Where To Buy Cork Chairs

While away the days on Ile de Re

Go France  : The sense of not much to do and all day to do it pervades Ile de Re – and that’s what makes it such a great place to visit, writes ORNA MULCAHY  

IT WASN’T the obvious way to reach Île de Ré – the tiny island on France’s Atlantic coast that’s been been likened to the Hamptons because of the number of posh Parisiens who holiday there. After all, Ryanair flies from Dublin and Cork to the city of La Rochelle daily in summer and from there it’s a quick drive across a bridge onto the island. But in summer the flights are pricey, naturally, and we wanted to take the bikes. The bike is king on Île de Ré – an island that’s just 30km long and 5.5km at its widest, but which has 100km of cycle paths meandering between its 10 villages.

And so the ferry it was, bikes on the back and buckets and spades in the boot. There would be a six-hour drive south from Roscoff, but then we had plenty of time and the boat would be part of the holiday, or at least that’s how we sold it to the children.

The journey started in Cork on the kind of beautifully sunny day that begs the question of why one needs to leave Ireland at all to go on holiday. But Île de Ré beckoned – a colleague had raved about the island and how relaxed she’d felt after just three days cycling through vineyards and eating oysters on the beach. Straight away we booked the hotel she’d stayed at, bagging the last two rooms available.

Arriving early to the Brittany Ferries terminal we were almost first in line and were soon directed into the mouth of the ship by smartly-dressed folk in blue and red jumpsuits.

The deck was squeaky clean which augured well for upstairs and soon we were exploring the perfectly functional cabin. Boarding insanely early had its benefits. We were among the first out on the open deck and, copying the people who looked as if they knew what they were doing, we arranged our plastic chairs to face the sun and felt as if the holiday had truly begun. There was a good hour of this, before the Pont Aven  finally made its way out of Cork harbour.

Cobh looks its best from this vantage point, its ice cream-coloured Victorian houses glowing in the sunshine. It was not till the boat passed the final headland, the last sight of Ireland, that our thoughts turned to dinner.

It seemed as if the whole boat had the same idea and the buffet was packed with the Irish determined to have steak and chips, while the canny French made do with the salad bar and their half bottles of wine. After dinner, a quick trot around the deck and then to bed, a narrow but spotless bunk that only needed a strong reading lamp to be just right.