to like boat travel, and not suffer from sea-sickness. It’s also more expensive than flying, and slower, but for us, the whole trip was the experience, not just the destination. There’s weather to contend with,  which can’t be planned around, but that can affect any holiday plans.  

I am a lover of slow travel, and the overall dropping of tempo which comes with it. For my mother, whose mobility is fine for short walks, planes and airports are hard work. The pleasure and ease of this boat journey gave her the joy of realising that she can still travel to foreign parts, and the journey is all part of the fun.  

• brittany-ferries.ie 

• Hotel Mercure, Roscoff 

In fairness we have it easier in West Cork. The Atlantic is never far away, and a sea breeze is almost always blowing. We have green fields and parks, with trees for shade. 30 degrees Celsius in an office with no AC, or when you need to commute using the Underground or Metro can be a taste of hell. I was in Madrid a few years ago when the temperature was 35 degrees Celsius at 11 o’clock at night and it was definitely challenging. When I see that Paris reached temperatures of over 40 degrees, I can’t help but feel sorry for those living in buildings that were not meant for the heat. A garret room at the top of a chic Parisian apartment can seem romantic until the temperature turns the charming ‘chambre de bonne’ into an oven. I watched a clip of a man frying an egg in a pan that he left out on his tiny balcony in Paris. He then proceeded to pop some popcorn!

The problem, like our reactions to any extreme weather, be it storms, freezing weather, or excessive rain; is that we are not prepared. The heat is easier to deal with in Spain because the houses are built for it. People have AC or at least an army of fans. They know to drink loads of water, take lots of showers and to wear light, loose clothing. When I was visiting my cousins in Spain during a major heatwave we spent all day indoors in the dark with several fans going, sipping lots of cold drinks and eating cold, light meals. We did not venture out until after dark when my cousin would hose down the walls of the house and the patios and courtyards to cool everything down.

The forecast for July is mixed – some good weather, some showers. It looks like we won’t be seeing really high temperatures again, which will suit most of the tourists that are starting to arrive on our shores. So far there has been a 30 percent increase in visitors this year. It seems that many of them are coming to Ireland precisely because it does not get hot and rains quite a lot. ‘Coolcations’ are becoming trendy with northern countries such as Ireland and Scandinavia, drawing holidaymakers escaping the heat in their own countries. One person’s ‘roasting’ is another person’s ‘cool’. Even June’s heatwave felt pleasant to visitors whose homes were scorching at over 40 degrees. I kept meeting tourists who were delighted with our ‘Irish heatwave’.

The next decade will see temperatures continue to rise around the planet. Ireland will break the record of 33.3 degrees Celsius (Recorded in June 1887, in County Kilkenny), and we will probably see 35 degrees in a few years. Maybe even next summer. However, according to meteorologists it is unlikely that temperatures in Ireland will ever exceed 40 degrees Celsius. Or at least, not before the end of the century. Which is good news for the tourism sector. I predict that we will soon see adverts in the Med, encouraging people to come and cool off on the Wild Wet and Windy Atlantic Way. Imagine that: Tourists coming to Ireland for the weather!

On a recent trip to Antwerp my intrepid partner and I found ourselves in hardhats traversing the city’s historic canals. But for flash lights we were in darkness, walking in a line along a canal bed, for the waterways, known as ‘ruien,’ had been vaulted over, enclosed, for many hundreds of years. We were effectively walking underneath the city, traversing the route that canal barges may have once taken, passing under what once would have been bridges and sluice gates.

Being a book-hound, I later found a wonderful tome with photographs of the ruien from the 1800s. There, in sepia, standing tall in the openings of the ruien, were ships, slim one-masters huddled hull to hull along the canal walls; and larger three-masters docked along the Jordaenskai, the quay breasting the River Scheldt. The photographs also showed, amongst the tall ships in the Willemdok, the tall, dark flues of steam ships, for this was the age when both the new and the old mingled together, as famously depicted in William Turner’s ‘The Fighting Temeraire.’

Turner’s painting of 1839, set across the channel on a pearlescent River Thames, shows England’s gallant old warship being towed by a dark-flued tugboat. The warship was at the end of its life, a metaphor for what would soon be the end of the ‘age of sail,’ as the industrial revolution powered ahead. 

Just as steam power revolutionised shipping, the birth of photography began to revolutionise the way that we see. The photographs reproduced in my fortuitous find stand in stark contrast to Turner’s painting. They are not regarded as great works of art, but as traces of moments frozen by a mechanical device. They are the work of a new technology, of a mechanical eye, that would soon vie with the painter’s hand for supremacy in the realm of simulacra, in the realm of reproduction.

Photographs from the 1800s always feel ghostly: stevedores at work rolling barrels along the quay of the Brouwersvliet (the Brewers Canal), passengers and sailors grouped at the Willemdok, boys wading into the Margueriedok at low tide. The latter are seen in a photograph from 1897, and one cannot help but wonder at the lives they lived. For where a painting of the same may have been in some way staged, edited or invented, our attention taken by the brushstrokes and the whimsy of the painter, there can be no doubt in the photograph, of a moment frozen in time, of the hesitancy of one boy and the daring of another, at the light and shadow of a particular time of day, of the longboats, half in the water, beside them. Who were those boys? What lives did they live? Did they survive the Great War? Did they survive the month? Did they know the legend of ‘Lange Wapper,’ the trickster who would lead one into the waters?

