Monday, June 26, 2023

This morning is luxurious because I have instant coffee in the room, and I can actually drink it and become human before we leave.

Once we do leave, we take the bus towards the center of town and gather with a large group of tourists, largely American, and wait for our tour bus that will take us on our long day trip to the Rock of Cashel, Blarney Castle and Gardens (with the famous stone), and Cork city. There’s some confusion because the place where the busses are actually lined up is not the address given on the website, but we eventually figure out where to go.

The bus is embarrassing. The company is called Paddywagon, and its logo is written in huge block letters all across the sides, along with a leprechaun. Have you seen the movie RV with Robin Williams? If not, I highly recommend it. In that movie, a wealthy, very non-outdoorsy Malibu family takes a road trip in an ugly RV with a large advertisement of the owner’s face on it, and chaos ensues. This bus looks like that RV. I groan internally and get on board.

I’m cautiously optimistic, though, given how amazing Jerry was. Just because you’re on a massive tour bus it doesn’t mean it’s not going to be a great day. But then the driver gets on and starts talking. Alarm bells sing in my head. He’s talking in this weird lilting singsongy voice, almost the way you’d talk to a child, almost reminiscent of Trump, the way he repeats things that don’t have any real meaning or substance. Mom and I look at each other with panic mirrored in our eyes. Is this going to be our entire day? We’re trapped.

We leave Dublin, the tour guide keeps talking, and I thrash about mentally. I didn’t bring a book or crocheting or anything to amuse myself because, again, the tour two days ago was so great and there was no time on that trip to do anything but explore and listen and learn. This is torture. When the driver does finally stop talking, he puts on music. But not calm instrumental music! Music with lyrics! And a woman singing in a style that grates on my ears! Loudly! I want to jump out of this bus.

But focus on the positives. The countryside is beautiful. It’s another gorgeous day. And soon we make it to the Rock of Cashel, where there was formerly a castle that was later turned into a cathedral. It’s a ruin nowadays, but the structure is still pretty intact apart from the roof. We have a little under an hour, which we fill by wandering around the beautiful building, taking in the archways and nooks, the cemetery outside and the impressive walls. In the other direction, there are miles of uninterrupted pasture land, with cows and sheep grazing as far as the eye can see. It’s a little windy, but it’s still sunny, which is a treat.

Another hour and we’re in Cork, then at the Blarney Castle and Gardens. Kissing the Blarney Stone has been on my bucket list for years, but when I first put it on the list I’m not sure if I really understood what it entailed. I had pictured a random rock in a field up on a hill somewhere. Then, right before coming here I did some research and learned that the stone is actually way up high in the Blarney castle, and in order to kiss the Blarney Stone, you have to lie on your back and dangle off the side of the building while one attendant holds you around your waist to make sure you don’t fall and the other takes a photo of you that you can purchase later, along with a certificate. It’s very ridiculous.

Am I also ridiculous? Obviously.

One nice thing about waiting in the queue, though, is that we really got to see the castle and read every sign. Blarney Castle is a tower house, a type of fortification built by Gaelic lords and the Anglo-Irish between the 15th and 17th centuries. Cormac MacCarthy, one of the chieftains of Ireland during the time when different clans ruled, built this castle for his clan nearly six hundred years ago. It was designed specifically to keep people out: there are narrow walkways, tiny, easily defended spiral staircases, and even a “murder hole,” where an unwanted intruder could be spied on from above and subsequently killed through the use of a rock or boiling oil or some other pleasant sort of death mechanism. Neat!

The line winds through various rooms of the castle, up the stairs, through more rooms, and up the tiniest little spiral staircase you can imagine. It would be claustrophobic were it not for the occasional little break of a window or small chamber. Mom isn’t the biggest fan of small spaces and does sometimes have problems with claustrophobia (that’s why she can’t do a middle or window seat on an airplane), but she’s clearly really excited about the Blarney Stone, because the small space doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

We’re in the queue for a little over an hour before it’s finally our turn to kiss the stone. It is, as I have remarked, a very ridiculous thing. When it’s your turn, you lie down on your back and grab two metal bars on either side of the stone. Then one attendant gently holds you around the waist in case you were to fall, and another takes an “official” photo of your kiss. The stone is farther down on the wall than you think, and I had to lean over pretty far to give it a smooch. But smooch I did. Then mom went. She did not trust the waist-holding guy, but she did it anyway. Will we suddenly turn eloquent now? Only time will tell!

