CASTLE TIME MOFO

 So tonight we're taking a break from our normal squalor, and are staying in a castle, complete with hedge maze, ruins from the Norman era, swans, horses, croquet, etc.  Our room has a hallway that you have to go down to get to your bathroom.  I already made Lizzie promise that she'll come get me when she hears me crying because I got lost on the way to the toilet. 

No promises that I won't fear-pee on the floor before she finds me.

Wild Horses Couldn't Drag Me Away

 But only because they're dead.  Sorry, horses.  On the way back from the fern garden, we saw a sign pointing toward the "horse cemetery," and of course had to check it out.  The cemetery was a circle of stones with horse names inscribed on them.  Lizzie here demonstrates her grief for the loss of Misty, and below I imagine one last ride with Magic. 

Dude--I mock here not the horse grief--one gets really attached to their pets--but rather the awful names you gave your horses.  They deserve better.  One of the stones was for a horse named "Snoopy."  Stop it.

Big Honkin' Ferns

Dang, kids, did you know that ferns eventually can grow to look like weird-ass palm trees?  Lizzie and I did not.  We climbed down another terrifying stair case (Lizzie was brave) and looked at all the giant ferns, and then posed by a beautiful waterfall, as you do.  I also stuck my hand in the giant fern hole looking for treasure, but there was none to be found.  Maybe next time.

Worst Posion Garden Ever

 So Blarney Castle has a series of gardens, including a POISON GARDEN. This was a huge disappointment.  They put up a sign which is like "don't eat these plants, smell them, or touch them, OR YOU WILL DIE." So Lizzie and I walked through the garden, ready to make some notes, and their big poison plants were Irises, Yew trees, Fox glove, and cannabis.  I know a lot of people who would be dead if touching cannabis (or smelling it) kills you.  LAME.

Anyway here are some more scenic photos of the regular gardens.  After this, we went to the fern garden, which was super cool.  On the way, this guy we started calling "drunk grandpa" because he was a drunk grandpa (natch) yelled at us, "YOU NEED TO GO TO THE FERN GARDEN" while dragging three of his granddaughters behind him. Thanks for the unnecessary screaming! We ran into him several more times, and none were pleasant.  Sober up, Grandpa.

I am the Mostest Eloquentiest

SMOOCH SMOOCH!  Maybe I shouldn't have worn a skirt today.  This gentle yet strong man is Sean, who is gazing lovingly at me (I assume) as I get my hard-earned eloquence.  Since I did not squeal with terror, he said, "good job, love!" and then his shift was over.  I was his last customer.  We are married now.  Gifts can be sent to my home or office.

Blarney Castle

 Cheers!  (ha ha, sorry.)  We began today in scenic Kilkenny, ate our traditional Irish breakfast (I could not eat the black pudding...just...no) and made our way to Blarney castle, near Cork.  (You're a Corker, Shannon, what a Corker you are.  Far and Away.  Anyone?)

Blarney Castle was built by Cormac MacCarthy lord of Muskrat Muscry in the late 15th century.  Cormac was murdered by his brother (to possibly be reincarnated as an author who really likes the post-apocalyptic genre), and his brother in turn was murdered by his nephew, Cormac's son, leading a certain part of the castle to be named "the murder hole."  Hahaha.  Murder hole.  Guess what I'm going to be referring to as "the murder hole" from now on?

In any case, Blarney Castle is most famous for the "stone of eloquence," i.e. the Blarney stone.  There are a few legends about how the stone of eloquence came to be, but one of the most popular is that it's the "Lia Fail," a magical stone on which the Irish kings were crowned.  Since I obviously am in need of the gift of gab, I stood in the long line to get up to the top.  Lizzie, noting that the stair cases were narrow and terrifying, stayed behind, so I had to lock her up in the dungeon for safe-keeping.  (The second to last picture is actually the ice house--that is a gryphon on top.)

So it's not that I thought Lizzie was exaggerating, it's just that she and I have different feelings about heights, in that I am not afraid of them, and she is, and even though she told me this was not an issue of heights, but rather of her not wanting to climb the windy stair cases, I thought it was an issue with heights.

I am wrong a lot.

So there was a little Japanese couple in front of me,  and a family of giant Americans behind me.  I only note the size, because when we got to the spiral stair case portion of our journey of 100 steps, the space was exactly one Shannon high, and one Shannon wide.  You had to haul yourself up the stairs on a terrifying rope, and the giant Americans kept grabbing the rope so hard that they ended up crushing my hand between the rope and the stone wall.  I had to change my death-grip style to a more gentle "please don't let me die here" hold on the front of the rope.  It wasn't wide enough for me to get to my camera and take a picture, but I don't know if the camera could have truly conveyed the terror I felt being crammed in with dozens of my closest friends on a staircase that I could barely squeeze my hips through.  We kept going up and up and up, and there was no air, and and you couldn't see past the person in front of you.  The giant American teenager was nervously narrating his fear and claustrophobia, which WAS NOT HELPING OKAY?