‘Lange Wapper’ is a mythic figure in Antwerp, a shape-shifting trickster of the canals who would lure drunks into the murky waters late at night. A sculpture of the trickster graces the forecourt of the Steen, Antwerp’s ancient fortress facing the Scheldt. As in the photographs of the boys, there is no changing the sculpture’s shape. The ‘real’ Lange Wapper is the spirit of calamity, a legend forged, perhaps, to warn a populace against the treachery of Antwerp’s ruien, the malign spirit of the hungry waters that could cut lives unexpectedly short.

Old photographs haunt; they beg stories of past lives. That is not to say that old paintings don’t; in many cases they are far more alive. The main difference is that paintings are hybrid creatures: they tell us as much about the painter as about their subject, bearing as they do the visceral trace of the painter’s hand. A good example here is ‘A view of the Koolvliet’ (the Coal Canal) from 1875, by Jan Michiel Ruyten, which predates a photograph of the same canal from 1881. Working from life, Ruyten had no way of ‘freezing’ his figures; they are approximations, evocations, rendered with deft economy, giving us an authentic flavour of the life of the canal. The photograph, however, is tantalisingly free of that trace, one step removed from human touch, giving it the aura of time embalmed, at once alluring and distant, at once full of life and the knowledge of its passing.

The dialogue between photography, sculpture and painting, has in our own time, of course, a rich history. Think of Any Warhol’s famous screen prints of Marilyn Monroe, of Gerhard Richter’s series of blurred photo realist paintings. Perhaps most moving of all are Anselm Kiefer’s multitude of lead books, the ‘pages’ of which are endowed with photographic prints, seared and emulsified into the lead. Such ‘books’ Kiefer has, over the years, forged into installations: as mobile library shelves, as sculptural stacks, as the ‘cargo’ of lead model ships, which in turn are attached to monolithic canvases. Through the likes of Kiefer the contemporary artist has swallowed the photograph just as the whale swallowed Jonah, only for it to come out again as something new, an artefact transformed. And so here we are again with the ships; this time they are Kiefer’s: lead effigies of WWII, just as Turner’s ‘The Fighting Temeraire’ was an effigy of Waterloo.

Camilla Griehsel has everything on board to be a diva. And in several senses of the word she is one. Exceptionally talented, a highly accomplished performer, she’s had her brushes with fame and fortune, brief or enduring. But the word ‘diva’ also has negative connotations and those do not apply to her at all writes Moze Jacobs. The Swedish singer is a musician, actress, (song)writer, mother, colleague, friend, and all-round sound person who has lived in West Cork for 23 years. 

Born in Stockholm, Camilla grew up in a loving family where music was part of normal life. “My mom played some piano and sang songs with us when we were small. No one really had any musical ambitions but my parents would encourage me to sing.” She describes her inner experiences beautifully on the inside cover of the 2-CD set of her album Mamasongue: Source (2023), a semi-live recording of what started as a 2-hour show across West Cork plus Dublin, Cork (Everyman, Opera House) between 2018 and 2024: 

“I have been aware of (…) the powerful role that music plays in our lives since I was a five-year-old girl singing to a room filled with adults. I saw tears in their eyes and understood then that music has the power to touch the deepest parts of our beings. When we listen to music with open hearts and minds we become present to the moment and captive to our feelings. If we experience this together we join a network that transcends all (…) cultural barriers and is united by a musical language that goes beyond words into pure sound. This network elevates us from being isolated individuals to being part of a shared consciousness that we might call family, community, benevolence, or love.”

In resonance with the spirit of these words, ‘Mamasongue’ is both her own artistic project and the outcome of a highly creative collective process. It features songs, as well as musicians, from across the world: Niwel Tsumbu  (guitarist, singer, composer), originally from the Congo, resident in Ireland since 2004. Donegal-born Éamonn Cagney (percussion, vocals, composer) is known as Ireland’s foremost hand-drum percussionist. Concorde Nkabinde (bassist, vocals, composer, arranger), an award-winning jazz musician born in Soweto (Johannesburg, South Africa) has worked with many great musicians and is prominent in South Africa’s music scene. Rory McCarthy (piano, keyboards, vocals, composer) hails from Cork. The first song on the first CD opens with a rhythm that is intimately familiar to everyone on earth from before life started. It stretches across an intricate tapestry of music and vocals. And overlaid by Camilla’s crystal clear voice: “The first music I ever heard was my mother’s heartbeat (…). The music of our ancestors. The music of creation. This bitter earth, what fruit it bears (…).What good is a love that no one shares? It be so cold (…) yet someone may answer my call. And this bitter earth may not be so bitter after all. True believer, a long way from home.”

