So much confusion upon arrival ! Which island were we on? Cork Island? Apparently not but we got told Cork was in island. That’s all well and good but what bloody island is Cork in? The worst part was how we were deceived by our brains to think that the whole town was made out of cork. It’s not. First five minutes and it was as big of a dilemma as a fuel tank tipping and catching alight, burning through the road in a twenty car pile up on the F1. Or more so challenging, trying to turn right onto Pittwater Road in Dee Why. I could tell we were in for a long one.
And wasn’t I wrong indeed. Apart of course from our travel to Cork from Bristol. A twelve hour and forty minute bus and ferry ride in a fully packed coach that made a sardine packet look spacious.
Had a rather boring afternoon in the city of Cork walking around aimlessly as we tend to do a lot these days. Hit the hay pretty hard due to the couple of hours sleep we got the previous night during transit.
Next morning, after a fifteen hour sleep, the Battlers were recommended to go and kiss a stone because apparently everyone does it. That was good enough of a reason to convince us. So just after midday Eddie and I got the 215 bus to Blarney. Ireland not being what I’d hoped for upon arrival, the scenery in Blarney was more than enough to completely change ones unbelievably complex mind.
Paid a tenner to enter a gated park where the castle and rock lay. After waiting a while at the bottom of the castle waiting for my Rapunzel, it was decide we’d climb to the top to have a search. Reaching the very top there was a man hanging about. He was far from Rapunzel but he was the keeper of the Blarney Rock we were told to kiss (just want to make it clear that the Blarney Rock is actually a rock and not some weird sexual act a bloke performs at the top of the castle). Admittedly, both of us were expecting a big ass rock just chilling in the middle of a field but this was not the case. Sitting with our backs to the wall of the castle, the keeper of the stone held each one of us, in turn, awkwardly as we titled our heads back and kissed the stone. Kind of gross looking back on it. Imagine how many people have kissed that thing. It’s pretty much the same as putting money in your mouth. Yuck. Don’t feel any different from kissing the rock so don’t exactly know what the point of it was apart from saying that we did it.
Walked into some caves but no luck finding Finnegan the leprechaun or his gold. Such a shame. Rapunzel was M.I.A as well.
Non permanently resided in Muskerry Arms, the local in Blarney. It was at this Irish pub the national stout of Guinness was tried as well as the locally brewed stout Murpheys. Bearable but only a ‘sometimes’ drink, much like how lollies are a ‘sometimes’ food. Devoured a beef and guinness pie with veg before jumping on the bus back to Cork’s city centre.
Had a beer and feed with Eric, a family friend of Eddie’s who lives just outside of Cork with his missus. Nice bloke and Eddie enjoyed the catch up with him. After we left Eric, the Battlers went to the Bru Bar under our NZ hostel, the ‘Bru Hostel’. Had a few bevvys with a NZ couple we met Alex and Chris. Listened to some live music and went to bed.
Unfortunately got not much sleep as we had a seventy year old obsessed folk musician staying in our dorm who loved a good old snore about as much as a good old chat of the days he was in Australia in 1961. I stupidly asked him a question about if he had ever been to Australia when I met him – I’m an absolute dead shit at times. To help get a better visual, this bloke was a complete ringer of the KFC Kernel. At one point I got up and poked his arm to wake him up, my finger being swallowed into his old wrinkly melted skin each time. It woke him up and made me want to chunder. He apologised then after about fifteen seconds he was back asleep snoring again. You can never win with snorers.
Going to Galway next up to visit the Cliffs of Moher. Place is supposed to be pretty epic and finally might get some crazy jaw dropping scenery. At the moment Ireland is in the good books