Coney Island

The following article was published in Roadster.

Van the Man leads us on a wild goosechase around the haunts of his native Northern Ireland.

Our journey begins deep in Protestant east Belfast. One of Northern Ireland's most famous exports was born here and this is the start of a kind of pilgrimage, a chance to celebrate two of my abiding passions: the music of Van Morrison and the unspoilt beauty of the Northern Irish countryside. We're going to re-live Van's drive to 'Coney Island' from his classic Avalon Sunset album.

We stop outside 125 Hyndford Street, where a plaque on the wall confirms this modest house was once Morrison's home. I steer the MGF slowly through the narrow streets round the corner to the much grander Cyprus Avenue, the title of another familiar Van number. A few Loyalist flags flutter in the breeze, but this will be the only evidence we see of the Troubles. The truth, largely obscured over the last 30 years, is that, to the visitor, Northern Ireland is one of the most friendly and hospitable places in the world and following the steps of Van the Man through winding country roads is as good as it gets.

"Over the hill, and the craic is good heading towards Coney Island"

Just a few minutes later and we're heading out on the A20 towards our first stop, Scrabo Tower and Country Park near Newtownards, a 20-minute drive. As I slip Avalon Sunset into the CD player, a look of acute concern crosses the face of Geoff the photographer. Clearly not everyone shares my passion for Van Morrison, even here in his homeland.

Erected as a monument to the third Marquis of Londonderry in recognition for his help for his tenants during the famine, Scrabo Tower is an ideal viewpoint for the route we'll be taking. On a clear day it's claimed you can see Scotland, and even through today's gloom, we can see for miles, past the endless blue inlets of the meandering Strangford Lough to the spectacular Mountains of Mourne in the distance.

Near Scrabo Country are the remains of a Stone Age fort. Indeed most of our journey in north Down has a series of reminders along the way. Van's beloved Celts who left a fairy ring or two; Saint Patrick, who began his crusade for Irish Christianity around here in the 5th century; the Viking hordes who invaded in the 9th century -- 'destroyed by Vikings' becomes a recurring phrase on our journey -- and the Normans, many of whose castles and towers still remain, probably because they had the sense to wait until the Vikings had left. We'd planned to head on down the A21 to our next stop, the castle town of Killyleagh, one of various stopping off points in the song. But we've already discovered that Van must have had one Guinness too many when he charted the route for 'Coney Island'. Follow the song faithfully and you'll be zinging around County Down like a pinball machine. So, we decide to use it as a rough guide, making a detour down the Ulster Way, a smaller more scenic road, clinging to the side of Strangford Lough, finding the atmospheric remains of a 10th century monastery (destroyed by the Vikings, oddly enough) at Nendrum on the way.

"And on to Killyleagh"

Killyleagh is the oldest inhabited castle in Ireland. Its grounds were home to a Van Morrison concert not that long ago, he also stopped at this picturesque harbour town on the way to Coney Island, which is good enough for us. You can book an apartment in the castle if you're feeling grand, or stay at the delightful Dufferin Arms, where the locally-caught seafood is as good as the Guinness. The clientele have excellent taste too. 'That's the third MG today', observes the barman, 'we must be breeding them.' Prince Andrew is the Baron of Killyleagh and a faded press cutting on the pub wall investigates the possibility that he and Fergie ('these were happier times' the barman points out) would set up home in the castle. 'I think she fancied me' the pub owner is quoted as saying, 'redheads are always welcome here.'

"Drove through Shrigley taking pictures"

About a mile further on is Shrigley. 'Why in God's name are you going there?' a local asks in Killyleagh. 'Because Van did', I reply. 'Ah well' she replies, rolling her eyes. Must be local rivalry, I assume. Maybe not. When we arrive, we find that Van was either taking pictures of the housing estate or the plastics factory. Not scenic, and Geoff certainly doesn't share Van's enthusiasm. I think his dislike of Mr Morrison may be hardening.

"Coming Down from Downpatrick"

A brief stop in Downpatrick, a pleasant country town whose 19th century cathedral is home to St Patrick's remains, a large rock marking the resting place of Ireland's patron saint.

"Stopped off at Strangford Lough early in the morning"

Strangford Lough is one of the most important marine sites in the world, and also offers yachting, fishing scuba diving, seal-watching (from Cloughy Rocks) or bird-watching. Due to the unforeseen event of rain in Ireland, we decide to end our sightseeing for the day and drive straight to the little town of Strangford. We're staying in Portaferry, a gorgeous overgrown village on the edge of the Ards Peninsula, a short hop away on the car ferry. It may not be mentioned in the lyrics but it boasts of two of Northern Ireland's best hotels, both serving excellent food, and a choice of fine pubs. Didn't Van mention the craic after all?