At least six or seven languages can be heard on Mamasongue (English, Irish, Swedish, Lingala, Zulu, Spanish, Aquitanian). “I love the different languages,” shares Camilla. “Not that I can do them perfectly, but I become like a different singer in Spanish. Or Zulu. As if all my Swedish inhibitions are gone.”

When Camilla was 10, she was invited to audition for a renowned music school, “like a normal school but with more music added.” It opened doors to many different genres. “Choir singing. Or performing as a soloist in church. I loved that.” She joined a barbershop group, went busking with three friends in Stockholm’s old town, became a jazz singer, sang for tourists in Gran Canaria and in Switzerland. “Singing in a piano bar at night and skiing all day. Living my best life.” 

Suddenly, aged 24, she got headhunted to replace the singer of a 1980s Scandinavian pop band, One 2 Many, followed by a brief period of almost instant chart success in Europe and the US. It turned out to be not to her liking. “To be honest, I found it all quite embarrassing. The glitzy limousines, everyone wanting to interview me, recording next door to the Bee Gees in London. Whereas all I’d done is sing 10 songs that I didn’t even write anything. It really wasn’t my thing and it made me lose a lot of confidence, initially.”

At the same time, it spurred her to fulfill a long-held dream: to sing opera. “It also led to me meeting my husband on a boat on the Thames, doing promotion. We were with the same record company.” By that time, Colin Vearncombe (stage name: Black), a serious singer-songwriter from Liverpool, had already had a major hit, ‘Wonderful Life’, originally released in 1986. A bittersweet song, it celebrates the magic and beauty of life from a perspective of utter loneliness.

“On that boat, our eyes met and both of us felt, ‘Oh my God, who is that?’” shares Camilla. “And then we were friends for a very, very long time. Nothing happened for nine months. It was lovely to get to know someone for that long. But he proposed soon enough. Out of the blue. I had to take an hour to think about it.” They married in 1990. 

In 2003, with their three young sons, they moved to Schull where a flourishing collaboration started with the band Interference, founded and led by Fergus O’Farrell, a close neighbour. It sprouted an offshoot called Dogtail Soup (from a line in one of Colin’s songs, ‘Cold Chicken Skin’, originally coined for Game of Thrones) and attracted many other brilliant musicians, including Glen Hansard and Liam Ó Maonlaí. 

Then tragedy struck. In January 2016, on his way to Cork airport, Colin Vearncombe was involved in a two-car collision on an icy road. He remained in a coma for 16 days. Camilla had to make the decision to turn the machine off. “Horrendous. I speak about grief a lot. And yes, it’s painful. Like having a large chunk of ice inside your body. But I’ve been chipping away at it. Bit by bit, it melts. He’s still in the living room a lot of the time and when I have something to talk about, I go there.”

It turned out to be an intense conflation of life and death. Her uncle died the next day. Within a week, the magnificent Fergus O’Farrell finally succumbed to muscular dystrophy, aged 48, not as previously predicted, before he reached 20. In the aftermath, Camilla’s mother also died. “A long time ago we decided together that, whoever dies first, we’ll both look at the moon if we want to reconnect. It really is a comfort. I feel her a lot. Yet around Colin’s death, our son Max became a father. So there’s life, too.”

The Dogtail Soup Trio (Camilla Griehsel, Maurice Seezer, Paul Tiernan plus potential guests) play Levis’ (Ballydehob) on June 7 and Prim’s Bookshop (Kinsale) on June 9, with more dates to come in August. Camilla Griehsel plays eight concerts with Barefoot Baroque in July. See next month’s gig list for more details. The documentary ‘Breaking Out: The Remarkable Life of Fergus O’Farrell’ can be purchased or rented on YouTube.

Frankly, I nearly lost the will to go outside in the last weeks of May. Unless it was to drive to the airport and fly off to a country where the fog isn’t obliterating the landscape. Looking out the window was like peering into an illustration for a sword and sorcery novel. The mist totally covered the front field. It was easy to imagine a wizard riding out of the solid grey haze. Or a horde of orcs tumbling out of the wet fog to attack the house. Driving home from town, I could not see further than about 50 yards. Worse of all it was cold! Every meeting in the shops or pubs initiated a conversation about how dreadful the weather was. I found myself being consumed by envy for those who were away on holiday and tried not to snicker if it rained wherever they were – even though rain or shine it was warmer where they were than my little sodden cold patch of the planet.

So, it was with a great sense of gratefulness and answered prayers that we woke on the weekend to actual sunshine and blue skies. Not only that but the prediction for the next few days seemed unreal: Full sun and temperatures hitting 28C. We immediately made plans to go to the sauna on Red Strand and spend the rest of Sunday on the beach with fish and chips to celebrate. I also promised myself to get to the ocean any day that the weather remained good. After over thirty years of living in West Cork, I know the golden rule: Drop everything and head to the beach as soon as it looks like a fine summer day. If you don’t, you might miss the summer all together. I’ve been caught out many a time, staying in the house, working indoors (needs must), promising myself that I’ll get out asap; only to find that those fine days were the only ones we going to get…

