Ireland

The Cliffs of Moher, County Clare.

Slea Head and Blasket Island, the very tip of Dingle Peninsula

The Blarney Stone


Drombeg Stone Circle, County Cork

Closing night, Carran's, in Cork City
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On Galway sands they kiss your hands./They kiss your lips at Carney./ But on the Lee they drink strong tea/ and kiss the stone that's Blarney.
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I remember seeing a cheesy postcard or some such with a cartoon representation of a leprechaun kissing a stone labeled Blarney. They were out on a field somewhere and the stone was just that, a rock in a field with grass growing underneath it. Now I knew enough that not all Irish people are four foot nothing and sport ginger beards, green hats and long pipes (actually, on second thought...) but for some reason the idea of the Blarney stone being a boulder in a field somehow stuck in my subconscious.
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Fast forward to last Thursday and my surprise that in order to actually kiss the Blarney stone, you have to lie down on slippery rain soaked ramparts over a hundred feet up at the top of Blarney castle, literally bend over backwards while a rain soaked dude (bloke - chap?) holds you by the waist and basically shoves your face into the castle wall while his buddy takes your picture (ten euros, if you please).
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Reality: one. Preconceptions: zero. And the tower of Pisa is not held up by Greg from Baltimore like in those pictures you always see.
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But Ireland. What to say. It was lovely. Of course. I drove most of the south western peninsulas (the rental car has a handy reminder sticker on the dashboard: Stay Left <--- ) and the weather broke for those three days, so I actually saw the peninsulas Beara, Iveragh and Dingle. I was expecting it to be much colder, but the gulf stream keeps the lucky Irish in a mild and wet winter, where many people have sub-tropical plants in their gardens.
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My thanks to the Warpcon people (Noirin, Karen, Steve, Eoin - did I spell that right?) and their hospitality. It was, like the Guiness, smooth and rich.