Ireland, part four
March 28, 2007
Desmond House
Kinsale
Hopefully I'll be able to write a bit before we're off to dinner. I didn't realize how long it would take just to write down one day's events. But I guess in order to make them readable, or at least enjoyable when I go back, I might as well add some color. It's amazing how good a simple breakfast can be. Just bagel, cream cheese and smoked Irish salmon. Yummy. And filling, too. This trip has made me realize just how much I eat. And most of it is over-processed crap! I'm sure I've mentioned this before; well, today was an adventure.
You know in the movies, where some a-hole wrong-side driver offers "advice" and get's told, "You wanna drive?! Fucking drive, then!" Then the driver leaps from the vehicle just as it careens off a cliff? Well that didn't quite happen, but let's say my over-aggressive encouragement wasn't what my darling wife, who was a little nervous, really needed at the moment. Needless to say, after a few tense moments we were away to Blarney Castle. More after dinner...
************
Kinsale, part two:
Can I just say I love beer? Good. I love beer. Now where was I? Oh yes, Blarney. What a beautiful place. The grounds were vast, I was expecting it to be kind of like the city, where you have this medieval, crumbling ruin right next to a "Woodie's DIY" [yes, that's a real store]. All surrounding the castle was lush, green meadows with trees and shrubs. Very tranquil. And COLD! I could put an eye out with my nipples. Sadly, only my nipples were erect. I shudder to think how shriveled old John Thomas got. Our first stop was "The Dungeon." It was very unnerving being in a pitch-black room. I couldn't even see my nipples in front of my face. Feeling the walls pressing on both shoulders and the roof brushing my head - very claustrophobic.
Further up and further in we went, up into the castle itself. Now, castles are cool from a fortress perspective. But comfort wise? I can't even imagine how cold, wet, dank, smelly and other unpleasant adjectives that place was. So mounting (ha ha, mounting) the near vertical sprial staircase was billy goat's work for me. But for my lovie and monster-in-law, it was a different story. Fortunately there were rooms off the staircase with cute, uninformative signs, like "ladies chambers" or "priest's quarters." No info, just title. It was like watching the History Channel and having Peter Graves or Arlee Ermey come out and say the title of the show, and the show was over. Thankfully, I've seen Monty Python's Holy Grail, so I was pretty sure I could have found "Naughty Wicked Zoots Room." I digress. Rooms off the staircase for Erin to relax and Karen to pop her knee into joint.
So after many trials and tribulations, and me having to carry KAREN'S PURSE (!!!) not happy (!) We made it to the top, and behold: The Blarney Stone. It was guarded by Father Time, who's so unimpressed, he could obviously care less about a bunch of sodding tourists coming out to lock lips with a dirty, mold-encrusted chunk of battlement. It was odd. The stone was actually worn smooth by centuries of Herpes Simplex III carriers. Nevertheless, I do that thing, hang upside down and laid a big one on that sexy hunk o' earth. I think I still have mold in my teeth. So Erin goes for it as well, quite brave, stiff upper lip and all because she's afraid of heights. Karen did not. Boo!
The scale down "mount" Blarney was completely uneventful. So we're driving the Rock of Cashel now. Yes, the climb down was that uneventful. Get over it. Oh, but that reminds me - the ATM fun! So Karen goes to get money out and is rejected. This frustrates her, because earlier at the Jameson Distillery they denied her ATM card. So after the third time of trying the ATM and getting rejected, she starts flipping out. Not good. So driving to the Rock of Cashel, Erin and I calm her down, telling her "Don't stress, there's nothing you can do right now. No one is trying to steal your money. You can't even get to it - how could they?" So by the time we get to this immense cathedral-fortress on a hill a la every-epic-medieval-movie-you've-ever-seen, she's calmed down. By the way, I'm going to have fucking writer's cramp by the time this trip is over.
Now, the Rock of Cashel was the castle of the Irish kings of Muenster, who signed it over to the church around some-date-I-can't-remember. Suffice it to say, it was weird being in a place where St. Patrick crowned the kings of Muenster. It went downhill after that. There's tombstones everywhere, and huge murders of crows circling the roofless cathedral and tower. Very "Evil Dead." :) Oh, and have I mentioned that it was so cold my junk looked like a button on a fur coat? How's that for a horrifying visual?
So finally we set off back to our B&B for what I thought was a little rest before dinner. Nuh-uh. It was battle-time! As soon as we walk in, Karen mentions that she has to call the bank to get her ATM card straightened out. I left. There was no way I was going to get my fingerprints on that train wreck. An hour later, my poor wife comes up. Needless to say, the situation was resolved. But not without upsetting Karen to the point that Erin had to take over and do the rest. Trying for everyone. While all this was going on, I was up in the room, writing part one. And yes, it took me an hour. YOU try writing for an hour and see how long it takes you... wait. Nevermind...
So dinner was quiet, a little tense. I'm trying to concentrate on beer because I have a tendancy to "playfully" and completely-out-of-love give Karen a hard time. Which at this point would probably send her into hysterics. Dinner was tasty. So now, as I finish writing this, somewhere in town alarms are going off, the Guarda (police) are speeding around with that stupid "EEE-ERRR EEE-ERRR" siren. Hopefully ze Germans aren't invading, because I'll be unshriveling my whatnot in a hot bubble bath...
