Blarney, Kinsale and onto Duala (near Cashel) 10/21/04

Day 7

One of the many joys of staying at these welcoming bed and breakfast accommodations is the interesting people we meet, usually at our morning meal together. Typically over breakfast, we compare travel notes, recommend or receive an interesting excursion tip or simply share something unique to our upbringing or country. A German family with 2 school age boys was exploring the Irish countryside during the boys’ school holiday. As we chatted one morning I was intrigued with the Dad’s command of both English and German. Though it is common knowledge that Europeans tend to learn English as a second language in primary school, I asked him where he learned English so fluently. He assured me that though he had taken English in school, a 10 year lapse occurred before he began to practice again. Hearing how confident he was as he conversed gave me the hope that my 30 year ‘recess’ from French is stored somewhere in the language-lobe of my brain, ready to burst through at any moment!

The ease with which I can strike up a conversation with a fellow traveler will prove to be an asset as I enter the world of travel writing. I feel so encouraged and alive with each new acquaintance I make. My newest affirmation is I AM a fluent, articulate and observant freelance travel writer, sharing my exuberance and enthusiasm in written and spoken word with all the world! What do you think Oprah, are you ready for me yet?

Our first morning in Blarney was blustery! Thunder and lightening with occasional heavy rain showers greeted us at breakfast. Steve had his heart set on kissing that Blarney Stone so after our morning chit chat with a family from the East Coast, we dressed rain-gear ready and packed up the car yet again. The driveway was lined with fresh sweet flowers and plants that seem to drink in and thrive in such moist surroundings.

Blarney Castle was a short drive away and once inside the grounds, I felt transported to my high school days in residential New York. An abundance of colorful fall leaves, a welcoming meadow rich with dewy green grass and a swift, clear stream surrounded the 15th century castle. We began the long rather arduous ascent up to the actual spot where the infamous stone is positioned. The stairwells were tight and ceilings short and I concluded that the people in the 1600’s were far shorter than we are these days.

Once Steve settled himself next to the stone with the help of the attendant, I snapped his photo while trying to keep the camera (and me) dry! His dream of kissing the Blarney Stone now realized, I waited to see if he would eloquently begin to recite the Declaration of Independence or at least the last 10 Super Bowl winners. So far no change but perhaps the magic takes a day or two to catch on…

Amazingly enough, as we strolled back through the rest of the grounds of the castle and reached our car, the sun poured out and brightened the green countryside even more exquisitely. There is nothing quite as beautiful as Ireland in-between rainstorms! Car-picnic prepared, driving map in hand, sunglasses situated on the nose and we headed south toward the ancient fishing village of Kinsale.

The countryside meandered around the big city of Cork and became a vision of meadows, vast acres of horse property and stunning lush green hillsides. We got a tad lost (we can now admit this happened every day) but recouped our lost time and got back on track without an abundance of frustrated sighing or rolling of the eyes.

As we came into Kinsale it was clear that this would be a pleasure to behold indeed. It is an old quaint seaport with windy narrow roads, an active fishing harbor teaming with sailing vessels, fishing dories and pleasure boats and is a popular summer resort town not unlike my home of Seal Beach with jet skiing, windsurfing and even surfing in some spots. Don’t you find it hard to imagine the water temperature without shivering? We did see a VW van with a surfboard on it as we traveled up the Conair Pass in Dingle so I guess the diehard surfers will go wherever the waves call them.

As we explored the town, a particular street caught our attention. The two lanes were more like one so we actually needed to honk to alert the other drivers coming down this street that we were coming up! Pity the poor neighbors who endure this honking fiesta day after day. Shops painted in those cheerful colors we were becoming accustomed to seeing dotted the village as we meandered into a bookstore and sporting goods store. St. Mary’s church and Desmond Castle were two tourist sites we passed as well as the guidebook-recommended Fishy Fishy Café. This place must swarm with summer loving tourists in July and August.

Motoring up the highway once again, this time going north, it occurred to me that I take the “buffet” approach to tourism. Choose from a large assortment of the offerings and take a bite or two of each without getting that full feeling. Leave the table satisfied yet wanting to come back for more another time. Each historical and cultural point of interest we experienced satisfied us for now with the hopes and dreams of returning for a more in-depth look in the future.

By late afternoon, we glimpsed the magnificent medieval looking Rock of Cashel as our car climbed the hill overlooking a fairly populated town of Cashel itself. Touring this interesting site would have to wait until morning since our day was coming to a close and it was that time again to search for bed and food. This night’s home named Tir Na Nog (Gaelic for Fountain of Youth) nestled in the small superb of Duala, a 10 minute drive from the Rock. Our proprietor Tommy greeted us with one of the thickest Gaelic accents I had heard so far this trip. He looked a bit weary, he did. Imagine having new visitors 7 days a week, with the cooking and cleaning necessary to run this establishment and care for your family as well. I wondered if the innkeepers give themselves a vacation – maybe stay at someone else’s B & B??!

Dinner was at the Kearny Castle Hotel, a rather non-descript place not unlike a Denny’s or Woolworth’s stateside. One unique custom the restaurants practice here is to bring an entire pitcher when you request a glass of water. I loved the endless supply plus it saved the waiter multiple trips to fill our water glasses.

Trips to the food markets reminded us that Ireland has yet another way to preserve their resources and environment. Patrons must pay for bags, plastic or paper! BYOB or you walk home, arms piled high with loaves of bread, blocks of cheese and bottles of milk. Simple perhaps, yet profound effect on their landfills I bet.

Steve set the intention to dream of egg nog (his nickname for our B & B Tir Na Nog) and I drifted off with visions of the fairy tale Robin Hood and Maid Marion. I wonder if I could buy one of those long silky princess head pieces or veil at the Rock of Cashel tomorrow?