We spent the rest of our time at Blarney wandering around the gardens. If I’d known how amazing this place was, I would have figured out a way to get there on our own and not taken a guided tour so we could spend all day there. We first go to the poison garden, which features both toxic and medicinal plants (including marijuana, which had a huge cage around it so you couldn’t pick it, lol), as well as a large variety of carnivorous pitcher plants.

Then we go to the Rock Close, a beautiful, tightly squeezed garden with ancient yew trees, a boardwalk along a waterway, and the Wishing Steps. Legend has it that if you make it all the way down and back up the wishing steps with your eyes closed, while thinking of nothing but your heart’s deepest desire, that wish will come true within a year. Both of us make it. It’s harder than it looks. It’s dark, the sound of water rushing through the cave, and I almost feel as though I’m about to enter another world when I come back out of the tunnel.

It’s the same world, but just as magical. We walk down the boardwalk, which is lined with massive plants labeled as Gunnera manicata—giant rhubarb. They look old, like the kind of thing that would have been around during the time of the giant sloths. We pass a couple of waterfalls, and then walk through the Seven Sisters stone circle. There are seven standing stones and two that have fallen over. The plaque tells the legend associated with these stones: that a king who once ruled these lands had seven daughters and two sons. On the evening of the day that the two sons were killed in battle, the king instructed his men to go to this ancient Druid stone circle and push over two of the stones, symbolizing the fallen sons.

We’re a minute late getting back to the bus, and everyone else is on board when we get there. The driver makes a little comment about how he found us, and I roll my eyes. My attitude about this guy who is just doing his job is admittedly not great, but the on-the-bus portions of this day are terrible compared to the not-on-the-bus ones.

We make one more stop in the city of Cork. Mom and I just have enough time to go to the English Market, a big indoor food market, where I pick up some delicious vegan chickpea curry for dinner. We take a quick spin around the busy High Street, pop in a couple of shops, and get back on the bus. Thankfully, there’s no talking for the ride home, but there is music. But it could be worse. He plays the Cranberries, who I love, and Ed Sheeran, who I usually love for about five minutes. There are a couple of bathroom stops, and then we’re pulling into Dublin and free at last.

We decide to walk back to our apartment rather than taking the bus because there was a lot of sitting today. It’s a really pleasant evening and it’s fun to meander through the streets. We walk through St. Stephen’s Green, a beautiful park full of trees and flowers and ponds that takes up an entire city block.

Right after we get back, I put my stuff down and go right back out for a run. I feel like moving a little faster than walking pace, and the late evening in the summer is my favorite time to run. I immediately feel my mood lighten and the tension in my shoulders dissipate as I start to move down the street. How is running such magic? I feel awash with the world and all that it contains, here in this city and everywhere else. I turn when I feel like it, go straight when it suits me, and wind up at the edge of Trinity College, where there is a concert going on. I stand and listen for a few minutes and then keep going, making a square around St. Stephen’s Green and back to the apartment.

I walk for a bit afterwards, listening to the Cranberries. If I got one thing out of the irritating driver today, it’s a reminder of how much I like this band. Have you ever walked through the Georgian streets of Dublin at 10 PM in the summer, still light out, listening to “Dreams”? I recommend it. It’ll fill you with life.

I stay awake too late again. Mom is having some issues with her credit card, and she’s trying to sort those out. It’s so frustrating to deal with things like that while traveling. We think we’ve figured out a solution, which is really a key part of any adventure. We’ve no plans tomorrow, no official ones, anyway—we need a break from tour guides and busses, so I think we might head out to the fishing village of Howth on our own.