Kinsale and Blarney Castle: Our first stop today was the endearing town of Kinsale. Anchoring a sailboat-dotted harbor, Kinsale’s medievally narrow lanes, lined with pastel-colored houses, craft shops, bakeries, and bookstores, hug the steep contours of the waterside hills. Following a delightful lunch (for me, a savory vegetarian shepherd’s pie, local lager, and a fruit-studded creamy concoction of some sort) we motored on to Blarney Castle, home of the eponymous stone.
The morning sun gave way to gentle and then not-so-gentle rain, which our tour guide, Irish to the core, did not deem umbrella-worthy. After climbing the precipitous spiral staircase – the degree of difficulty compounded by following behind a family with four kids between the ages of 1 and 7 who stopped repeatedly for selfies – I reached the top of the castle as the rain cascaded with renewed gusto.
Then came the momentous decision: should I kiss the Blarney Stone, having observed that the attendant left undisturbed his bottle of disinfectant spray as dozens of gift-of-gab-seekers pressed their lips to the cold, wet rock? [Note: this was well before COVID!] Throwing caution to the chilly wind, I moved forward. Alas, one doesn’t kiss the Stone standing up, or even sitting down. Rather, you lie face-up on the cold, wet rock, scoot backward while grasping two slippery iron bars, dangle over the castle’s edge some 100 feet above the ground, and crunch upward. Perhaps the rambling nature of this post suggests that the Stone’s legendary power has some factual underpinning.
Of course, the rain ceased as soon as I descended. For the next half hour, I meandered through the vibrant gardens, lush (and dripping) trees, and intriguing sculpture park that comprise the castle’s grounds. Then it was back to the ship for some much-needed dry clothes.
PuffinlessTravel 