We check into the Portaferry hotel, an elegant 19th century building with understated charm and beautifully furnished rooms that overlook the Lough. Although renowned for its food -- Dundrum Bay Oysters, Mourne lamb, pan-fried Strangford Scallops -- we've decided in fairness to stay at one hotel and eat at the other, the Narrows, a few doors away.

First we check out the Fiddler's Green, a well-known music venue, just up the hill, past the village square. As in many Irish pubs, we're deep in conversation before the Guinness is poured. The subject matter is 'Coney Island' and the cause of Van's eccentric navigation. 'He never went there', says Tommy, by way of explanation. 'Not at all', says John, 'it was in his head.' Disillusionment sets in. And we're even more disappointed to hear that there's no music planned for tonight. But, seeing our dismay, landlord Frank promises to make a few calls.

Back down to the Narrows. Brothers Will and James Brown converted their father's old house a few years back and created a stylish but welcoming hotel and a restaurant that's now rated amongst Ireland's best. Northern Irish food is undergoing something of a renaissance and chef Danny Millar has taken an unpretentious but imaginative approach to the local produce -- Portaferry mussels with garlic and smoked bacon, roast hake with mushroom risotto, served with organic vegetables from their own garden.

The sound of music hits us as we wind back to the Fiddler's Green. Pushing open the door there's Frank, as good as his word, sitting in the corner belting out a series of Irish classics, backed by a gifted band. The craic, as the song says, is not merely good, it's ninety. I finally find a true Van fan at the bar, who rubbishes the suggestion that the great man invented his trip. The route should not be taken too literally, Brendan explains, as it's more a spiritual tribute to the beauty of the Down countryside. 'The best thing to come out of Ireland', says Brendan of 'Van the Man'. 'And isn't it great,' he indicates our respective paunches fraternally, 'to see a fat fella get on.'

Thankfully, the rain has cleared by morning and the sun is sparkling on the water as we take the car ferry to Strangford, and drive to Castle Ward, a National Trust estate that runs down to the Lough. We spend a serene hour by a quiet inlet (reserved for twitchers from around the world), watching herons and cormorants dive for fish.

We're still going back on ourselves as the MGF sprints a few more miles around the Lough, heading up the hills towards Saul, the birthplace of Irish Christianity, which has marvellous panoramic views. It seems St Patrick was blown off course (either that or Van was navigating) and ended up in Strangford Lough by accident. A new church now stands on the site where St Patrick built Ireland's first Christian church (later surprisingly destroyed by Vikings).

"On and on, over the hill to Ardglass in the jamjar, autumn sunshine, magnificent."

Jamjar? An MGF? But the sun is truly magnificent, and the hood is down and so is the throttle as we take the A2 coastal road from Strangford to Ardglass, racing between the stone-walled country fields and crashing waves. In the country the MGF is king, effortlessly negotiating the winding roads at speed as well as turning heads.

"Stop off at Ardglass for a couple of jars of mussels and some potted herrings"

Potted herring in Ardglass can only mean one place: Cochrane's supermarket on the quay. At the fish country Barbara gives me good news. Yes, Van did stop here for mussels and potted herring. Though she didn't serve him herself. And he didn't lie about the potted herring, it's delicious. Van, I never doubted you.

"On and on, over the hill and the craic is good heading towards Coney Island"

By now we're not a bit surprised to discover that Coney island isn't an island after all, rather a row of cottages before a short stretch of beach in a quiet inlet. It doesn't matter. Crowded in summer, at this time of year the lovely beach is the sole preserve of mad surfing dogs.

"Stopping off at St John's Point out all day birdwatching"

From St John's Point, a few minutes drive away, we can see our final destination, the looming mountains of Mourne. Tonight we'll stay in Barney's beautifully renovated Victorian cottages, just outside Dundrum, and drive through the next morning, the MGF soaring through the highest mountains in Northern Ireland on the road to Hilltown. But not even that can beat St John's Point where we are now: the song's geographical full stop. Before us there's a lighthouse, waves crash onto the rocks, the sun ignites the bay and Van's words ring in my head; 'All the time going to Coney Island I'm thinking, wouldn't it be great if it were like this all the time.'

* Lyrics from 'Coney Island' (Morrison) reprinted by kind permission of Exile Publishing LTD/ Universal Music Publishing LTD