So, beach blankets were found. Sea sandals slipped on. Water bottles filled and sunscreen forgotten, we headed out in a glorious blaze of blue skies and stone splitting sunshine. The sauna was for once, totally unnecessary, though very welcome. We use the sauna to convince ourselves to take off layers of clothes and go outside practically naked, perhaps to even take an icy dip in the Atlantic. This Sunday it was positively balmy. No need to get our core temperature up with the heated steam. It was just as warming to lie on the sand and soak up the rays. The scene was straight out of a holiday brochure – parasols and striped windbreaks, children building sandcastles, people lying reading books, or sleeping, dogs running happily amok. It was the Costa del Cork in all its glory. The slight breeze coming off the ocean cooled our sunburnt skin. The sound of the lapping waves lulled us to have a quick siesta, and the overall feeling was one of contentment and joy at the answer to our soggy prayers. If Met Eireann is to be believed summer will keep going for the week. Let’s hope it lasts into June and beyond.

As always, when we get the return of summer, I am totally seduced all over again. Like a cheating lover who appears on my doorstep bearing flowers, chocolates and champagne, I welcome West Cork back in my arms and revel in its embrace. Let’s face it, when we get the weather there are few places in the world that can compete with a West Cork beach. Looking out over the shining ocean, with Galley Head lighthouse in the distance and the promise of fish and chips down the road, I have to admit that it doesn’t often get any better. Viva La Costa del Sol!

There’s a heavy drizzle falling on the country road. Framed by the lush green of the softly humming hedgerows, a man sits on his bicycle in the mist, waiting to greet the farmer coming his way. “Soft,” remarks the cyclist with a smile, acknowledging the weather. “Soft indeed,” replies the farmer with a nod. Dreamer Fred La Haye moved from the Netherlands to Ireland almost 50 years ago drawn by the possibility of a self-sufficient lifestyle. These are the sort of interactions that kept him here. “It’s beautiful you know,” he tells Mary O’Brien. “To be able to hold a conversation around just one word. I love that about the people in this country.”

Words, but perhaps more importantly listening, are all-important to Fred, (78), who is well known around West Cork for being a passionate proponent of dialogue, as well as for his pioneering work introducing sustainable practices into local communities.

A poet and philosopher, Fred’s writing is inspired by the thoughts and writings of the philosopher and scientist, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a French Jesuit priest, who sought to bridge the gap between faith and science by showing they are interconnected. He also looks to the teachings of American physicist and philosopher, David Bohm, who believed that beyond the visible, tangible world there lies a deeper, implicit order of undivided wholeness; and that transformation in society could be brought about by dialogue.

“Listening to the world is essential and the quality of listening so important,” says Fred passionately.

In his poem ‘Noosphere’ Fred describes ‘The ringing out of a thousand million human vibrations! / A whole layer of consciousness exerting simultaneous pressure on the future! / And the collected and hoarded produce of a million years of thought! / Have we ever tried to form an idea of what such magnitudes represent? / Have we?’

After discovering a shared interest in the ideas of Teilhard de Chardin, musician Justin Grounds composed the oratorio ‘The Embracing Universe’ to elevate Fred’s poetry, which shares the thoughts and writings of the visionary French philosopher.

“Teilhard de Chardin was banned from lecturing and publishing his own work, as he was told by his superiors that the Jesuit society was not founded to support religious pioneers,” explains Fred. “I wrote this work to rescue him from historical oblivion.”

Actions speak loudly too for Fred, who got his first taste of community activism as a young man in the Netherlands when he hitchhiked to Amsterdam to join the thousands of demonstrators opposed to the Vietnam War and the expansion of nuclear energy. “We were so furious, so angry that we couldn’t even celebrate Christmas,” he recalls.

Although he struggled at school and dropped out early, Fred’s hunger for change and ambition to fight injustice led him back to education and eventually to study law at university specialising in criminology, in particular institutional and structural crime.

Married with a young child and eager to explore the possibility of living a self-reliant life in a more natural environment, Fred moved with his family to West Cork in 1978. The original plan was to continue his law studies in Ireland, however life and its struggles got in the way of that ambition, with the young family finding themselves focused on mere survival. “It felt like we had stepped back about 25 years in time going from a modern city in the Netherlands to rural West Cork,” he shares.

Fred found work in a piggery six days a week that brought in eight pound a day and, with the help of other odd jobs, eventually the couple saved up enough to buy a ruin of a cottage near Ballygurteen.

“Life was so basic but our surroundings – the wildness of the land, the ocean – were so fantastic, that it made the challenges and insecurity bearable,” says Fred. “The questions we asked ourselves at that time were very simple: ‘Will we keep the roof on tonight or will it blow off!’.” The family didn’t have a car for the first year and Fred recalls cycling to the village of Ballineen from Rossmore to do the shopping. “All I came home with was a white loaf, a floppy cabbage and a few carrots,” he laughs.

While life wasn’t easy, there was a strong sense of community with many lifelong friendships forged. “We were a part of the community and participated in many ‘meitheals’ – bringing in the hay or cutting the turf with our neighbours, helping to do up each other’s houses, that kind of thing,” says Fred.

