A survey says Irish people like free things – who doesn't? We challenged Fionola Meredith, Davin O'Dwyer, Edel Morganand Quentin Fottrellto a fun day out, with a zero euro budget
Fionola Meredith went hiking in the Mourne Mountains
ONE WAY to avoid spending money is to go to a place where there aren’t any shops for miles around. That’s how I ended up spending the day hiking in the Mourne Mountains in Co Down, with my friend Sioban, our three children (Cait and Erika, both aged 12, and Jack, aged 10) and Rudi the dalmatian in tow.
Okay, so we had to drive to get there, but parking was free – if you count a tussocky verge in the middle of nowhere as a car park – and we all squeezed into one car, with wellies, rugs, spare pairs of socks and picnic gear crammed in around us.
A day out without forking out money – especially when kids are involved – requires a certain amount of preparation. You need to be in a position where you can’t be hijacked en route by sudden demands for a drink or an ice-cream. So, with this in mind, we spent the previous evening getting the most enormous picnic ready. And, in the interests of frugality, we decided to make almost everything from scratch.
My daughter Cait and I made a potato tortilla, to be wrapped in tinfoil and lugged into the hills, and a large tray of chocolate biscuit cake. The cake ended up with a lot more golden syrup in it than the recipe required but, as we all agreed the next day, you need that extra sugar rush when you’re scaling mountains. We also packed bread rolls, cheese, chicken from the previous day’s roast, a few handfuls of tomatoes and a tub of hard-boiled eggs mashed with mayonnaise and chives. At the last minute, Cait sneaked in a big bag of chilli nachos, which I later removed, but they somehow found their way to the mountains.
“What are we going to do?” chorused the children, gazing at the vast expanse of hillside in front of us, dotted with the odd mountain sheep. “Walk!” answered the mothers firmly. Secretly, though, we did feel a little daunted at the prospect of keeping the kids amused all day.
After hiking high into the hills on a rough granite track along the valley between two peaks, we established a camp by a shallow curve of the river. All three children spent a surprisingly long time paddling, splashing, making up games and building dams in the peaty water.
Sioban and I spread out the picnic lunch on the rug and tried (unsuccessfully) to prevent the dog stealing bits of chicken. Afterwards, with the sun warm on our backs, the bees buzzing in the heather and the children sitting playing their tin whistles (far enough away to be picturesque, rather than painful on the ear) we allowed ourselves a moment of virtuous satisfaction.
With careful planning and a bit of luck with the weather, it had been a grand day out, and we would definitely do it again – though next time, with a plastic-backed rug and at least double the quantity of cake.
Davin O'Dwyer took the capital by storm
THERE ARE two ways to spend a day in Dublin without actually spending any money. You could go on a Ferris Bueller-style splurge, a day-long carnival of chutzpah, blagging your way through the finest luxuries the city has to offer – somehow dining gratis in Guilbaud, or quaffing Cristal in . . . Krystle.
Unfortunately, my brazen self-confidence isn’t quite in the Ferris Bueller league, so it’s option B: pick out the free activities, amenities and events that lie all around our city and come up with a value-packed and interesting itinerary.
The initial plan was to use one of Dublin’s free bikes to whizz out to Imma and soak up some free culture in Kilmainham. But it was tipping it down, so the only soaking would be done by my clothes. Figuring it’s easier to carry an umbrella when walking than cycling, I braved the rain and made my way into the city centre.
The Gallery of Photography in Temple Bar is currently hosting The Giftby Italian photographer Giorgia Fiorio, a stunning series of black and white images of pilgrims and religious rituals from around the world. Getting out of the incessant drizzle and into the gallery's main space is to be transported on a kind of world tour, from Asia to Africa, down to South America, and across the Pacific. Its absorbing, and cheaper than a round-the-world ticket from Trailfinders.
Returning to Dublin, however, revealed the drizzle had turned into a deluge. It occurred to me that Dublin would be a lot more affordable if the weather was consistently better – parks are free, but crossing the threshold of an establishment usually involves parting with some cash. There is no cash required at Exchange Dublin, however. The cultural centre in Temple Bar's more interesting western end is always lively, and I entered to find Janus' Threshold II, an installation by Swedish artist Paulina Sandberg. Foil nettles dangle from the ceiling, and a video is projected through them, eerily dancing across their reflective surfaces. With sheets of water falling outside, this created an oddly calming effect.
On then to the Chester Beatty Library, a pearl that is, quite literally, hidden away in the heart of the city. I always think the maze in front is an apt metaphor for the museum’s location, given how concealed the place is. The main exhibition never fails to enthral, the collection of religious manuscripts and objects from around the world a fitting complement to Fiorio’s images in the Gallery of Photography. A day of cheap cultural engagement has offered a good deal of free spirituality.
