Love, Jimmie

Sam was the king of the Maranatha House, you could tell, and no matter how heavy the suitcase or how ridiculous the pillow, Sam parked himself right in the doorway, right under your feet, to ensure that he got at least a moderate pat as you walked by. What a lovely place . . . .

The next morning, true to form, the owner of the Maranatha house served up a traditional Irish breakfast with but one deviation. We had no toast. NO TOAST! It was a rough morning, leaving the pretty, pretty house and with no toast to boot.

Woney and I lugged our ridiculous suitcases and my ridiculous pillow down the Barbie staircase, across Sam’s napping place in the middle of the doorway and loaded up our car. We noticed as we were leaving that the other patrons of the Maranatha house, mostly Americans, seemed to be having trouble with the narrow roads in Ireland like we were. Like our car, most of their rentals had some scratchy marks alongside the passenger door but unlike us, they had had some run ins with what appeared to be barbed wire. Big holes dotted their doors and trim pieces were missing left and right. It was with great pride in our (Woney’s) driving abilities that we drove off, ready for the sight-seeing we had planned.

This will not surprise you, but Katherine from the Mena House had given us some tips for this day as well. We were driving to Tralee to stay in a castle for the night (and let me add here: Castle, yay!). The Ring of Kerry is a scenic drive on the way to Tralee, well known for its gorgeous views but less known for its awful traffic and toothpick hairpin roads. Katherine instructed us to head for the Dingle Peninsula instead, claiming that it was a better, less harrowing drive with views that rivaled and even surpassed those across the Ring of Kerry. When I get to that point, I will most likely not write much. I will most likely just post a bunch of pictures. You’ll see why.

This also will not surprise you, but Woney and I got lost on our way to the Dingle Peninsula. On our way to getting lost, we ran across a sign that read: Toy Soldier Museum Ahead. We continued to run across signs for this museum every time Gwendolyn took us on the wrong path (bitch), and we ultimately decided that we needed to visit this Toy Soldier Museum. Plus we had to pee and they offered a bathroom on one of the signs. Y’all, this was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done/seen in my life. Woney and I wandered around this concrete building completely in awe, watching these people cast all those tiny metal figures you see in your traditional Toy Soldier Museums. We watched a lady hand paint some of them. We even made our own and while we were proud of them, our talents extended nowhere near theirs. Woney and I will never be master Toy Soldier Museum employees is what I’m saying. Man, that was fun.

Hand-crafted Chess Set

We got back on the road, on our way to getting lost again, and eventually found ourselves driving along the Dingle Peninsula. Breathtaking is not a word that even comes close to describing these views. Wait, here you are:

By the time we drove it all, Woney and I were completely saturated with beauty. We could not take in another sight. Every few feet boasted a scenic overlook and we stopped at every single one of them. There’s not a solitary hill crest or rock or ocean wave that is not documented at least three different ways on our cameras. Also, sheep.

Isn’t that gorgeous? By far, this was my favorite thing we had done. If you ever go, the West Coast is the area you want, I’m certain of it.

Our final destination for the night was the Ballyseede Castle. Getting lost was becoming an art form for us – we pulled an illegal u-turn more than once to get to this place, but again, as we drove down the long drive and the castle came into view, in our breath caught in our throats. It was beautiful. The interior was beautiful. Our bedroom was beautiful. The grounds were beautiful. The dinner was beautiful. We felt like we were somebody as we sat in the parlor after dinner reading our books and nibbling on excellent Butler’s chocolates, passing an evening in the way the royals do. It was such a lovely day. We went to bed that night, sighing over our good fortune.

Next Stop: Doolin!

Kilkenny was exactly the Ireland we wanted. That was what we went to do and see. It was absolutely perfect and I will go back . . . . .

Woney and I, having gotten squiffy the night before, enjoyed a restful slumber at the Mena House and then trooped downstairs for breakfast. Planning all our stays in Bed and Breakfasts was an excellent idea, I thought to myself. Katherine, the absolute most helpful person I have met to date, was also an excellent cook. She offered us the full Irish breakfast (with toast!) and while we turned up our noses at the blood sausage, we accepted the rest.

During our planning conversation the day before, Katherine insisted that we visit the Rock of Cashel. In all of our researching we had never heard of such a thing, but Woney and I are adventurous if nothing else, and Katherine had already proven herself knowledgeable. We said our good-byes and set off to see this lump of limestone that was something akin to the famous Giant Ball of Yarn, at least in my head.

