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Published: January 22nd 2014
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In March my wonderful, beautiful, indescribably magnificent friend Michael came to visit me from the States. We met in Dublin at Doyle's, the pub beneath his hostel. I had adjusted quite well to my new life, but seeing a familiar face from home was a precious experience. We screamed like a pair of little girls, and don't let him tell you otherwise. Even though it was late, we decided to explore a bit before calling it a night. We walked along the Liffey, admiring the blue lights in the trees and the lights of the Samuel Beckett Bridge. My personal favorite was Ha'Penny Bridge, but I couldn't deny that the Samuel Beckett was striking. We strolled through the Temple Bar area, an amazingly vibrant part of Dublin that is mostly pubs and kebab shops. I reveled in the company of an old friend and the beautiful lights of a new city, and I was overjoyed.
Pat Rothfuss really put it best in
The Wise Man's Fear when he compared living quarters to shoes. You don't want the biggest pair, or the most ornate. You want the one that fits, and Dublin fit me like a broken-in pair of TOMS. There
are a few famous cities that I could never live in like New York, London, and Rome, but Dublin felt like home from the moment I arrived. It was comfortable and bright, like the sparkler of Western European cities. It might be overlooked in favor of the showy fireworks, but only an idiot denies that it's loads of fun.
We were up bright and early the next morning so we could catch a train down to Cork. I'd like to apologize to anyone who has ever had to share a hostel room with me, and a second time to anyone who has ever traveled with me: I'm that annoying person who quietly sneaks in at 2:00 in the morning and rolls out of bed at 7:00, ready for another day. I had been dreaming about Ireland for years, and to see her perfect emerald hills and gorgeous little villages for the first time was absolutely magical. My only regret during this trip was that we couldn't spend more time in Cork, which is a wonderful city to the south. Almost the minute that we arrived we caught a bus out to Blarney, a tiiiiiiny town whose claim to fame
is the renowned Blarney Stone and castle. We ate a delicious traditional Irish lunch at a local pub and walked down the road until we came to the castle grounds.
The grounds around Blarney Castle are massive, and we only visited a very small part of them. If the maps are to be believed, you could easily take several days to explore all of the trails and parks. For time's sake, Michael and I were only concerned with the castle itself and Rock Close. The walk up to the castle was lovely, like being a Disney princess in the woods. As he is dark-haired and of Lebanese descent, Michael would insist that he's Jasmine because she's the closest to his heritage. If I had to pick a princess for myself, I would pick Merida or Anna.
Back to Blarney. The castle is this great rectangular edifice built into the side of a small hill. You can actually reach part of the dungeons without going in to the castle. There is a separate guard tower that I was particularly fond of, and the crumbling grey stones covered in bright green lichen made it a perfect setting for such a
beautiful day. The amazing thing about Blarney Castle is that on your way up to the Stone you get the chance to explore the castle and learn about the different rooms. I remember most of the "bedrooms" being about the size of an overlarge bathroom, and I can hardly imagine fitting any sort of furniture in there. Besides, how did they get it up the spiral staircase? By the top, that thing is so tight that you are very nearly kissing your own butt. Speaking of butts, we found an unlabeled room that Michael suspects might have been Ye Olde Toilet, and I'm inclined to agree.
And speaking of kissing, we eventually made our way to the very top level of the castle. There's a great view of the grounds, and a very friendly man who holds on to you as you lay down and lean out over open air to reach the stone. If you're afraid of heights, don't let that stop you from kissing the Blarney Stone. Just don't look down. I promise, he has a very good grip on you. Besides, it's over so quickly that you won't have time to properly contemplate the drop. I've
heard all sorts of fun rumors that the locals come out and pee on it, but don't let that stop you either. Urine is sterile, you'll be fine. The promise of eloquence is well worth it.
During our continued tour of the castle, my faith in humanity was briefly restored when a stranger on the other side of a wall asked if I'd like him to take my picture. I said yes very enthusiastically, and it was only after he returned my camera through the tiny slit and said goodbye that I realized how monumentally stupid my actions had been. So thank you, random stranger, both for taking a great picture of me and not running off with my only camera.
If you only have a little time on the grounds around Blarney Castle, I highly recommend visiting Rock Close. It's a huge, gorgeously wooded area full of quaint little rock formations like the Witch's Stone, the Druid's Cave, and the Wishing Steps. According to legend, there is witch who lives in her stone during the day and only comes out at night to roam the grounds, and in return for firewood she has to grant wishes to anyone who can properly use the Wishing Steps. You do this by walking up and down the rock steps backwards with your eyes closed while thinking of a wish. In the interest of superstition I can't reveal my wish, but I can say that it came true within days.
Michael and I gladly took our shoes off at one point and walked around with the cool Irish soil beneath our toes. I can't recommend this enough: when you're out in nature and the weather permits, go barefoot once in a while.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Discovered your blog
I've enjoyed reading your blog and will go back and take a look at some of the others. Sound like Ireland is a good place for you. The comfort level is high and you've found some magic.