Here are the available cottages for rental in County Galway.

With saints and sinnners

The path to redemption was a long and rocky one and the signs were unmistakable; I wasn't going to make it.

Croagh Patrick's distinctive pyramid-shaped peak near Westport in Western has been a place of pilgrimage for almost 2,000 years. Legend has it that the country's patron saint, St Patrick, fasted on its summit for 40 days and 40 nights. As if that wasn't challenging enough, he also chose this 765m high vantage point to banish all the country's snakes.
Every July, in memory of the saint, the mountain bristles with the ant-like figures of thousands of pilgrims determined to make the three hour ascent to reach an ancient stone church on the summit – the more pious do it barefoot.
As I picked my way over the razor-sharp rocky trail, the mere thought of this gruelling penance was enough to make my toes curl.
But any chance for personal atonement was going to have to wait. The final scramble on all fours was considered too dangerous for us to tackle in the fog now wrapped devilishly around the mountain's conical-shaped head.
Thank God, I thought: my sinning days weren't quite numbered yet.
Mercifully, the weather was clear beneath the 518m high shelf we aimed to reach, offering us uninterrupted, picture postcard views over Clew Bay with its myriad of small islands glittering like emerald stones.
It was among these sweeping aqua-fringed bays and deserted sandy beaches that pirate queen Grace O'Malley plundered passing ships in the 16th century.
The next morning under a dense blanket of clouds, the islands appeared far less alluring as we whizzed around the bay by boat. A lonely seal gazed disconsolately at us from one grey, boulder-strewn scrap of land, sheep dotted the precariously steep slopes of another, whilst the only evidence of human activity lay by the lighthouse where a postman's boat was tied to shore.
Despite their exposure to the elements, Beatles star John Lennon was so enchanted with the islands that he paid £1,700 to buy one in the 1960s. Last summer, another outcrop was snapped up by the Moonies religious cult – an invasion sure to have O'Malley swashbuckling in her grave, I thought.
A ruthless sea-farer, O'Malley ruled the west coast seas down to Inishbofin, one of Ireland's most westerly outposts located off the coast of .
About 6km long and 3km wide, this unspoilt haven has become home to around 130 people and boasts one school, a pub and two hotels. Featuring arched caves, vertigo-inducing cliffs, giant crashing waves and hidden sandy beaches, it was Ireland at it wild best.
And the weather, predictably, lent itself to the drama . No sooner had we arrived by ferry from Cleggan and set off for a hike under bright blue skies than we saw a grey column of rain advancing from the Atlantic. Minutes later, big fat dollops of water were bouncing off my waterproofs. Just as suddenly, the showers retreated and we were blessed with sunshine again.
As we passed a row of cottages, Gerry MacCloskey, our ruddy-faced local guide, pointed out ancient middens or grassy banks encrusted with shells dating back to Neolithic times. Further along the cliff-top trail, we trooped by a golden beach washed by turquoise blue waters, the stone ruins of a 2000-year-old fort overlooking dizzyingly high cliffs and a series of rocky quills called the Stags bombarded by frothing surf.
On neighbouring Inishark, abandoned homes stood like ghostly tombstones over a treacherous watery strip. Here, tragedy had struck 50 years earlier, claiming the lives of four islanders and leading the rest to finally abandon their attempt to live on anisland so often cut off from the mainland.
Apart from one other couple, a lapwing and a couple of rabbits, we didn't see a single soul on our hike: it felt like we had Inishbofen to ourselves.
Just as our stomachs were starting to growl, Gerry led us to a sheltered spot overlooking a sea-sculpted rock arch. Like a magician, he pulled from his rucksack bottles of wine, a platter-sized piece of salmon, fresh sandwiches and strawberries. It was certainly one of the best picnics I'd ever eaten.
After four hours of hiking, we returned to the Day's Inishbofin House Hotel & Spa – a chic, minimalist affair lashed together by enough glass to start a double glazing company. Flooded with light, the bar was perfectly designed to drink in flawless views of the old harbour dotted with fishing boats, a partially sunken ferry and if I craned my neck - the crumbled ruins of a 300 year old fort.
It seemed the appropriate moment to enjoy a pint of Guinness, even though I'd never enjoyed it in England. I took a cautious sip and discovered that the legendary black stout tasted much the same as I thought it did back home – vile. Meanwhile, my fellow drinkers slurped contentedly.
The hotel food however was impeccable. I tucked into crab meat for starters before polishing off grilled sea bass and vegetables and panna cotta for dessert, without so much as a pause. It was divine.
Much as I wanted to linger on Inishbofin, the next morning signalled our return to the mainland where we rolled northwards through a land of russet brown and green mountains, gushing streams and glittering lakes to Westport, nestled under the shadow of Croagh Patrick.
That evening in the Moran, a tiny pub adjoining a grocery store where drinkers sipped their pints in front of a well-laden fridge, I struck up a conversation with four, friendly Irishmen who'd hiked to the summit earlier in the day.
Judging from their raucous laughter and unsteady feet, I could see that it was easy to stray from the righteous path after climbing up a mountain - holy or not. I was sure St Patrick would forgive them.
* B&B prices at Day's Inishbofin House Hotel start from 70 euros per person per night. Tel: 00 353 95 458 09 or see www.inishbofinhouse.com. A five day island hopping trip and walking holiday with Connemara Safari starts from 599 euros for a 5 day island hopping and walking holiday. Prices include all meals, hotels and ferry tickets. Ring 00 353 95 21071 for more info or see www.walkingconnemara.com
* If you like Connemara, read the following travel guides:


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The best of the wild west

From the Mail on Sunday

Where to go for a three-day break? I've chosen Roundstone, a remote fishing village on the west coast of Ireland - surely the last tip of land before the New World.
Before booking I greedily scoured guidebooks to find out more about that part of the Irish coast - yes, it's supposed to be the least populated part of the country; also it has remained Celtic, never having been conquered by Rome.
We flew from Gatwick to Dublin, where we changed planes and in one hour were in Galway. Alternatively, you can hire a car in Dublin and drive the 180-odd miles.
The two-hour car journey to Roundstone was a delight, with breathtakingly rugged scenery on either side. Blue sky was reflected in lakes and rivers twisting past us, through turf bogs and yellow gorse, while shaggy Connemara mountain sheep grazed behind dry stone walls, occasional lambs escaping into our path.
Bend upon bend, the scenery changed, a blue haze over the mountains in the distance, the slopes ablaze with purple and pink heather, with a curl of turf smoke rising from the odd white cottage.
We stopped briefly at Ballynahinch Castle, built in 1720 overlooking a tranquil lake - a reminder of how feudal lords once lived. One was Richard Martin, founder of today's RSPCA - nicknamed 'Humanity Dick'.
Finally, we arrived at Roundstone House Hotel in the heart of a scenic fishing village, with each cottage painted a different colour, overlooking a beautiful bay with deep inlets and the peaks of the Twelve Bens beyond.
The evening sun was setting low over the fishing boats as we strolled down to the small pier, having enjoyed the solemn ritual of the slow pouring of a pint of stout - yes, we'd arrived in the midst of the thriving Celtic tradition to the romantic haunts of W.B. Yeats.
Dinner at the hotel, beautifully cooked by owner Maureen Vaughan and her daughter, was local fish, salmon, lobster, lamb or steak, with her home-baked soda bread. Tired and content, we drifted off to bed, impatient for another day to explore this magic country - trout fishing, hill walking, golf or pony-trekking, or a boat trip to Inishbofin or the Aran Islands. ... more