Originally published 1 September 1997
DINGLE PENINSULA, Ireland — Stand at the mountain pass between Dunquin and Ventry on the Dingle Peninsula in the west of Ireland and you can see essentially what young Maurice O’Sullivan saw more than 80 years ago, and described in the Irish folk classic Twenty Years A‑Growing:
“We had a brilliant view before our eyes, southwards over the parish of Ventry…green fields covered in flowers on either side of us, a lonely house here and there away at the foot of the mountain, Ventry harbour to the southeast, lying still, three or four sailing-boats at anchor, and a curragh or two creeping like beetles across the water, the mountains beyond nodding their heads one above the other.”
It is extraordinary that this view — including the curraghs, traditional fishing boats — has survived pretty much intact, so close to major European population centers. Now, however, planning permission has been granted for a holiday complex of 58 two-story houses, restaurant, bar, leisure center, tennis courts, and parking areas, to be located squarely at the center of O’Sullivan’s vista.
The project is contested by local residents. An appeal is before An Bord Pleanála, the national planning appeal board. A decision is expected in the coming weeks.
What is happening in Ventry is happening throughout the west of Ireland. After years of stagnation, the Irish economy is now the fastest growing in Europe. Young, professional families from Dublin, Cork, Galway, and Limerick suddenly have excess cash in their hands. A holiday house in the beautiful, unspoiled west is just the ticket. Developers are rushing to meet the demand, encouraged by tax breaks.
The Beara, Iveragh, and Dingle peninsulas of the southwest, Clare, Connemara, Mayo, Sligo, Donegal, and the Aran Islands are in danger of becoming the packed-out Cape Cods of Ireland.
As someone who built one of the first holiday houses in Ventry, 18 years ago, I am aware that any protest on my part can be construed as “last one in bolts the door” syndrome. Why shouldn’t an Irish person from Dublin have as much right as me to the natural beauty and cultural uniqueness of the Irish west?
The answer is: He does. Perhaps more right. But his right and my right must be balanced against the rights of the landscape itself.
A landscape is more than a view. It is earth, sea and sky, plants and animals, wind and rain, rocks and stars. It is human habitation and history. It is a tissue of stories, hopes, loves, dreams. A landscape is a living thing. It evolves. Certainly the landscape of the Irish west has changed, and will continue to change; to be static is to die, to become a museum of the past, a fossil. What is important is that change occurs so as to maintain the many-stranded integrity of the landscape.
Sensitive development is respectful of history, mindful of the non-human denizens of land, sea and air, and protective of those things which give a landscape its unique character. Western Ireland’s uniqueness is defined by exceptional natural beauty, traditional culture and rich historical echoes.
So far, Ventry has been fortunate. Many changes have enhanced the fabric of the landscape. Derelict buildings have been sensitively restored. Roadside walls have been rebuilt in traditional fashion. Several holiday housing complexes are appropriately sited and modest in scale. New dispersed housing, both permanent and holiday, has been generally compatible with the landscape. Although the number of structures has more than doubled, the view from my window, which looks out across the entire village, has much of the feel of 18 years ago.
This good fortune is due mainly to restraint and sensitivity on the part of the native population, who are aware of the value and fragility of their heritage. Their concerns are shared by “blow-ins,” permanent residents who have come into the area from outside. The blow-ins are generally young, well-educated, non-materialistic, and respectful of the local landscape and indigenous culture; they have restored old houses, added arts and crafts, support the Irish language and traditional music, and for the most part mix warmly with natives.
The proposed holiday complex, to be built on open land behind the dunes of Ventry Strand, will change the village dynamic. The complex will cater for a population greater than the present population of the village. It will essentially double the number of houses. The year-round arts-and-crafts population will inevitably stop coming and drift away, to be replaced by weekend and summer holiday-makers who will pop in and out of their self-contained enclave and invest little in the preservation and celebration of local culture.
Anyone who would come to the west of Ireland and choose to live in what amounts to a transplanted urban suburb is not likely to be sensitive to subtleties of landscape.
This new threat to the integrity of Ventry’s landscape is shared by communities up and down the west coast of Ireland, and in similar landscapes worldwide. People are flocking to places of unspoiled natural beauty and rich traditional culture to escape the excesses of consumerist civilization, and in the process destroy the very thing they came to seek.
Clare County Council recently refused planning permission for a large holiday complex at Kilkee designed by the same architects who designed the Ventry project. Another developer has asked planning permission for a 240-holiday house complex in County Sligo. And so it goes. What is at issue is a classic conflict between the rights of private property and the common good. One wishes the Irish people well in finding a balance that will preserve the best of their national heritage.
The proposed holiday development was never built, and the view of Ventry harbour remains essentially the same today. ‑Ed.
