Week Number I Cant Remember!
I send you a thousand apologies for being incommunicado for the last couple of weeks. Internet to Ireland is what classiness is to Australia. Everyone has heard of it, but no one can find it, or knows anyone who has it. I will try to update you all on the happenings, starting from where we last left off… in the beautiful land of Kilkenny.
Our travels brought us over to the west coast of Ireland, to a little place called Tralee. Small though it is, it’s actually the capital of County Kerry. Some of you may be familiar with the ‘Rose of Tralee’ parade, and if not, the song with the same name which still hasn’t grown on me. We stayed at a cute B&B run by a terrifying lady who should have been head of MI5. I’m not entirely convinced that she’s not! She had a head full of peroxided hair which looked like it had been severely electrified by a five million volt prison fence. At breakfast, she would tell you where to sit and when. And if she felt like moving you halfway through breakfast, she would. If she told you to spend the day sightseeing in the mountains, and you placed any value on your life, you damn well went… and quickly. And only returned after dark, and only if you were sure she was asleep. We lived in constant fear, I tell you.
We drove out to Blarney Castle one day and I climbed the never-ending spiral staircase to the top of the keep to kiss the Blarney Stone. Called the ‘Stone of Eloquence’, the Irish believe that by giving the stone a good snog, you will receive the gift of the gab, and occasionally the lesser sought after ‘gifts’ of cold sores, rashes and mouth disease. Anyway, I gave it a good smooch and then set about writing the world’s greatest piece of literature ever seen. Once complete, I was naturally uncomfortable with my brilliance, and threw it in the bin at Tesco’s supermarket to avoid living the rest of my life in the public eye. Teehee!
Another day, we went to the village of Killorgin, where the hilarious Puck Fair is held. This is great. Every year, the farmers head out to the mountains to catch a wild goat. After much Guinness, Puck the goat is crowned King to the good people. The town effectively has three whole days of celebration where the law is upheld by a hairy horny goat. You can imagine what state the town is in by the end of the third day. This fair dates back to Pagan times when goats were considered powerful creatures of fertility. However the story gets a bit muddled. Some people say that the fair originated from the days of Cromwell’s invasion of Ireland. Cromwell’s troops were crossing the mountains toward Killorgin when goats were startled and ran to the town, effectively alerting the villagers to the approaching danger and saving their town from ruin. A yearly festival is held in honour of the mountain goat. One guy I spoke to reckoned that neither of these theories are legit and the fair was invented by drunks, for the drunks, as an excuse to get drunker. Who the hell cares! It was great fun!
One highlight of Puck Fair was the ‘Gathering Day’ or first day of the celebrations. Never in my life have I seen so many good looking asses. Hehe! No joke, every breed of horse, pony, and donkey imaginable was present and accounted for. And only a handful of them are on leads or tied up. The rest are loose, chasing each other, running over small children and generally destroying the town. You have to see the pictures to believe it. It was truly amazing.
Speaking of horses, we decided to lash out during our visit to Killarney, and hired a horse & carriage to take us around Killarney National Park, which was beautiful. This is where they filmed the love scenes for that movie Ryan’s Daughter. It was so romantic with a plaid blanket draped across my knees, the wind in my hair, the gentle swaying of the carriage… and good ol’ Nanny sitting next to me. Yep! As romantic as it gets!
We also spent a few days driving around Cork’s stunning peninsulas. The Ring of Kerry is perhaps the most famous, but personally I loved the Dingle. To begin with, the name is cool. And to add to this, the coastal scenery is breathtaking. Enough so to convince me to pull over every few hundred metres to take another photo. Old ruins are scattered across the countryside and you can meander through 5000 year old stone forts and beehive huts. Very cool.
Next stop Bunratty, County Clare for a scrumdiddlyumptious medieval banquet.
Our travels brought us over to the west coast of Ireland, to a little place called Tralee. Small though it is, it’s actually the capital of County Kerry. Some of you may be familiar with the ‘Rose of Tralee’ parade, and if not, the song with the same name which still hasn’t grown on me. We stayed at a cute B&B run by a terrifying lady who should have been head of MI5. I’m not entirely convinced that she’s not! She had a head full of peroxided hair which looked like it had been severely electrified by a five million volt prison fence. At breakfast, she would tell you where to sit and when. And if she felt like moving you halfway through breakfast, she would. If she told you to spend the day sightseeing in the mountains, and you placed any value on your life, you damn well went… and quickly. And only returned after dark, and only if you were sure she was asleep. We lived in constant fear, I tell you.
We drove out to Blarney Castle one day and I climbed the never-ending spiral staircase to the top of the keep to kiss the Blarney Stone. Called the ‘Stone of Eloquence’, the Irish believe that by giving the stone a good snog, you will receive the gift of the gab, and occasionally the lesser sought after ‘gifts’ of cold sores, rashes and mouth disease. Anyway, I gave it a good smooch and then set about writing the world’s greatest piece of literature ever seen. Once complete, I was naturally uncomfortable with my brilliance, and threw it in the bin at Tesco’s supermarket to avoid living the rest of my life in the public eye. Teehee!
Another day, we went to the village of Killorgin, where the hilarious Puck Fair is held. This is great. Every year, the farmers head out to the mountains to catch a wild goat. After much Guinness, Puck the goat is crowned King to the good people. The town effectively has three whole days of celebration where the law is upheld by a hairy horny goat. You can imagine what state the town is in by the end of the third day. This fair dates back to Pagan times when goats were considered powerful creatures of fertility. However the story gets a bit muddled. Some people say that the fair originated from the days of Cromwell’s invasion of Ireland. Cromwell’s troops were crossing the mountains toward Killorgin when goats were startled and ran to the town, effectively alerting the villagers to the approaching danger and saving their town from ruin. A yearly festival is held in honour of the mountain goat. One guy I spoke to reckoned that neither of these theories are legit and the fair was invented by drunks, for the drunks, as an excuse to get drunker. Who the hell cares! It was great fun!
One highlight of Puck Fair was the ‘Gathering Day’ or first day of the celebrations. Never in my life have I seen so many good looking asses. Hehe! No joke, every breed of horse, pony, and donkey imaginable was present and accounted for. And only a handful of them are on leads or tied up. The rest are loose, chasing each other, running over small children and generally destroying the town. You have to see the pictures to believe it. It was truly amazing.
Speaking of horses, we decided to lash out during our visit to Killarney, and hired a horse & carriage to take us around Killarney National Park, which was beautiful. This is where they filmed the love scenes for that movie Ryan’s Daughter. It was so romantic with a plaid blanket draped across my knees, the wind in my hair, the gentle swaying of the carriage… and good ol’ Nanny sitting next to me. Yep! As romantic as it gets!We also spent a few days driving around Cork’s stunning peninsulas. The Ring of Kerry is perhaps the most famous, but personally I loved the Dingle. To begin with, the name is cool. And to add to this, the coastal scenery is breathtaking. Enough so to convince me to pull over every few hundred metres to take another photo. Old ruins are scattered across the countryside and you can meander through 5000 year old stone forts and beehive huts. Very cool.
Next stop Bunratty, County Clare for a scrumdiddlyumptious medieval banquet.
posted by Jo at 6:24 pm
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