On the weekends, many Irish students go home, mostly to work but also to have their laundry done by "mammy" and eat a home cooked meal. My roommates are among them. Although some weekends I'll be alone in the house, I don't feel guilty about traveling since they won't be home.
This past weekend I traveled with 5 girls from my program to Cork, Irleand. Cork is a large county in Ireland, which holds Cork City in its center. It is the second largest city behind Dublin and very much a "city" compared to Galway. The city is separated by a river and it's most scenic view is on it's bridges. Much like a city, it is filled with concrete and bus stations, construction and chain stores. Unlike Galway, there's little greenery. The roads are still paved with stone, but modernized stone that are evenly cut and polished. It was great to visit another city in Ireland, but it had me missing Galway, and oddly La Crosse.
The weekend was filled with the chaos of finding our hostel, paying for and catching the bus to our landmark destinations, and misaps including but not limited to climbing dangerously steep hills luggage and all, an unfriendly conspiracy theorist Canadian, and stumbling upon the city center on our last day. But I'd much rather share with you my favorite part of the trip, visiting Blarney Castle:
Just a short bus ride from town the driver let us off on a seemingly normal shop street. But wonder over a bridge, take two lefts and you come upon the gates of Blarney Castle. The entire compound, which includes a poisonous garden, waterfalls, and modern house, stretches across miles of land. The castle stands with an eroding tower. For much of the tour you're asked to "use your imagination," which is understandable with a open ceiling and uneven floors filled with rock. The entire castle is open to visitors and groups separate exploring the different rooms that once housed a priest, kitchen and ladies room. The narrow stairs and low hallways challenge the picture in my mind.
Once you've reached the top of the castle the missing roof provides a great view of the land beyond Blarney Castle. At the top a small man sits with his legs hanging over a hole between the fortress wall and the surrounding floor. One by one he holds us while we lay on our backs and scoot to the edge. He laughs as he pushes me further and further down the hole saying "not yet, not yet." When he pulls me up is when someone snaps a picture. This memento will have my grandchildren asking why I kissed the grey old man. Before safety was a concern, visitors were lowered by their ankles in order to kiss the Blarney Stone. The prize to those who kiss the Blarney Stone is the gift of eloquence, though others say it's the gift of the gab.
Next to the castle is the Poison Garden. Filled with actual poisonous plants, sniffing, touching and tasting are strictly prohibited and children must be accompanied by adults at all times. Hold on to your seats Harry Potter fans, the garden actually grows Wolfsbane and Mandrake! Further out into the ends of the compound are a set of stairs that lead to "the witches kitchen." Legend says that the witch takes wood from the property to use in her kitchen, but by doing so she must grant visitors wishes. If you walk down and back up with your eyes closed and think of nothing but your wish, your wish will come true in one year. Dragging my group to the wishing steps after having read about it on the map, we each made our way down and back up the stairs. The superstition and magical nature of the Irish culture is what really gets me. I feel like American history is more patriotic but based on fact not folklore. Giddy, I left a cent for the fairies under their tree and prohibited any flash photography of my wish making. We'll see what happens in a years time..
Forty-five minutes south of Cork is Kingsale, a harbor town facing the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving into town kids are pulling their own miniature sail boats out of the water. Wet-suit and all they pull their boats up to shore to be sprayed down. The idea of a town being closed on a Sunday isn't new to me, especially coming from La Crosse. Sillily enough, I was still shocked when the doors remained closed and our tour was limited to staring at the ships sail by and enjoying a few fish and chips. I picked up a few souviners from a man whose shop was decorated with police station patches, one from each station he spent a night in. Quite a few were from America! It was good 'craic,' but three days was long enough and I was happy to return home to Galway.
