By Nina Cait Gilbert, Designer

As a child I grew up in Inchydoney with an uninterrupted view of the Atlantic. Innocently I thought we owned the beach. Visitors came and went but when the day trippers finally departed the “island,” it was bliss, our own private sandy undulating playground, we had no idea how fortunate we were, absolute freedom. 

One of the best holidays I’ve had was 18 minutes from home in Clonakilty. We rented a house on the main street in Courtmacsherry, just a road between us and the sea. I remember I was offered a very “exotic” sounding drink by my mother’s friend, she called it MiWadi, well I’ve never been so let down by a name since. It was simpler times in a welcoming, pretty village. One night we got a knock at the door, a fella called after recognising my brother from school, what did we expect staying almost in our own parish. 

As I travelled further afield to college in Limerick, to Cork city for work I’ve always felt  the lure of the coast, the instant soothing effect of the ocean. I was eager to bring new found friends to visit and show the place off. I was so proud to say this was my home. 

One particular weekend I brought my friends from Limerick School of Art to the Virgin’s Mary Bank in Inchydoney. We sat on the rocks eating croissants and reading The Sunday Times magazines - the rapture of a pre-social media times.

Of course Clonakilty is my top area of West Cork. I feel like I’ve always lived in a tourist attraction, I have no idea what it’s like to grow up somewhere less attractive. Clonakilty has a good thing going and it knows it. We sold raffle tickets at school to fund the current Model Railway Village, a mini model of West Cork. I stood at the opening in the rain watching Mary Robinson officially declare it open (Let’s not mention the fact we only have toy trains now and no rail system). We are fiercely proud of our town, it has a wonderful soul, festivals to beat the band, colour and character our currency. We moved back here from London in 2015 to raise our children and they are only spoiled for beaches and community connection which will only be recognised when they eventually leave this safe haven.

Where else would I want to be? Coming off the causeway at White’s Marsh, rounding the corner at Twohig’s Hill, telling my children they were our ancestors. Driving out of Ardfield into the idyllic expanse on the edge of Ireland. The Galley Head Lighthouse appears on cue, Red Strand, Long Strand, strands for miles. Crossing the causeway at Rosscarbery, bouncing your way west on a winding road and driving with trepidation into what seems like someone's front room with a panoramic view in Glandore. Union Hall looking smug from across the water as the quieter, less developed, charming neighbour. It doesn’t stop there. Keep going to Squince Beach, Rabbit Island. Even at night the water is magical with the bioluminescence if you venture out on a night kayaking trip or fancy seeing a whale, no problem. It’s all happening in West Cork.