Kinsale by the Sea

Allowing ourselves to sleep in until 8:30 was a rare treat. Breakfast was included in this hotel stay; we could fortify our bodies for an endurance test in shopping with some sightseeing added in. In addition to a standard buffet including choices of cereals, pastries, and juices, another option was for a full ‘traditional’ Irish breakfast.

It is a wonder the Irish don’t have a short life expectancy. The full deal is an egg, bacon, and a slice of ham, sausage links, black and white pudding, sautéed mushrooms, and a half a fried tomato. Sounded good to me for a once a vacation meal, but I could not do it every day. Before accepting the black and white pudding, being of a suspicious nature, I questioned the ingredients. From the waitresses description it sounded like they used the results of a pig’s D & C (Dilation and Curettage) for the main ingredients. I love the cryptic names these types of foods are labeled with: black and white pudding, head cheese, chitterlings, Rocky Mountain oysters, haggis, scrapple (Bet this one really makes board game companies angry).

Of course, being with Mr. Map (A.K.A. If I don’t have a map in my hand, I am not a happy camper), a stop at the tourism office is a mandate. At the hotel we picked up a copy of “What to do in Kinsale”. Second on the list of our things to do right after book shopping were the ferret races that is espoused in the booklet. It has been a full lifetime since I have been to a ferret race, so this was a ‘must see’. Wouldn’t you know it? “They discontinued them a year ago and never updated the booklet. They said something about having problems finding suitable jockeys.

I had forgotten how much fun it was to browse whole bookstores where ninety-nine percent of the books were in English and new at the same time. There are no used bookstores in this little town. I had also forgotten how expensive new books were. My trick was to write down the name and author of all books that looked interesting, which were not on any list I previously created. When we return to Dublin, I can check the other bookstores for second hand copies or sales.

At one point along a road through a residential section, Ron wanted to climb a lengthy flight of stairs between two homes, leading to an upper road. He took the high road and l took the low road, but hey, that is Scottish, not Irish. Anyway, the homes I passed has some themes like the Mermaids Haven and the Red Apple Place. Imagine the way the exterior was decorated based on their names and then imagine being their neighbors.
Eventually, Mr. Map and I found each other and went to an exhibition of craftspeople from around the county. Porcelain, glass, fiber, wood, crafts of all materials were used to create glamorous and stunning pieces of art: both functional and non-functional. Across the street, we visited an old church and graveyard dating back to the 14th century. I should look so good.

Two coffee stops were needed to warm up from the damp cold air from the sea when the sunshine was not doing its best at warming, but also for a save the back rest. Lunch was at Cucina (motto “Eat, Drink and Sleepover”), a delicious lunch at bargain prices, highly recommended for the next time you are in Kinsale. Our IrishRail person picked us up at 5 pm to drive us the fifty minutes to Cork to catch the 6:55 pm train back to Dublin.

Ryan’s pub shouted out our names when we returned; it is so very close to the train station, but the ride was close to 3 hours and we were encumbered with carry-on suitcases. Another time Ryan, I will remember your name. Did I happen to mention that President Clinton made a stop here? He drank, but never swallowed.

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Pucker Up!

Getting the skinning on economic downturns and the barrage of signs offering office, apartments, and full buildings for rent, sale, or barter with the bank did not make it all too appealing as a place to stop, but it was not a scheduled event anyway. We were off to see the famous Blarney Castle and the infamous Blarney Stone.

Our guide explained we had 3 hours at the Blarney Castle, quite generous. His suggestion was to see the castle, kiss the Blarney Stone, go to lunch, and then go shopping in that order. We were somewhat obedient.

Ron really wanted to kiss the BS (funny how Blarney Stone shares the same abbreviation as…). I really wanted Ron to kiss the BS for an adjustment to his lack of verbalizing. Off we ventured to the castle in ruins. Over the little foot bridge there was a line of people, so I got in it. Wrong thing to do! It was raining and chilly, my only recourse for stupidity.

As the line moved along, we entered a cave. Hollywood could not have done a better job than nature did. Dark with spiny walls it had such a low ceiling I had to crouch to get into it. Now picture this. I am 6’1”, but strapped to my back I had my backpack with my netbook computer, my wallet and the extra lens for my camera snuggled inside. After 5 feet of crouch walking making me 4’5” tall, we were faced with a cave hole that looked like an inverted spiked dog collar. We needed to pass through it. There was no duck walking any longer, the next option was a crawl.

