Saturday, June 30, 2012 - Blarney Castle and Rock of Cashel

Day 4 – June 30, 2012

I went to a pub in downtown Killarney last night with Tim, Carol, our guide Emilia, and a couple of students. I treated one student to an orange soda and ordered myself a Guinness. The student turned to me and said, “I never thought I would see a teacher drink.” “What happens at the pub stays at the pub,” I replied. This pub had a small band that was playing pop songs. They were good, but we wanted to listen to some traditional Irish music. So, we went to another pub.   

The next pub had a four piece band that included a guitar, an accordion, a flute, and a banjo. They mainly played instrumentals, but the guitarist did sing a solo, Rocky Mountain High, by John Denver. Matter of fact I heard that song played by different bands in each pub I went to. Go figure. I really enjoyed listening to the music. It was just as intoxicating as the Guinness. Before I knew it I was tapping my foot and clapping my hands. I was sitting right next to the banjo player so I could easily observe the looks that the musicians gave to each other. Their demeanor definitely changed when a tourist started recording them with a cell phone. The musicians never said anything, but they did appear to stiffen and exchange looks of frustration. By the way, the tourists were German. I imagine the pub was full of tourists because the audience was quite tame.

The main highlight of the day was Blarney Castle. We loaded the coach at 7:00 a.m. with all of our possessions (we would drive on to Dublin tonight). Emilia gave us a history lesson on the way while Danny, our coach driver, played Irish-ish music. The music consisted of hit songs with an Irish spin. I never thought I would hear Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody with an Irish flair. The flute took the place of Freddy Mercury’s vocals. It was a little weird.

Emilia gave use four hours to explore the castle and its grounds. It sounds like a lot, but I could have used the entire day. Our first mission was to climb to the top of the castle and kiss the Blarney stone. The castle was a beautiful, yet imposing structure. I was a little intimidated by its height, but I knew I had to persevere. I didn’t want my chaperone group to see me wimp-out, and I also wanted to receive “the gift of gab.”

The climb to the battlements at the top was arduous to say the least. My first hint of the strenuousness of the climb was the tourist coming down the up staircase because they could not handle it. The spiral staircase was tight with narrow steps that were well worn from centuries of foot traffic. The only thing to hold on to was a rope railing. The higher the staircase: the narrower the passage. Eventually I did make it to the top and I even managed to lay on my back, grip the iron rails in order to lower myself headfirst and kiss the Blarney Stone (or somewhere near it). Emilia later told us that it is said people climb to the top at night to piss of the stone. Lovely!

After the daunting climb up Blarney Castle, I was ready for a benign activity, such as strolling through the impeccable gardens. The first garden was not so benign since it was a poison garden. I never did understand the point of the poisonous plants, but the boys were intrigued. My real desire was to meander along the trail to Rock Close. I was grateful that my charges agreed. The trail to Rock Close was enchanting. We came upon ancient trees with channeled trunks, lush beds of ferns, trickling petite waterfalls, babbling brooks, and exquisite flora. There were three highlighted sights along the trail. First was the Dolmen rock. An enormous boulder rolled down the hill eons ago and rested upon another rock forming a portal. The second wonder was the Wishing Steps. Legend has it that a witch took firewood from the Blarney Castle. In return for the firewood the witch agreed to grant visitor’s wishes. So you must climb the wishing steps and then go back down, with your eyes closed all the while thinking only of your wish. My greatest wish was not to break my neck going up and down those slippery stone steps so I warily kept my eyes open. The next spectacle was the witch’s kitchen. You could see the profile of the witch forever immortalized in stone.

Blarney Castle

Blarney Castle grounds

Claire, Anaid, and Cristen

The journey begins

The spiral staircase narrows

A view of the poison garden from the top of the castle

Claire kisses the Blarney Stone!

Safe on the ground again

The Poison Garden

The Trail to Rock Close

The witch's kitchen

A profile of the witch

Not the witch, usually

The Wishing Steps

The Dolmen Rock

After our enchanted stroll to Rock Close my group was itching to spend some Euros. So, we went to the extensive Blarney Woolen Mills to hunt for touristy treasures. Later, we ate lunch in the adjacent café. I must say, the Irish really know how to feed tourists. They set up their eateries so there are amble choices of "delectables" that are easily prepared for consumption. I consumed an amazing turkey and brie sandwich ensconced in sourdough bread with an amazing tomato relish. YUM! I also managed to have the foresight to purchase a couple iced sconces to eat with my tea the next morning.

 

 Artifacts at The Rock of Cashel

 The original St. Patrick's cross

 The Rock of Cashel vistas

Sounds like a full day, but no. We were not done by a long shot. We boarded our coach for the hour and a half trek to Rock of Cashel. I was also very excited about seeing this epic example of Irish culture. However, considering the late hour, I was also aware that I would only get a taste of what Cashel has to offer. I was right. I was able to go to the rock, tour the old buildings, and see some ancient artifacts such as the original St. Patrick’s cross. St. Patrick was said to have baptized one of Ireland’s high kings back in the 5^th century at Rock of Cashel. I got some amazing photos and was able to still hold onto my tablet. The wind on top of the rock seemed to be hurricane strength. I thought for sure I was going to be snatched bald and my tablet would be carried to the ends of the earth.

Bizarrely enough, we ended the day eating Chicken Ala King at a restaurant called Taylor’s Three Rock. The food was good, but I couldn’t help but feel a little strange eating Chicken Ala King in Dublin Ireland. Not a potato in sight.