97. Kissing the Blarney Stone

Kissing the Blarney Stone: I didn’t kiss the stone to get the gift of gab. I’m not lacking in that category. Although kissing the stone is supposed to give you the ability to speak with eloquence which is something I could probably use some help with but that is not why I kissed the stone. No, no, I kissed the stone because I’m a tourist in Ireland and I had to. At least that’s the way it seemed. I ventured out of the comfort and safety of Geraldine and John’s house in Belfast and bused my way down to Cork city. The hostel I stayed in, very conveniently, had a bar downstairs and when I asked people what to do in Cork, everyone said somewhat begrudgingly “Well, there’s tons to do but you’ve first got to kiss the Blarney stone.” So, the very next day I got on a bus with a girl from Rhode Island named Cate and we spent half a day wandering around the beautiful castle grounds, the adorable town of Blarney, and also kissing the Blarney Stone. An experience that can only make you feel like sheep off to be sheared. You have to lay down on your back while some Irishman holds you for dear life and you bend all the way back and plant lip to stone. They hustle you in and out so fast Cate and I hardly had enough time to get each others photos or think twice about the long plunge below but like every other tourist I saw that day or have met since, I totally loved it. Except for later back at the pub when the barman told me about how local kids go there at night and pee on the stone. That left me speechless.


  1. kate says:

    I heard that pissing story when I was there, too.

    No worries. I kissed it anyway. Our lips have been in worse places. I’m sure.

  2. Anonymous says:

    i think i kissed the blarney stone once in poughkeepsie