People who know me think my kissing the Blarney Stone is like carrying coals to Newcastle. I’m filled with enough Blarney as it is. (Or is that baloney?)
Like most good tourist attractions Blarney Castle cannot be seen from the road or even before you pay for your ticket to enter. You have to turn a certain corner, and there it is. Like many things on our tour, it was half covered with scaffolding which did not detract from its mythological majesty. Josh and I decided to get in line early before I dawdled too much and started wearing down. He took a quick picture of me when I still felt like smiling. The initial path up to the castle gate was not so bad. We had a great view of the half-demolished castle keep. Then the ascent began. As the docent explained at Bunratty Castle, the stairs were strategically built steep and uneven to slow down the assault of attacking troops. Sometimes they switched from turning right to turning left as they ever went higher. Along the way, the staircase opened to reveal side rooms. I stepped into a couple of them just for the chance to take a breath. That put me behind Josh, but I didn’t mind. How could I get lost? There was only one way up and one way down. Once we were at the top, we waited in line to kiss the stone. In front of me my friend the teacher called across way to my son who had already kissed the stone.
“Where’s your father? He didn’t come up here, did he?”
“Yes, I did,” I called out from behind her.

When I got to the stone I realized this area was the target of all the scaffolding. Before the renovations, there had been steel bars below the stone. It would really ruin someone’s vacation to slip from the grasp of the guide and fall into the moat below. In the middle of the renovation a thick plywood board replaced the bars, which took all the fun of leaning over backwards. I didn’t asked but I assumed—and hoped—eventually a nice thick slab of plexiglass would be installed so that you could still see the view upside down but have absolutely no chance of falling to the ground. As an aging male, I wanted all the strangers standing around me to know for certain that I was not afraid. I scooted my old hiney as far off the castle wall as I could before I leaned back. Unfortunately my hiney went so far off the edge I had trouble getting my head down to the legendary stone. Eventually I wriggled my face down and kissed it twice—once for myself and once for my wife Janet who died two years ago of cancer. I loved her but frankly she could have used a bit more blarney. My mission accomplished, I began to sit up and remembered how far out I stuck and I was indeed stuck. I couldn’t move. Luckily the castle guide has seen every combination of discomfort so he had me unstuck and on my way quickly.
The descent was easier, except when I had to put weight on my left knee which was beginning to scream that it wasn’t having any fun. One of the major tenets of the aging male is that you’re not supposed to slow down, grimace, or otherwise show you are in pain. I continued to hop down the stairs like nothing was wrong. Luckily about three quarters of the way I caught up with Josh at the photo stand to see which pictures of me upside I wanted to buy for posterity. Actually this was a perfect opportunity to catch my breath and to let my whiney knee calm down. I decided to buy both. One showed me actually kissing the stone but my face wasn’t showing. The second was slightly pre-kiss and showed that it was, indeed, me smooching the stone.

At the bottom, Josh photographed me leaning against an anonymous wall. My smile was not up to its usual standards. Behind me were a myriad of gardens with waterfalls and a garden of poisoned plants. This was necessary when you had a dinner party and wanted the guest of honor to be dead by midnight. I think I disappointed Josh because instead of strolling through the gardens I wanted to get to the nearest pub for liquid refreshment and food.
Here’s a great tourist tip: Anytime you’re thirsty and hungry in Ireland, find the nearest pub. You can’t go wrong.