Finally, for a bit of entertainment, there are countless musicians playing in pubs across the city, but that would necessitate the purchase of a pint, at least. But now that the rain has eased off, maybe the buskers on Grafton Street would be more deserving of my time, and coins.
Edel Morgan survived a deluge in Swords
WE THOUGHT we had planned our day with military precision. The weather forecast was a non-committal sun with a chance of rain so we packed food, wellies, raincoats, suncream . . . and were ready for every eventuality – just.
By 11am we had the kids strapped into the car and spent the first leg of the journey congratulating ourselves on how organised and efficient we had been. We were going on an all-expense-spared trip to my husband’s native Swords in north Co Dublin to the estuary, then to Swords Castle.
Our smugness dissipated when we got to Swords village and the rain started to pelt against the windscreen, scuppering our plan to park at my husband’s family home and walk to the castle at the other end of the village.
We pulled into a pay and display parking spot on the main street and piled out of the car, only to find we’d forgotten the rain cover for the stroller and had another 30-minute round trip home to collect it. By the time we got back, the castle had closed for lunch, so we went to the estuary to feed the swans.
The estuary was still and atmospheric, with a misty, mizzly grey sky – and there was something distinctly Hitchcockian about the way the swans charged and pecked us in their droves as we threw bread at them before quickly retreating back to the safety of the car.
A Special Protected Area for birds, it was almost like being in the countryside, except for the looming M1 bypass. We drove to a stretch of pebble strand, where we wolfed down cheese and cucumber sandwiches in the car and drank lukewarm Ribena. Note to self: bring a flask of tea next time.
The boys splashed about in their wellies, threw stones in the water and were having such a good time they had to be dragged, under protest, to our next destination – Swords Castle, which has been undergoing restoration since the mid-1990s. The only fortified manorial residence of the Archbishop of Dublin to survive in a reasonable state, it was built around 1200. The rain stopped just about long enough for us to climb to the elevated walkway around the castle ramparts.
There was a waft from the chipper on Swords Main Street and my five-year-old son asked if we could get fish and chips. Tired, wet and hungry, we almost succumbed, but were saved by a heavy downpour that necessitated a panicked run for the car.
The day had its high points, but the heavy grey sky lent a downbeat film noir feel. But it cost nothing – and, if you count the €20 a friend we bumped into gave us as a belated christening present, we were in profit.
Quentin Fottrell picnicked in the Wicklow Mountains
A BRISK BIKE ride fuelled by Oatibix and black coffee brought me to the Unitarian Church on St Stephen's Green for 11am Mass, singing Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee: "Field and forest, vale and mountain, flowery meadow, flashing sea/Singing bird and flowing fountain call us to rejoice in Thee." It was a fitting hymn, as I'd planned a day-long, low-cost beano stretching my legs in the Wicklow Mountains.
I like the idea of God, but that’s as far as it goes. That said, this is as progressive a church as you’ll find anywhere: the service was officiated by a woman, who gave it a friendly and informal air; I like their folk stories and sermons; and I like to think of it as a free concert where everyone gets to sing.
A woman made her way to the altar to tell an African folk tale about a lion and a gazelle; the lion prayed to God to allow her to catch the gazelle so she could feed her cubs, while the gazelle prayed to run faster. She asked a girl in the congregation what God should do. “Let the lion eat the gazelle’s leg?” the girl replied. Smart answer. We all laughed.
I left Trigger, my bike, at the Luas stop on Harcourt Street, from whence I paid €1.90 to Dundrum, where I met my friend and designated driver. We drove to the German Military Cemetery in Glencree. There is a poem by Stan O’Brien engraved in stone: “It was for me to die/Under an Irish sky. . .”. Dr Hermann Görtz, a spy who took his own life after the war, is also buried there.
We had our picnic in Glendalough. My companion brought sandwiches and crisps and I bought a bottle of Coke for her (€1.10) and a Cidona for me (€1.10). She wondered whether St Kevin listened to the rustle of the trees, the birds singing . . . and the gentle hum of burger van engines.
I eat out about five days a week, and that doesn’t include lunches, so having a picnic was the biggest way to save money: I still got to eat out, but at a fraction of the cost.
When my friend volunteered to organise the picnic, with dark chocolate Kit Kats as a treat, that was even better. Curtailing my Sunday costs and getting far away from the city were key parts of my plan. I got the Luas back into town for €1.90, cycled home and marvelled at my €11 bill for the day.
Later, hungry from my gallivanting and fresh air, I ordered in some Nepalese food: Khukura Ko Chuso Masu (€5.50), Chicken Ghorkhali (€12.75) and a bottle of red wine (€20). Not even St Kevin himself could have resisted the last temptation of Monty’s of Kathmandu.
