You're guaranteed a warm welcome along the awe-inspiring Wild Atlantic Way. This is why you should follow your nose and let Ireland do the rest…

Talk about the luck of the Irish. We're enjoying a lavish dinner at a country house hotel in County Clare, when our fellow guests stream onto the terrace in the middle of dessert. What is wrong? A fire alarm?

No – it's a sunset for the ages. We watch in awed silence as the great orange ball dives into the sea before turning the horizon fifty shades of pink.

But this is standard on the Wild Atlantic Way, which stretches 1,600 miles in western Ireland, zigzagging through the landscape and taking so many detours it's like a shaggy dog ​​in a pub story.

Pubs, many with live music, are an inherent part of this glorious Donegal to Cork route launched by the Irish Tourist Board in 2014. But so do empty beaches, steep mountains, sleepy villages and bustling towns.

It's like a tasting menu for independent travelers. Roaming, not getting from A to B, is the name of the game. You just follow your nose and Ireland will do the rest.

Our focus is on the northern part between Clare and Donegal, with each county more enchanting than the last. We'd also like to explore the sparsely populated islands where The Banshees Of Inisherin was filmed. Could they possibly be as fantastic as in the movie?

Yes is the answer. We take the ferry from Doolin to Inishmore, the furthest of the Aran Islands, where part of the film was shot.

Plasterstone walls cross fields full of flowers. White horses peek out from behind dilapidated houses. Narrow streets wind to rocky beaches. Fishermen unload their catch in the harbour. Everyone knows everyone and no one is too busy to drop by for a chat. Cyril O'Flaherty, our guide for today, was born on the island and, if he has his way, will die there too. Who would blame him?

Max visits Inishmore, the furthest of the Aran Islands, where part of The Banshees Of Inisherin was filmed

Upstairs is Kylemore Abbey, which Max says is one of Connemara's 'glories'

Here, at the tip of Europe, people have found peace and tranquility since time immemorial, from monks of the 6th century to modern writers such as John Millington Synge, high priest of Irish folklore.

Cyril shows us the 'Salmon Well' – a sacred place associated with ancient wonders – and then introduces us to his pony Minnie, who played a cameo role in the Banshees. She poses for selfies like a Hollywood pro.

The next morning we resume our Wild Atlantic Way odyssey, heading north to Connemara. The roads are exhilaratingly quiet and the only danger is that you will be overwhelmed by breathtaking views. Vibrant colors abound; the iridescent green of the Emerald Isle is matched by the purple of the heather and the red of the fuchsias in the hedgerows.

One of Connemara's glorious sites is Kylemore Abbey, a stately pile beside a lake now home to an order of Benedictine nuns.

Max spends a night in Strandhill (pictured), which he says is full of surfers

After a night of shameless excess in Galway – a party town if ever there was one – we head north again to Sligo. It is more densely populated than the Aran Islands, but still has that quintessential Irish blend of scenic beauty and informal charm. Outside the hairdresser, three older sheep cross the road so slowly that they almost cause a traffic jam. But no one would ever question their right to roam.

Sligo is associated with the poet WB Yeats, but even he would have struggled to find words for our next drive – the most exciting yet – around the Coolera Peninsula.

The Atlantic Ocean is at its wildest when it crashes against the rocky coastline and vast bays. Flocks of sandpipers try to fly towards the sea, but are blown back by the wind. Sheep cling to steep slopes.

No wonder this corner of Ireland is so popular with surfers. Strandhill, where we spend the night, is full of people relaxing at the Voya seaweed baths or Mammy Johnston's Ice Cream Parlour.

After a full Irish breakfast, which we would decline, we set sail for mountainous Donegal, the northernmost county of the Irish Republic. Slieve League, the most dramatic hill on the lot, has some of the highest sea cliffs in Europe, rising majestically above the swells of the Atlantic Ocean.

According to Max, pubs, many with live music, are 'intrinsic' to the Wild Atlantic Way route

Up and up we walk, buffeted by the wind but too fascinated by the view to notice, then have a hearty lunch of seafood chowder at the Rusty Mackerel, another crazy inn that abounds in this friendliest of lands .

Our final port of call is the historic town of Ardara, known for traditional tweed making and live music. You won't find a better fool in all of Ireland than at the Corner House – there's a smile on every face as the music belts out. Paddy the fiddler plays a blinder, his elbow going up and down like a piston.

As we head back to Dublin to catch the ferry, still humming those old songs, countless images of the Wild Atlantic Way swirl around in our heads: sun-drenched hills; waves crashing on the rocks; sheep huddled under an old stone bridge; the happiest traffic controller in Connemara, a one-man Chuckle Brother.

Why go to the Mediterranean when such riches lie on your doorstep?