With the backpack on, I could not crawl well. Being too high, it was scraping along the top of the hole and the tunnel that followed. There was not enough room to maneuver to get it off of my back, but at the same time the floor was moist. I had fears of my lens or computer getting wet. The backpack is very waterproof. I was close to being on my stomach in my new winter raincoat trying to transition into the next chamber. Good heavens, the next chamber was more claustrophobic than the hole and tunnel. My severe claustrophobia spurred me to move faster to the next section. The damn thing was elevated and narrow. This forced more crawling, but having to crawl as well as climb. This is the exact reason I never joined any of the Armed Forces, just too much physical activity. I don't even like pub crawls. They just sound too energetic. Chamber after chamber, I went. Was Ron following me? I did not have enough room to turn my head to find out. Four chambers and enough tunnels to connect NYC with NJ, finally I found two young men standing in an area where an average man could stand upright. In my ecstatic state, I am blindly looking around for the rest of the line to kiss the blessed stone while praying there is a back entrance to this thing.

Not only was there no back entrance, but this was not the way to the Blarney Stone. This was the way to an old torture chamber of the castle and the two oversized leprechauns at the end surely didn't offer any magical solutions. They did say "Ready to party?". Had there not been a whole swarm following me into this geographic closet... The only exit was the reverse of the way in. I surveyed the crowd to see if anyone was willing to kill me then and there, but no takers. Back out I went. These tunnels were not made for two lane passageways.
 

By the time I reached the rain soaked air again, what used to be my legs were just flesh colored gluttonous masses. A good dose of Geritol would hardly have given me the strength not to have to crab walk to a bench to catch my breath. Come to think of it a little Geritol concession stand right there by the castle would not be a bad idea. Had this been a year ago, after seating myself on a bench, I would have lit a cigarette. Now, I just gasped for air like a fish out of water without any props to cover my mouth. After we were able to remove the oxygen masks, Ron asked me what possessed me to venture in there to begin with. Not reading the signs is what possessed me.

Around the side was the entrance to the Blarney Stone. I made sure of it this time. One hundred steps up to get to the BS. Not just any steps, these steps are an adventure a stunt person would enjoy. The staircase is circular and narrow. This means that each step is about ½ the depth of one of my feet is long and that is at the deepest part of the step. With every step you have to concentrate to make sure you really have a foothold on it before lifting your body weight upward. Along the right side is a rope acting as a moveable bannister. The sensation is similar to indoor mountain climbing, I would guess. Never did it for real. Too much exertion involved.

We reached the top. On the left of the stone is a photographer who snaps two pictures of you in unattractive moments that you really will never want to share with anyone, whether you want him to or not. On the right side of the stone is the guy who helps you position yourself for this kiss of a lifetime. First you have to get on your back on this rubber mat. Holding two metal rails on either side, you bend your head backward in unnatural positions hanging into the opening between the castle and the stone. If you lose your grip, the guy could possibly grab your toes if you are lucky. I chose not to kiss the stone for two reasons. 1.) I have too many problems with my back as it is. Why risk these contortions? 2.) I took a good look at the people in line ahead of me. I watched what was passing their lips in line and could imagine where their lips may have been. Did I really want to kiss a rock that they had just kissed? I don’t think so.

On the castle grounds, one day a week they have a farmer’s market. This was the day. One offering was a waffle with ham, broccoli bits, and onions, which we tried and it was delicious.

Our return trip was yet again through Cork, but via a different route, still not charming, but still raining buckets. This could have caused what looked dreary to look dreariest. Onward IrishRail adventurers, our next stop is Cóbh (pronounced Cove).

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More Christmas

We are wrapping up the semester at school. Things are getting hectic trying to prepare for a month’s vacation at the same time. Yet, we took some time away for more Christmas fun. The Applied Arts Museum hosts a special Christmas Fair with juried artists. They charge 400 Huf to get it, but it is usually worth it to look around.

After spending forty-five minutes at the tourist office trying to find out what weekend it was to be held, I came home to find an e-mail from one of my students telling me about it. There was a particular artist I was trying to find and she was going to be at this fair. That is why my student alerted me and asked to join us there.

Imola, my student, met Ron and I at noon. Our friend Dawn was staying with us and she tagged along. Dawn is a contractor for one section of the Soros Foundation. Imola is an enterprising young woman who is working as an agent for a large number of artists, which I happened to mention to Dawn. As it turns out, the different groups that Dawn is working with are looking for illustrators for children’s projects. The two of them hooked up for possible work together. Imola joined Ron and I as we browsed the different artists’ work. One particular artist made clothes out of cork. It was amazingly beautiful. If I ever wore a vest or tie, I would have bought one, but I don't. They were washable too, which was really different. Even the umbrella she had was 10 years old and looked brand new.

After a hour or more Imola and Dawn went back to our place to discuss business. Ron and I went with Mark and Chris, another couple to get some lunch. Chris had heard about another possible fair, so we checked that out too, but it was a bust. All in all, though, a good day.

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