You guys, I will probably say this a lot, but I’m telling you, if you get the chance to see the Rock of Cashel, go. From a distance, it’s a modest-looking stone building resembling a church in serious ill repair. Up close, that’s exactly what it is. The stonework, however, dates back to the 12th century in places, and the history there is incredibly rich. The Rock sits atop a hill overlooking some of the most gorgeous Irish scenery you’ll ever see. Grave markers surround the area, and stone walls are everywhere. It felt peaceful and more importantly, it felt chilly and foggy and still – exactly what we wanted. The moment we stepped out of the car, Woney and I looked at each other and said, “We need hoodies!”

Cashel

View from Cashel

I wish I were a better photographer. My pictures don’t do it justice.

When our tour was sadly complete, Woney and I set off for our next adventure, still talking about that Rock. We were looking forward to good things, though, as Blarney Castle was next. Item two on Woney’s bucket list was kissing the Blarney Stone, something that I had no interest in doing.

Blarney Castle

Also Blarney Castle

“So, you’ll kiss the Blarney Stone, won’t you” people asked me before I left the States.

“Naw,” I said. “The locals pee on that.” I was certain it was true.

“But, Jimmie,” Woney said, exasperated, “it’s the Blarney Stone. You can’t come to Ireland and not kiss the Blarney Stone!”

“Naw,” I reiterated. “It’s been urinated upon. I will pass.”

And pass I did, although I did take the hour or so to climb the four stories of spiral, stone, incredibly narrow and slippery stairs to get to the actual kissing point. That I Highly Recommend unless you are afraid of heights, afraid of close spaces or it’s raining. Blarney was a beautiful castle, and truly one of the most authentic ones we saw, but again, I will say that the heart of this city is the people. When you spend an hour in line with strangers climbing slightly treacherous stairs to put your lips on a rock upon which someone has peed, you are no longer strangers.

Kissing the Stone

Woney did the deed after layering on several coats of lip goo to protect her lips from the urine, and I took pictures. Getting down the stairs was a much quicker and also much scarier process as we really had no one to block our fall if the stairs proved too slippery. We walked out of there content, though, and safe and ready for our next adventure. We also walked out of there slightly sweaty. The gloom and the chill had long vanished, replaced by the sun and its heat.

View from the Top of Blarney

The Jameson Distillery was the third and last item on Woney’s bucket list and since we were close, off we drove. We made a slight unexpected detour in Cork and both promptly decided that we were not fans. If I never go back to Cork, I will be alright. Jameson is near Cork in Middleton which I’m sure is a lovely city, but this being probably the hardest driving day we had, we didn’t notice much about it. And being that Woney and I both took the Jameson Master Taster lesson, we didn’t much notice it when we left either. Kidding! I’m kidding! We only had three watered-down, very weak shots. Casey, again, that shot was for you. Cheers!

This tour was fun and I do Highly Recommend it. I also Highly Recommend shopping in the gift shop (hello, Dammit Todd). Jameson gifts are perfect for those friends that you missed purchasing chocolates for at Butler’s.

I Bought this for Dammit Todd, Not Really

I alluded earlier to an unexpected drive through Cork. I wish I could allude to the multiple other unexpected drives through cities but honestly, Woney and I got lost so many times that day, I couldn’t even tell you where we were. On our way to the B & B for the night, the Maranatha House, we made such a number of wrong turns it bordered on ridiculous. Our GPS director, whom I shall call Gwendolyn, was beyond frustrated with us. “At the roundabout, take the third exit to somethingorother and continue straight for .7 kilometers” was a standard speech. Gwendolyn was kind of a bitch. She was relentless and had no idea where we were either.

We did make our way to the Maranatha House but not before we questioned our every step and turn. The more tractors we met on the road, the more remote we realized this house to be. Exhausted and frustrated, we finally arrived at the Maranatha sign. All of that exhaustion and frustration instantly disappeared as we rounded the bend and caught sight of the house. Oh, it was beautiful, inside and out! Every room was decorated like a fairy tale: swags of heavy velvet over the windows, swaths of gauze surrounding the beds, round mattresses with pink heart-shaped pillows. Woney and I were given a choice of the rooms and we ran back and forth across the hall, desperate to pick the best one. We settled on one finally and moved in for the night. I loved the excess of it, the pinkness of it and it wasn’t until I woke up out of a dead sleep that I realized what the house reminded me of – Barbie’s Dream House! Our hostess must have had her own fantasy as a child and was lucky enough to make it a reality. Perfect house for honeymooners and perfect area, too, as the only things of note in that area are the pretty bedrooms with the fancy beds, and everyone knows that’s all honeymooners care about anyway.

Woney’s Bed

My Bed

One last mention about lovely things to see: Sam. Look at that face.

Sam. A Good Dog.

