This past weekend, I ventured off to Ireland's second largest city, Cork! I'm finding that writing about big, exciting weekends is a fair bit more difficult than describing some funny little anecdote or experience of an average day, but bear with me.
Where Dublin was sprawling and fast-paced by Irish standards, Cork reminded me a lot more of Galway. It was still pretty big, but home to more small shops, pubs, cafes and winding roads than massive museums or tourist destinations. Like each Irish town I've seen thus far, it was situated around a river, and we were extraordinarily blessed with a beautiful few days: sunny and dry! Still a bit windy, but all things considered, I hope I never complain about a bit of drizzle ever again.
After arriving in the city and lugging our belongings to our hostel at the top of a treacherously high hill, we took the advice of the friendly check-in desk man and wandered over to the English Market, a wonderful little indoor marketplace that reminded me a lot of Reading Terminal Market. There, we grabbed food. For me, lunch consisted of chicken, cranberry and brie cheese on a fresh roll: heavenly. The group parted ways a couple times this weekend, everyone exploring their own interests, and for me that meant a whole lot of big old churches, a bookstore in which I resisted buying a set of hardcover Harry Potter books with gold-trimmed pages, and wandering through grounds of Cork University to discover an actual real life jousting tournament. What? For dinner, we split a half-off pineapple, ham and bacon pizza that came to about 3 euro a person. Cheap and delicious and the first pizza I'd had in a month. All wins there.
So this title of this post becomes mostly relevant when looking at the second day in Cork, the real full day. Everything in Ireland mostly shuts down on Sundays, but this was the first time I'd really been affected by it: in Dublin a lot of the touristy stuff was still open, though later, and in Galway, I have no problem taking advantage of sleeping in on the 'day of rest'. But in Cork, when our bus tour to Blarney didn't leave until noon, and mass was finished by 10:30, we struggled to fill the time! But first: I've been successful so far at getting to church here, which is important to me, luckily because Ireland seems to be church central. This Sunday though, it was a little different: a friend and I found a mass in Irish! I know maybe 10 words in Irish, none of which came up, so it was a weird experience (a lot like the one I went to said in Basque way back in Spain). The music was beautiful and haunting, and the homily was said in English: since the priest only has to memorize the Irish prayers or read off a paper, we decided that for the sake of the congregation understanding and for his own ease in writing something new each week, it was easier to use English. We've been talking a lot about the decline of Irish in my Celtic Languages class, so it was a really interesting experience on several levels.
And after a period of putzing around the city like tourists, we were off to Blarney! This is one of the number one things I was excited about getting to see/kiss in Ireland (the only thing I'm going to kiss in Ireland come to think of it- no worries, Tyler). We'd booked a fairly splurging tour with the Paddywagon bus company, advertised as 'THE MOST FUN TOUR IN THE WORLD'. Where we went was great, but sadly I don't know if they can really claim that moniker...maybe Nadav and Davinder just gave me high expectations for tour guides. But Blarney, I must say, was magical. It wasn't just the imposing, well preserved castle with winding staircases and picturesque windows, or even the well-worn stone itself. The grounds were, to quote a friend, "like living in a fairytale". Outside of the castle we happened upon a 'poison garden', which was weird- true to it's name, they grew all poison stuff. So I saw some mandrakes and wolfsbane and nightshade, and then we climbed a curvy tree and I jumped down and potentially re-stress-fractured the foot I broke 4 years ago falling out of a school bus. Luck of the Irish, eh? We also were able to experience the 'wishing steps', which legend says if you can walk up and down thinking of only one thing, it'll come true within the year! Only catch is, you need to keep your eyes closed- and it's pretty slippery, and next to a waterfall. But I did it, albeit clutching to the handrail at times.
The final stop of our day after Blarney, where I did kiss the stone and hopefully was granted a 7-year gift of gab (can you tell the difference?), was Cobh, a small port town with a claim to fame as the last stop for the Titanic. They had a museum there, which I skipped because I'll be back again in April with dad and Maggie, but also cute little shops and another awe-inspiring cathedral. So all told, my weekend was one of churches and fantasy- I did admittedly buy a British version of the Prisoner of Azkaban, and mentally crossed off one of the major items on my unwritten bucket list. The weather was perfect (did you know that February 1st is the start of spring on the Irish calendar?), and although we could have feasibly done Cork in a day, I was glad for the extra bit of time to take it all in without a rush as I went, the Irish way.
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