A member of the West Cork Organic Growers cooperative, which he helped to get off the ground in the mid-eighties, Fred grew a selection of vegetables on their acre of land, as well as rearing fowl, which were sold through the distribution centre at Bridgemount House in Dunmanway. 

A mix of different nationalities mainly farming in the Ballineen area, the West Cork growers broke new and exciting ground in 1987 when they were granted use of the brand new IOFGA (now known as the Irish Organic Association) soil symbol. “It stood for produce grown without the use of pesticides and fertilisers in high quality soil,” says Fred. “We belonged to the first wave of organic farming in Ireland and our aim was not only to grow high quality food but to show our farming neighbours the advantages of organic methods and to influence the way Irish food is produced.”

After he and his wife separated, Fred moved to Clonakilty for a period, where he lived in a tiny flat, finding work with the local Council and joining the famous street theatre group, Craic na Coillte.

In the early 90s, after his divorce was finalised, he settled in Bantry with his two children. It was while living here that he met his longterm partner of 35 years, gardener Julia Kemp. In 1992, they were both involved in the start-up of the healthfood store Essential Foods – better known today as Organico – with Alan Dare, a project which began on a shoestring budget. Around this time Fred was also instrumental in the setting up of the country market in Bantry.

A few years later, in 1996, Fred chaired a group that set up a system of trade in the Bantry area that worked without money, through which people exchanged goods and services.

The LETS (Local Exchange Trading System) in Bantry had its own currency known as BATS (Bantry Area Trading System). It encouraged people to help each other out, operating successfully for a number of years with transactions recorded by means of cheques written in LETS units.

“We traded in whatever anybody had to offer, knitting, babysitting, walking the dog, you name it” says Fred, who was best known for organising ‘meitheals’ and bringing a chef along.

Then the opportunity arose for Fred – who at this stage was an enthusiastic advocate of organic growing and sustainable agriculture – and Julia to be part of a collective purchase of 30 acres of land edged by the River Lee in Ballingeary. They lived at this site, which they named ‘Slí an Uisce’ (Way of the Water), for over 20 years, during which time Fred – living by the principles of permaculture – earned the moniker ‘the man who lives in the polytunnel’, after creating a home and a garden within the confines of a tunnel measuring 9m x 16m. “I wanted to live among my plants,” he says of this extraordinary lifestyle. “It was a continuous learning experience and experiment and inspired so many people.”

In the summer the tunnel was opened up to allow fresh air to circulate and in the winter it was heated by a large stove. Nothing was wasted, with ‘grey’ water and tea leaves emptied directly around the base of the plants to feed them. Fred shared his home with frogs (who helped keep the slug population down), lizards and a friendly musical robin. At night it transformed into a space lit by candles and the full moon. With the smell of flowers, ripening peaches and grapes filling the air during the summer and fresh beans an arms-length from the cooker, it was as close to Utopia as he could get.

Eager to share their experiences and learnings and to bring the community together around food growing, Fred and Julia launched the ‘Bia Ghleann na Laoi’ group, hosting a number of innovative talks and workshops on sustainable practices at Creedon’s Hotel in Inchigeelagh and raising important points around peak oil and food security to different community groups in the Mhúscraí area

A Harvest Festival initiated by ‘Bia Ghleann na Laoi’ provided the launching pad for a  farmers’ market in Inchigeelagh and a community orchard in Ballingeary. Designed by Julia and kindly sponsored by local plant nursery Future Forests – ensuring that local children would be able to pick fruit for years to come – the orchard was planted in collaboration with the village Tidy Towns.

“We wanted to bring the people who produce food and the people who consume it together and open up new ways of doing things in the community, particularly around food resilience,” shares Fred.

In 2016, on World Water Day, the group organised an initiative entitled ‘Salmon Come Back’, focusing on the health of the River Lee and its impact on local communities. 

With the current oil crisis and the world’s food systems dangerously dependent on fossil fuels, Fred’s hope is that the work done by ‘Bia Ghleann na Laoi’ will continue to make a difference at local level.

Fred eventually retired to Bantry back to the same house he lived in before. It’s on a quiet street overlooking the town with a garden that mostly looks after itself. The house is small but comfortable, easily heated by a large stone stove and filled with books, plants and interesting items collected over the years.

He gets around locally by walking or cycling and, if he needs to travel further afield – for instance to visit his children and grandchildren in Glengarriff who he values spending time with – he plans his route using the bus timetable. “We used to be so isolated in West Cork but we have such a good public transport network nowadays that it’s very easy to get around without a car,” he says.

While the Dialogue sessions in Clonakilty ran their course, he still hosts a regular session in Bantry, at the Bridge Street Community Cafe every fortnight on Wednesday mornings.

After a lifetime of doing, today the soft-spoken Dutchman is happy to mostly just be. From his kitchen he has a view of the hawthorn and the wildlife that visit his untamed patch. Fred spends a lot of time here at his table…writing, thinking, listening.