Sam was the king of the Maranatha House, you could tell, and no matter how heavy the suitcase or how ridiculous the pillow, Sam parked himself right in the doorway, right under your feet, to ensure that he got at least a moderate pat as you walked by. What a lovely place . . . .

Next stop: Tralee!

. . . . . After a long conversation she said, “Sigh. You sound just like Jessica Simpson. I love it.”

And that shut me up for the rest of the flight.

Mostly.

Eventually, Woney and I arrived in Dublin. I won’t give you the gritty details of that entire day because it was the longest day in the history of days. I will, however, tell you about all the stuff we did there because it was fun. Mostly.

Lunch – In an effort to attempt sleeping on the plane, I turned down every food offer the airline made. I missed the memo on the ridiculous amount of time it would take to get our bags, get our car, drive to the hotel and not check in, so by the time we were at a stopping point, I could have eaten a dead armadillo raw, still in its shell. We found a pub in short order and experienced our first culinary adventure in Ireland which consisted mostly of gravy. It was fantastic!

The Guinness Brewery – This was one of three items on Woney’s bucket list. We were assured by the concierge at our hotel (into which we could not check in) that the brewery was just a few short blocks away. This assurance was false. We walked endlessly for blocks and blocks and were slightly lost in a foreign country (pay attention – this is called foreshadowing). We did find it, though, by asking directions more than once although I’m pretty sure Woney would have sniffed it out eventually. It was a fabulous tour. Six floors of beer history, production, games, etc., all housed in a giant pint glass structure. Woney and I opted for the Master Pour section of the tour and once Woney poured her Guinness, the instructor queried “Have you done this before?”

Woney said, “No, I just drink a lot of Guinness.”

Before I ever left the states, I promised a friend that I would drink a pint of Guinness in his honor. I truly meant it. And then I took a swig of Woney’s Guinness. Call me a Philistine but no thank you. Casey, that swig was your Guinness. I raised that toast to you. And then I called it done. Barf.

Butler’s Chocolate Experience – This was not on our bucket list but man, this was fun. A few months ago as we were researching stuff to do in Ireland, we booked the tour for this one. It seemed interesting and you know . . . chocolate. It wasn’t until we were well into the tour that Woney and I realized we were two of only four adults, and that all the rest of the guests were children. Huh. The tour included a lot of samples, though, so we weren’t too upset about that.

Another part of the experience was the opportunity to decorate a piece of chocolate. I was expecting a delicate truffle with miniscule piping bags full of muted pastel icings – a “grown up” experience. Instead we got these:

Woney and I and all the children donned our hair nets and lab coats and set to work, tongues poking out in concentration. After some concerted effort, my bear looked like this. I call her Wilhelmina.

And this is Woney’s creation, Lulu. She’s a little slutty. We didn’t let the children get a look at her. Innocent eyes, you know.

The Church Bar – This is a must see if you ever make it to Dublin. We asked one of our cabbies about a good local place we should visit for dinner, and this was his recommendation. It’s an old Catholic church turned into a bar, which feels slightly sacrilegious, but the food was traditional and delicious. Highly recommend.

Church Bar

Sweating – This was the unexpected portion of our trip. Woney and I were so proud of our full suitcases and the clothes that we packed. I was particularly fond of a new hoodie I recently acquired that I couldn’t wait to wear. It will be February before it’s chilly enough to wear it in Tennessee. Anyway, it was with some dismay that Woney and I received the news about the record high temperatures in Ireland. What compounded the dismay was learning that our hotel was booked at capacity for the night and while we would be allowed to check in, it would be much, much later. Please understand that we had sweated a whole lot in NYC and then we sweated on the plane for a good 8 hours. Furthermore, we sweated in Dublin doing all that walking and getting lost. We did all of that wearing the same set of clothes. I forgot to tell you this last time, but in our freak show rushing around trying to get a cab, my super cute maxi dress got caught up in the escalator stairs, nearly rendering me nude for the cab ride. I saved it, though, with only a few tears and grease stains which now permanently decorate the bottom hem of my dress. What I’m saying is, not only did I look slightly homeless, but I also probably smelled really bad.

We did eventually get checked into the hotel and took the most amazing showers of our lives. Plumbing in Ireland is a bit different than what we are used to, so getting the water to come on was a challenge. Electricity is also a bit different, so turning on the lights was also a challenge. We completely embarrassed ourselves by calling the front desk to ask how the lamps worked.

It was with great pleasure that Woney and I went to bed that night. I have a sneaking suspicion that the beds we utilized would be disgustingly uncomfortable had we had them any other night, but after being awake for 40 hours, sweating like pigs right through our clothes, and walking a total of about 8 miles in one day, we were dunzos. Slept like babies.

Next stop: Kilkenny!