Kissing Blarney

Friday, June 25, 2010
6:00 p.m.

The gift of eloquence is now bestowed upon me, according to the legend of kissing the Blarney Stone in return for the gift of gab (or skill of flattery), dating back to the 1400s. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet, because I feel no different from when I woke up this morning...

Earlier today I traveled on a bumpy, unsteady bus ride, trekked up a narrow, 100-step climb, and dangled upside down at the top of a restored, 600-year-old castle all to kiss the infamous Blarney Stone. Fortunately for me I don’t struggle with motion sickness, claustrophobia or a fear of heights because if I did, my venture most likely would not have happened.

The ride to get to Blarney was rocky, yes, and sometimes overpowered by the smell of horse manure (not so pleasant), but I was able to catch a glimpse of the Irish countryside I hadn’t been able to focus on yet. After exiting the main highway from Cork and merging onto a smaller road, the land filled up with brown horses, large spotted cows and every possible shade of green. The horizon wasn’t full of compacted homes or large buildings. Instead there were small, white farmhouses and vast open fields for animals to roam.

Although there were many things to do at Blarney Castle, like taking a walking tour around the premises while exploring different caves, graveyards and gardens, I had my heart set on climbing the castle and kissing the stone at the top. Approaching the line for the castle was like approaching a line for a ride at an amusement park. From the actual entrance to the castle, the line wrapped around a corner and farther down the hill. I heard someone say that a tourist group from a cruise ship was visiting and that the wait to get to the top would be at least an hour. I decided to be as patient as possible (something I find extremely challenging) and stick out the long wait.

Well, patience paid off. Once I reached the entrance of the castle, the wait seemed much more bearable than before. What was left of the castle’s interior was both eerie and captivating at the same time. Each room was labeled for what it once was: the kitchen, the family room, the ladies’ room, the earl’s room, the priest’s room, the banqueting hall, the murder hole, etc. As I made my way up the 100 coiled steps, I was able to stop and take a look at the preservation of each room. The kitchen had an outline of a fire pit where families once roasted entire pigs; the bedrooms for the women were significantly smaller than those for the men; the murder hole was a confined space where residents of the castle would throw rocks and hot liquids down to intruders. As I inched closer to the top, the spiral staircase became narrower and much more restricted. It was no lighthouse climb that’s for sure. I had to hold onto a thick rope to pull myself up to the last step and onto the roof of the castle. Once at the top, the single file line continued around corners and crevasses and I was able to take a full 360 look around me. The castle’s height is an estimated 13 stories so once at the top, I could spot part of my group members crossing a bridge below, one of my professors observing one of the gardens, and miles upon miles of Ireland’s landscape. I was probably looking at the city of Cork in the distance without even knowing it. My turn to kiss the Blarney Stone soon arrived. I handed my camera to a friend, sat down at the mat on the ledge of the roof, leaned backwards while the guide held onto my waist, grabbed a hold of the iron railing and gave a big kiss to the cold but celebrated stone. Now that I have done so, I am said to have a gift of eloquence that will stick with me for the remainder of my life. Pretty "savage" eh?