Against this backdrop I made my way with a friend to the Biennale itself. Everything, it must be said, after Kiefer’s display, was underwhelming. Kiefer towers, not just in scale, but in scope; his subject, the very rise and fall of nations, the melancholic debris of war’s aftermath. Pavilion after pavilion failed to escape the German artist’s shadow. That is, until we found ourselves in front of the Russian Pavilion. It was closed.

The Biennale Foundation, like the majority of cultural institutions in the West, had taken a stand, and banned the Russian Federation from participation in its iconic, international event. It strikes me now, years later, that Russia’s absence from the Biennale that year was a powerful corollary to Kiefer’s presence in the Palazzo Ducale. The two formed a binary: one, an aggressor waging an imperialist war, the other, an artist reflecting on 2000 years of history, encompassing fire, devastation and conflict.

The Biennale was right to exclude Russia; to do otherwise would show it could act without cultural reprisal. It was a powerful statement, and the country’s absence held within it more ‘art’ than its presence, at that point, could ever have done; for the political moment would render any Russian artist, put forward by the state, either mute or complicit or both.

Which is why it is astounding that the Biennale Foundation, has this year, lifted its ban on the Russian Federation, and invited its participation. It is an inexplicable decision, and has been met with condemnation and outrage both within Italy, Ukraine and across the EU. Indeed, the Biennale faces losing €2 million in EU funding over its new position.

The Biennale Foundation president, according to the Guardian, said, that he had invited people “from all areas of conflict to share their points of view. We believe that where there is art, there is dialogue.”

The idea that state-sponsored artists from Russia could express an independent point of view on the conflict in Ukraine is, of course, laughable. The 2025 documentary, ‘Mr Nobody Versus Putin,’ made by Pavel Talankin, a brave Russian school teacher (now in exile), drives this point home. In this film, Talankin, the school’s videographer, documents his school in Karabash (located in the Ural mountains), as it undergoes the transition from a pre-2022 curriculum to a war-time one, in which questions and answers, on all topics, are now read by rote from state-supplied texts. 

We see a lively school become a depressed one, we watch joyful interactions between students and teachers become fearful ones. Students, who had previously hung out with Talankin in his ‘open office’ were now afraid to be seen with him, as his opposition to Putin had become known. The documentary is both moving and chilling. The Biennale Foundation would do well to project it onto the Russian Pavilion, to play it continuously at night on a loop. That would be art by a brave Russian artist, footage smuggled out of an authoritarian country; not propaganda from a state, that is all too ready to whitewash its crimes, to legitimise its imperialist war.

It is no secret that many people in Ireland like traditional Irish music. It’s also no surprise that most tourists do too. For, just like visits to stone circles, tombs, beehive huts and other Megalithic and Neolithic monuments, Irish trad offers a vivid, direct and immersive encounter with the roots of ancient language and culture in Ireland. A blast from the past, so to speak. And a pointer to the future. More and more Irish bands, famous and otherwise, writes Moze Jacobs, are inclined to weave a jig, a reel, a polka or an air through their music in some way or form. And/or sing ‘as Gaeilge’. Ballydehob-based band Rubicon has been described as ”pretty much the longest running trad band in West Cork”.

According to the band’s lead singer Francine Thurnheer “The music is going strong. It doesn’t seem to be stagnant.”

”Major bands such as Kingfisher and Amble or Kneecap make it trendier. Trad groups are now even performing at the big music festivals. And there is a large number of upcoming groups including 17-, 18-, 19-year-olds with brand-new bands. When I was growing up, you were nearly a nerd if you were learning Irish music.”

Originally from Castlehaven, Francine is also the virtuoso tin whistler player of the band. Her fingers deliver the melodies meticulously, clear, fast or slow. A feast of precision. No faltering. Which may have something to do with the fact that she immersed herself in music when she was young and stress-free.

“I was six when I started on the tin whistle. I also learned the accordion, guitar, piano. I just loved music and took to it naturally so my parents didn’t have to force me into it. On the contrary – I always absolutely loved singing and playing. And performing! My first band was with my music teacher and seven of her other students. We used to play a few nights per week over the summer. 

“I had my first gig in a pub when I was 12 and I’m 45 this year, so it’s 33 years of playing in public. I’ve been in various bands before Rubicon, but this is the longest stint. 17 years!”

Although she feels very comfortable on stage in most situations, there is an exception. “I don’t have any problem with huge, anonymous audiences but I get very nervous when I have to play in front of people I know. And during the first year I was with Rubicon I wouldn’t talk into the microphone and address the crowd. I was so scared I’d freeze. But now they can’t shut me up.”

The person who invited her to join the band, and who has since become her husband, is called Haensel Thurnheer. On Rubicon’s website it says he is, “on guitar and backing vocals and makes sure we never get bored!” Like all the other members of the band, he is self-employed and has a day job.

Francine says she “didn’t know him as a musician.

“He’s an engineer, did some business with my dad’s company and was looking for a singer.”

