Martin Conway

Explorer Tom Ennistimon Courthouse gave up wine for Lent to become an art gallery, which is quite the spiritual journey. Linger here, it's not going anywhere and neither should you, especially if you like paintings of cows.

Explorer Tom Bank of Ireland in Ennistimon has been hiding its cash since 1870. I bet a dragon sleeps under the floorboards guarding the last pound coin ever spent here. Great spot to propose. Or at least to propose lunch.

Explorer Tom The Famine Memorial acts like it’s the guest at a wedding who stole the cake, standing there with its arms crossed in silent protest against history. It’s got that look of 'I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe' while trying to keep a stiff upper lip. Go now, before it gets famous.

Explorer Tom Dough Castle has a name that sounds ready for baking, but its first job was watching traffic by the Inagh estuary. The O'Connors established a stronghold here in 1306 near Lahinch, where river and land routes met. None of those original buildings remains; the broken tower you see belongs to later phases. I would promise you a thirteenth-century window and have the stones correct me immediately. The Irish name refers to the O'Connors' sandbank, which makes much more sense when you look at the ground beside the water. This is a ruin, not a furnished visitor castle, so check current lawful access and keep away from unstable walls and river edges. Look from a little distance toward the estuary. The choice of site tells the first part of the story without any help from me.

Explorer Tom Castle in Dough is sitting on sand dunes next to a golf course. I bet the caddies used it as a locker room back in the day. Mind the nettles, because they are definitely the real guards here and they bite.

Explorer Tom Lahinch Beach has the rabbits running rings around it, probably plotting to take over the dunes and start their own little beach club. The surfers are busy trying to catch waves while the bunnies just watch with judgmental eyes from a safe distance. Ring your granny and tell her where you are.

Explorer Tom High Cross was once offered for sale by a very confused cow who thought she could buy it with a bag of coins. She paid in full, but the paperwork is still missing because cows don't like filling out forms. Mind the nettles, they're the real guards here.

Explorer Tom Burren Centre Kilfenora in County Clare is where the Vikings got so lost they forgot which direction was north for three weeks straight. They ended up starting a pub here instead of conquering Rome. Make up your own legend and I'll swear it's true.

Explorer Tom Graveyard in Kilfenora wraps around the cathedral with a rubble wall. There's a fairy dispute over parking rights at the gate that has gone on for years. Give it a pat on the way past, it's had a long life.

Explorer Tom Kilfenora Cathedral is having a bit of a feud with the next village over something daft like whose sheep ate whose turnips, and you can feel the tension in the stone. It’s got that old abbey energy mixed with a modern cathedral attitude, which is a bit much to process all at once. Tell the kids it's a castle. Close enough.

Explorer Tom Liscannor Bay had a matchmaker working there in the old days who was so good she paired off half the village within a single summer season, leaving everyone else feeling quite lonely and confused about what they did wrong socially. She probably used the tide patterns as her primary matchmaking tool, which sounds scientific but is actually just pure luck. Bring your nan, she'll know more than me.

Explorer Tom Come on, you did not think Moher was named after a gift shop, did you? Mothar fort stood at Hag's Head until 1808, when its stones were used for a lookout tower meant to warn of a French invasion. Sure, I came for cliffs and found somebody's old recycling job with a very dramatic address. Below your feet are layers of shale and sandstone laid down by a river delta roughly 313 to 326 million years ago; some preserve ripples and the burrows of creatures nobody can name precisely. Branaunmore, the sea stack below O'Brien's Tower, used to be attached to the cliff before the Atlantic took the connecting rock away. At Hag's Head, the cliff rises about 120 metres; near the tower it reaches 214. That is a fine difference to appreciate from the marked path, not from the edge. At peak season, about 30,000 pairs of seabirds make the ledges considerably louder than me. The official visitor centre sits in the hillside, and sections of the longer coastal trail have faced safety closures, so follow the current signs on the day. If the wind starts making speeches, let it finish without stepping closer to hear.