Desmond House
Kinsale
Hopefully I'll be able to write a bit before we're off to dinner. I didn't realize how long it would take just to write down one day's events. But I guess in order to make them readable, or at least enjoyable when I go back, I might as well add some color. It's amazing how good a simple breakfast can be. Just bagel, cream cheese and smoked Irish salmon. Yummy. And filling, too. This trip has made me realize just how much I eat. And most of it is over-processed crap! I'm sure I've mentioned this before; well, today was an adventure.
You know in the movies, where some a-hole wrong-side driver offers "advice" and get's told, "You wanna drive?! Fucking drive, then!" Then the driver leaps from the vehicle just as it careens off a cliff? Well that didn't quite happen, but let's say my over-aggressive encouragement wasn't what my darling wife, who was a little nervous, really needed at the moment. Needless to say, after a few tense moments we were away to Blarney Castle. More after dinner...
************
Kinsale, part two:
Can I just say I love beer? Good. I love beer. Now where was I? Oh yes, Blarney. What a beautiful place. The grounds were vast, I was expecting it to be kind of like the city, where you have this medieval, crumbling ruin right next to a "Woodie's DIY" [yes, that's a real store]. All surrounding the castle was lush, green meadows with trees and shrubs. Very tranquil. And COLD! I could put an eye out with my nipples. Sadly, only my nipples were erect. I shudder to think how shriveled old John Thomas got. Our first stop was "The Dungeon." It was very unnerving being in a pitch-black room. I couldn't even see my nipples in front of my face. Feeling the walls pressing on both shoulders and the roof brushing my head - very claustrophobic.
Further up and further in we went, up into the castle itself. Now, castles are cool from a fortress perspective. But comfort wise? I can't even imagine how cold, wet, dank, smelly and other unpleasant adjectives that place was. So mounting (ha ha, mounting) the near vertical sprial staircase was billy goat's work for me. But for my lovie and monster-in-law, it was a different story. Fortunately there were rooms off the staircase with cute, uninformative signs, like "ladies chambers" or "priest's quarters." No info, just title. It was like watching the History Channel and having Peter Graves or Arlee Ermey come out and say the title of the show, and the show was over. Thankfully, I've seen Monty Python's Holy Grail, so I was pretty sure I could have found "Naughty Wicked Zoots Room." I digress. Rooms off the staircase for Erin to relax and Karen to pop her knee into joint.
So after many trials and tribulations, and me having to carry KAREN'S PURSE (!!!) not happy (!) We made it to the top, and behold: The Blarney Stone. It was guarded by Father Time, who's so unimpressed, he could obviously care less about a bunch of sodding tourists coming out to lock lips with a dirty, mold-encrusted chunk of battlement. It was odd. The stone was actually worn smooth by centuries of Herpes Simplex III carriers. Nevertheless, I do that thing, hang upside down and laid a big one on that sexy hunk o' earth. I think I still have mold in my teeth. So Erin goes for it as well, quite brave, stiff upper lip and all because she's afraid of heights. Karen did not. Boo!
The scale down "mount" Blarney was completely uneventful. So we're driving the Rock of Cashel now. Yes, the climb down was that uneventful. Get over it. Oh, but that reminds me - the ATM fun! So Karen goes to get money out and is rejected. This frustrates her, because earlier at the Jameson Distillery they denied her ATM card. So after the third time of trying the ATM and getting rejected, she starts flipping out. Not good. So driving to the Rock of Cashel, Erin and I calm her down, telling her "Don't stress, there's nothing you can do right now. No one is trying to steal your money. You can't even get to it - how could they?" So by the time we get to this immense cathedral-fortress on a hill a la every-epic-medieval-movie-you've-ever-seen, she's calmed down. By the way, I'm going to have fucking writer's cramp by the time this trip is over.
Now, the Rock of Cashel was the castle of the Irish kings of Muenster, who signed it over to the church around some-date-I-can't-remember. Suffice it to say, it was weird being in a place where St. Patrick crowned the kings of Muenster. It went downhill after that. There's tombstones everywhere, and huge murders of crows circling the roofless cathedral and tower. Very "Evil Dead." :) Oh, and have I mentioned that it was so cold my junk looked like a button on a fur coat? How's that for a horrifying visual?
So finally we set off back to our B&B for what I thought was a little rest before dinner. Nuh-uh. It was battle-time! As soon as we walk in, Karen mentions that she has to call the bank to get her ATM card straightened out. I left. There was no way I was going to get my fingerprints on that train wreck. An hour later, my poor wife comes up. Needless to say, the situation was resolved. But not without upsetting Karen to the point that Erin had to take over and do the rest. Trying for everyone. While all this was going on, I was up in the room, writing part one. And yes, it took me an hour. YOU try writing for an hour and see how long it takes you... wait. Nevermind...
So dinner was quiet, a little tense. I'm trying to concentrate on beer because I have a tendancy to "playfully" and completely-out-of-love give Karen a hard time. Which at this point would probably send her into hysterics. Dinner was tasty. So now, as I finish writing this, somewhere in town alarms are going off, the Guarda (police) are speeding around with that stupid "EEE-ERRR EEE-ERRR" siren. Hopefully ze Germans aren't invading, because I'll be unshriveling my whatnot in a hot bubble bath...