On stage and on video, Francine is clearly the dynamic heart of the band. Whether she sings, plays, or steps off the stage to direct groups of dancers (small – in pubs – or large – at festivals), she’s very good at running the entire show, including the céilí. Microphone in one hand, tin whistle in the other, alternating seamlessly. But it wouldn’t all work so smoothly if it wasn’t for the other musicians. A deceptively simple line-up consisting of brothers Dorian (banjo, mandolin, backing vocals) and Finn Kelly (bass) with Thurnheer himself on guitar. Whereas Rubicon are still looking for a fiddle-player (apply via rubiconireland.com or ring 086 8430006) they have a ‘pool’ of five bodhrán players including Ivan Camiers and 22-year-old Daniel Coughlan, a former Senior Bodhrán Champion of the Munster Fleadh Cheoil. Plus, when they play in Austria or Germany, they are joined by either of two local bodhrán players. 

As will happen on their upcoming tour, which will take them across West Cork, from May 17 (Courtmacsherry) through September 26 (Castletownbere) and on to Germany and Austria in October. The tour ends in Rosie’s Bar (Ballydehob) on January 1, 2027. Thirty gigs in all, so far. Not including functions (weddings, private parties, birthdays) where the band plays in-between. It will literally accommodate to any sort of audience.

“Our smallest gig was for six people: a couple, two friends, a chef and a waiter,” shares Francine. “The biggest was St. Patrick’s Festival in Munich for 80,000 people in March.”

Earlier this century, they played New York for six years in a row on St. Patrick’s Day. Until 2016, when Trump came in.

“They blocked us, sent us back to Dublin and said we are never allowed to return to America. Blacklisted. I went on Joe Duffy to complain and several bands contacted me to say they had similar experiences. When you’re being interrogated they say things like, we don’t need you in our country, we’ve plenty of people who can play Irish music, go home.”

We were entering America on tourist visas. A working visa would have cost us €3,000. That was completely unaffordable,” adds Haensel.

He founded Rubicon’s precursor under a different name in 2006, fifteen years after moving to Ireland from Switzerland where he was playing guitar in an Irish trad band. “I was immediately hooked.” But he’s also partial to rock. “I really like ACDC as well as trad. Our original idea was to play heavy rock albeit with Irish tunes. In the beginning we had an uilleann piper. Quite an aggressive sound but then we began to soften. Now we play not pure trad, but something close to it.”

Finn Kelly’s sturdy bass and the riffs he and Haensel play together, “give the music a real lift and facilitate the dancing.”

Rubicon play some original songs (including one called Ballydehob, by Haensel, “a comical song”) but their real focus is on existing Irish material. “Sometimes I hear a tune that gives me goose bumps,” says Francine. “Then I have to go home, find it, and learn it. Such as ‘Curlew’s Reel’.” The tune, (composed by Josephine Keegan), combined with a reel called ‘Moving Cloud’ (by Neillidh Boyle) is on their brand-new album, ‘20 Years A-Live’, released in March, available on CD during gigs and online. Somehow, the combination of Francine’s high-flying whistle and the solid trad band behind her continues to work like a train. Or, like clockwork.

A natural beauty, exuding calmness, confidence, and a quiet dignity, Fiona Carson grew up on the family farm about four kilometres west of Schull, where she lives today after converting the ruins of an old building where she played as a child into her home. Fiona speaks proudly of her roots. Her maiden name, O’Mahony, has a long and rich history in this part of West Cork. The O’Mahony clan once ruled a significant part of West Cork in the early seventeenth century. Fourteen of their castles were built along the coastline, and many of them still remain today. The closest to Fiona’s home is Leamcon Castle, while one of the oldest is Dunlough Castle, also known as ‘Three Castle Head’.

Fiona works remotely as an accountant for a group of companies based in Killarney. Working this way allows her to stay at home and enjoy life surrounded by nature.

She tries to spend as much of her free time outdoors as possible. She loves long walks along the country roads with her collie, enjoys gardening, and in summer swims from the local pier about a mile from the house. Another of her passions is yoga.

Interestingly, there was once a very different side to her life – together with her husband, she competed in ballroom dancing. At that time, her wardrobe was full of long, flowing dresses embellished with sequins and crystal jewellery. These days, she rarely thinks about fashion, as most of her time is spent at home or around the village. But when an occasion does arise, she still enjoys wearing something beautiful and elegant, although comfort always remains her priority.

For Fiona fashion comes down to personal taste. If a person carries themselves with confidence – head held high and shoulders back – they can look wonderful in any outfit. She also believes that women today are placed under too much pressure, even when it comes to something as personal as hair colour. She has chosen to embrace natural change and calmly watches her hair gradually transform from brunette to a beautiful silver shade.

When I invited Fiona to take part in my photoshoot, she was surprised. But she decided to take the opportunity – to step outside her comfort zone and try something completely new.

Look 1

A beautiful example of modern understated elegance, where comfort and style are perfectly balanced.

The main focus is a soft beige poncho with fringe. Its relaxed silhouette creates beautiful movement and brings a sense of lightness to the outfit. The chocolate roll-neck underneath adds depth and makes the look feel more polished and composed.

Slim turned-up jeans balance the volume of the top, while leopard-print ballet flats bring character and a contemporary edge – exactly the kind of detail that makes an outfit feel alive and interesting.

The accessories are kept simple and considered: statement earrings and wide bracelets support the colour palette and add individuality.

