I’ve been meaning to write about Ireland for a bit, and it's going to take more than one post, which just made it that much harder to begin. The itinerary for the trip went something like this:
Monday 4 April: Get up godawful early to catch bus, train, ferry to Dublin. Check into hostel, find dinner, go to sleep.
Tuesday 5 April: Get up godawful early to catch Luas to rail station. Go on railtour to Blarney and Cork. Return to Dublin. ???
Wednesday 6 April: Get up and explore Dublin for a day.
Thursday 7 April: Get up not-exactly-godawful early to catch bus to ferry. Ferry, train, bus – and home. Well, flat, anyway.
Everything went pretty much according to plan! Except for getting, like, three hours of sleep Sunday night. That was unexpected.
First off – yes, it’s basically a ten-or-more-hour journey each way. I slept a lot on the train, but also had my Kindle with me, so I read here and there, too. Yes, I went alone. No one tried to accost me, and, no, I did not leave behind bodies I’m not telling you about.
I first arrived in Dublin, and while I was waiting for my luggage (I only had my purse and a carry-on size roller bag, which I was told to check at Holyhead), an Irish-English lady struck up a conversation. She was wonderfully nice, and of the variety who simply cannot understand why she hasn’t moved back to Ireland. Her children, born and raised in England, all moved “back.” “There’s a connection with the land,” she told me. Something spiritual.
Also, a note to travelers: it’s really hard to find a Bureau de Change in Dublin. I actually had to just go to an ATM and withdraw Euros the first night so I could pay for the locker I needed and buy food.
My first impression of Dublin was the stink. The bus ride from the ferry (luckily that particular bus takes pounds – bills only, folks!) went right by a refinery. Stepping off the bus, it just smelled like a city. Car exhaust and too many bodies and old stone, moss and damp and weeds growing up in the cracks. Further, all the roads in Dublin curve and stop and pick up again ten yards down. I never exactly got lost, but I was frequently uncertain of exactly where I was going. It wasn’t like in Edinburgh, where I immediately felt at ease. . .though Edinburgh is also a good deal smaller and arguably even more touristy.
The railtour was as advertised, more or less – I think they should’ve left “Cork” off the destination list, as those who did the “full” tour only drove through it on the way to the next stop. Irish countryside is surprisingly a lot like what they show you in movies. Minus the cliffs, because we were inland. Tiny ramshackle farmhouses, plank fences, sheep, cattle, horses – a random castle ruin – more houses, rivers and streams that somehow looked ice cold and crisp. I saw a heron, or else a bird a lot like one, in a brief flash of a second where I was lucky enough to be looking down as we crossed a gully.
An odd thing about the livestock, though. Besides the fact that there were a lot of draft horses, there were a lot of white horses. Or grays, if you insist, but of the sort that look white. The cattle were often mixed as well. Whereas back in Michigan, most farmers will have more or less one variety of cow – maybe all Holstein or Angus or Jersey, or perhaps Holstein bred with Angus to make them look more uniform or whatnot – and they’ll all be more or less the same color, in Ireland that didn’t seem to be the case. Most pastures had a mix of animals, some red, or red-and-white, or black, or white, patched, highland breeds. . .and I’m not sure why this would be the case. Perhaps breed is less of an issue there and ARGH I am going on about cows. ‘Scuse me, I have to go wash off the flannel shirt now.
Blarney village. This was the part that felt like a fairy tale. The grounds were brilliantbrilliant green, and it was misting a little, drops coating my hair and eyelashes (and my camera, if I wasn’t careful). The castle itself isn’t huge, but it is appreciably big, and stone, and it looms. There are dungeons and dripping caves and towers. To climb up as far as the Blarney Stone, you have to climb a spiral staircase cut into the stone, each step so narrow and slick with raindrops and the climb so steep that I clung to the rope on the central pillar and essentially hauled myself up that way.
Whether or not the Blarney Stone works is something I suppose you’ll have to judge for yourself.
Climbing down was easier, or would have been if the older couple in front of me hadn’t had a tendency to pause unexpectedly to catch their breaths, with me teetering on the edge of the steps above them. At least there was a railing, and I was too busy processing the fact that I was in a castle, uneven floors and mysterious draughts and odd echoes and all, to actually care.
I spent most of my time in Blarney exploring the grounds. It was a little chill and damp, as I mentioned, which I loved. Blarney has beautiful gardens which normally I would have to avoid due to a severe bee sting allergy. But the weather meant that most insects were out of sight, or at least too dopey to sting. I spent a little time in the Poison Garden, which is exactly what it sounds like. It was interesting, but a little too. . .groomed for my taste. Everything had a label, and a stake, and an exact place where it was supposed to be. Which is a good thing, considering what the plants were and that the purpose of the garden is to educate, but artistically it’s a little lackluster.
More interesting were the dead-end stone grottos that somehow muted all outside noise despite only being twelve feet tall or so. More interesting were the steep banks overflowing with ferns growing up and out like fountains. More interesting the caves so low even I had to bend double, feeling with my hands to clamber over the rocks. The way was dimly lit by carefully-placed electric lamps, tiny round spotlights. In front of one of these was a violently-green rash of clover.
More interesting was sitting on the rocks by the river, eyes closed, and opening them again and staring in disbelief, because in that shock of light, everything was so green, so bursting with it, that my eyes perceived it all as a landscape of blue.
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