We finally get to the top, and there's a man there who dangles you over the precipitous drop as you hold onto two iron bars.  People were squealing in terror, and the Japanese couple in front of me bailed just before their turn (WHAT? YOU WAITED AN HOUR TO DO THIS. WHY??) and so I waited for the strong arms of Sean the Hero (as the lady in the souvenir picture buying store called him) to keep me from falling out the gaping hole in the castle wall, which at that point, would have been more appealing to me than having to use the death stairs again. (Turns out the stairs on the way down are less frightening.)

St. Canice the Imperialist

Last on our post-dinner walk was St. Canice's cathedral, or Kilkenny cathedral.  Kilkenny is actually named after St. Canice, Cainnech of Aghaboe in Irish, or Kenny in Latin.  St. Cainnech was born around 515 and was one of the "12 apostles of Ireland", converting people to Christianity.  Kilkenny was one of the last druid hold outs, and in 597, Ol Kenny showed up with an army to oust the last archdruid, who'd holed up on a mound here, and did just that. Um. Yay?  He founded a monastery near where St. Canice sits now. 

This cathedral dates from the 12th century, and has a giant "Celtic Christian" round tower.  It also has shamrock gates, and a bunch of beer bottles all around it.  Cheers!

Black Abbey

 This here is the Black Abbey, and it's guardian the blackorange (t)abbey.  KITTY!  We talked to the kitty a lot, but he was not so interested in us, per (purr) his expression.

The Black Abbey was one of the first order of Dominican Friars in Ireland, who were called "Black Friars" in England, hence the name.  The abbey was established by William Marshall in 1225.  In 1349, the community was hit with a huge outbreak of everyone's favorite, the Black Death, and 8 members died.  After that, it was kinda quiet until Queen Elizabeth showed up and was like "I CLAIM THIS FOR THE CROWN."  James I was like "GOOD IDEA HOW ABOUT WE MAKE THIS A COURTHOUSE?" Oliver Cromwell was also a SUPER DOUCHE to Kilkenny, and when Catholic James II came around they were like "cool this works" but then William III was like "lol he's dead now and I am reconquering Kilkenny and this abbey."

Finally, in 1776, when England was a little busy thanks to THE GOOD OL US OF A, the Domenicans retook the abbey, and finally in 1864, it was reconsecrated as a place of worship.  During some renovations, they unearthed the coffins seen in these pictures, which date from the 13th century, and were like "let's just put these outside.  Yeah. That'll do."

You can still take mass at the abbey now, unless you're not a Catholic, in which case, enjoy hell, you heathens.   

River Bregach

 We decided to go for a walk after dinner since it stays light so late, and ran into this little guy on the banks of the river Bregach.  KITTY!

Kyteler's Inn, Killkenny

For dinner we went to Kyteler's Inn (pronounced like kitler's).  Kyteler's dates back to 1263 in medieval Kilkenny, and was founded by Dame Alice (sometimes referred to as the notorious Dame Alice).  Alice de Kyteler was a charming lady who was married four times, and therefore was able to amass a large fortune.  Townsfolk became jealous of Dame Alice, and thus accused her of witchcraft, urging her to be whipped in the street and then burned at the stake.  Her "connections" to local gentry allowed her escape to London, but her poor maid fared less well, and was killed as a witch.  Women, amirite?  Always trying to be successful and have relationships and stuff.  I wish she had been a witch, Willow from Buffy style, because then she could have enacted some sweet, sweet revenge on her accusers. 

Phelan's Bar

 Bravely, we crossed the old city walls (the top picture says "old city wall."  I know Irish now because I watched 5 minutes of Fraggle Rock in Irish this morning) to continue our exploration, and came across this bar, which shared the family surname I mentioned earlier.  There was a picture in the bar of a girl who looked like Lizzie, and that makes sense because while my connection to the Phalens is in the distant past, hers is far more 20th century.  Anyway, she had a diet coke because she was driving us down the frightening roads to the B&B we're staying at, so I had to have whiskey for the both of us.  I'm kind of a hero.

The Butler Did It

 Had these gardens planted, that is.  I am reading my paper, and would like you poors to get off my land.  GO AWAY.  Also, find the fried egg plant in these pictures. 

Sights from the Nore River Walk, Part II

 Awww!  How cute!  Wait--is that an--alien space ship?