This is the look of a modern woman who chooses comfort while remaining elegant.

Stylist’s tip: If you wear volume on top, always balance it with a slimmer shape below or show the ankle – it visually lengthens the silhouette and keeps the outfit feeling light.

Look 2

Depth of colour and understated femininity with character.

A monochrome look in a rich turquoise-blue shade creates a refined, elegant silhouette. The pleated dress adds softness and movement, while the leather jacket structures the outfit and brings in a sense of modern confidence.

The jewellery becomes the main accent here – a bold necklace and matching earrings deepen the colour story and make the look more expressive, almost artistic.

Simple shoes complete the composition without drawing attention away from it.

This is the look of a woman who combines strength and refinement while staying true to herself and her personal style.

Stylist’s tip: Don’t be afraid to build an outfit around one colour – play with different textures, such as leather, knitwear, and silk, to make it feel layered and stylish.

Look 3

Confident eclecticism.

The paisley-print dress sets the tone: feminine, dynamic, and instantly eye-catching. The soft silhouette and midi length make it versatile, while the belt defines the waist, adding structure and balance.

A contrasting leather jacket brings modernity and a subtle edge to the look – it is exactly this element that grounds the romantic feel of the dress and makes the outfit feel more current.

The accessories work as accents: a small textured bag and jewellery in turquoise tones echo the print, creating harmony in the details. Gold-toned shoes add light and a sense of completion.

This is the look of a woman who is not afraid to combine prints, textures, and character – and does so with ease and natural confidence.

Stylist’s tip: With a strong print, add one grounding piece – such as a leather jacket. It makes the outfit feel modern and stops it from looking too dressy or overloaded.

Stylist and photographer: Galyna Zaitseva.

For me, like many of us, food and wine is an essential element of travel. In my case, wine plays a leading role. Apparently the ancient Romans had a similar outlook, some theorising that their empire extended only to the limits of where wine could be produced. This is not a historical fact, I might need to clarify it with the more qualified historians in this very paper!

Wine provides a perfect route for exploring, though. Our European neighbours have great diversity in their wine styles and regions, a path which leads to discovering more about a country’s food, history, language and culture. 

Travelling by car is the easiest way to explore wine country, as vineyards are usually outside of the main centres. That said, there are always tours into the heart of the wine regions which can be booked for a day trip, or a bike tour, though be careful on that bike after a few samples.

I love to see a hand-painted sign pointing down a farm track. This usually promises a more interesting experience than a swish, glass-fronted building in the centre of town. Here, you’ll meet the winemaker with her husband, sister and grandad, see where the vines grow, smell the fermenting juice in the cellar, and hear the story of the business, often going back generations. Many also offer agri-tourism, or ‘agriturismo’ in Italy – farm stays where you are immersed in the local food and wine, seeing the production all around you, whether vines, olive groves, vegetable gardens or farm animals.

When we’re eating in restaurants on holiday, I always ask for the most local wine, which is generally the best wine to pair with the local food. It also regularly leads us on a journey. Last year, in Bayonne, the wine we were recommended was from Irouleguy, a tiny Basque wine region I had never heard of. I looked up the vineyard and called them, arranging a visit the next day. We travelled up into the foothills of the Pyrenees, to St. Jean Pied de Pont, a town milling with pilgrims starting the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. We tasted their wines surrounded by vines, were given chunks of a sister’s sheep’s cheese, and the spicy local Espellette pepper. We heard of the survival of their own language in the area, the winemaker’s children going to the Basque equivalent of the Gaelscoil in the town. 

In north-east Italy, look out for a ‘Frasca’ sign on the side of the road. This will lead you to a farm which produces wine and serves simple snacks of cheese and salami. You’ll eat and drink outside at a wooden table, and meet the people who are producing your meal. It’s a delicious way to learn about the area, always discovering a new grape variety or method of production. 

In Sardnia, we learned a valuable lesson. We hired bikes to cycle to a famous vineyard a few kilometres outside Alghero. The road was narrow and busy, the vineyard glossy and soulless. When we returned the bikes and told of our experience, the owner told us of a gorgeous small winery he would have recommended, reachable by an off-road cycle track. Now I know – ask the bike shop guy where to go, not Google.  

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the best food is found in the heart of the wine-producing regions. Vallidolid in northern Spain is close to many wine regions, producing a range of styles to please every wine lover. The food in the town is among the best in Spain, whether you graze on tapas or sit down for the works. You’ll drink wines by the glass from the region, and you are always rewarded by asking for a recommendation, rather than playing safe with the name you recognise.

Every region has its own distinct grape varieties, making a style of wine which reflects where it comes from. It is the best wine to drink with the food of the area, as they have grown up together over centuries. Markets are another great way of discovering local wines, as there are often a few local producers showing their wares. They are always keen to talk about the history of their farm, explain the different wine styles they produce, and the ideal food to go with their wine is found close by on the other market stalls.  

Heading off in search of these small vineyards in remote places has led us to discover parts of the country we would otherwise have never found, and met people who gave us an insight into the heart and soul of the region.