The Curse Of Ireland's Blarney Stone: A Travel Memoir Part One of Two

The Dangers of Driving In Ireland & Cursed Stones

The three of us came from different corners of the United States: my friend Ella from California, her sister, Kelly, from Washington DC, and I traveled the furthest from Hawaii. It was our first time in Ireland.

Our plan was simple: spend a few days in Dublin, rent a car, and wander around the country staying in Bed and Breakfasts. After a few days of mixing historical sites with Guinness in Dublin, it was time to leave the city. It was a clear May day when we left to loop our way around the country.

I laughed as Ella pulled up in a periwinkle Fiat Punto, which looked like a glorified Ford Festiva. The windshield and dash were plastered with caution stickers, reminding us that driving on the left side of the road was strongly encouraged, if not mandatory.

We wondered how many people had wrecked their rental cars to cause such an excessive amount of caution stickers. My guess was a lot. I also wondered if my brain was capable of shifting the manual transmission with my left hand.

Ella white-knuckled the car south down the city’s narrow, winding roads. We stopped at ancient monasteries, grand castles, and many pubs along the way, sampling lamb stews and black beers.

While in Cork, we decided Kenmare would be our next destination, which was in County Kerry. Before leaving Kelly pointed out that we were near Blarney Castle, home of the infamous Blarney Stone.

I insisted we go. Every St. Patrick's Day street party I attended had a fake Blarney stone for people to kiss. How cool would it be to kiss the real thing, I thought.

It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but the village of Blarney was already bustling.

"What exactly is kissing the Blarney Stone supposed to do for us?" Ella asked as she finally found a parking spot.

"According to my book, it will give us the gift of gab," I said, zipping my grey raincoat up to my chin. It was wet, and I cursed myself for not bringing an umbrella to a country known for rain.

"The gift of gab? Is that something we want?" Kelly asked. She pulled an umbrella out of her backpack. I shrugged, wondering how she managed to bring everything in one little suitcase.

We purchased our tickets and passed by the vendors that lined the entrance displaying t-shirts and shot glasses proclaiming, "I kissed the Blarney Stone."

The grey stone castle was smaller than I expected but sturdy, with thick limestone walls, lookout towers, and a murder hole. The castle opened to a large courtyard, where the moss camouflaged the stone walls.

After snapping some pictures, we made our way up the steep, uneven staircase that spiraled up to the roof. The rain had made the stone steps slick, and I struggled to maintain traction, especially as there was no railing. At times, I crawled up the stairs to avoid slipping and knocking the line of people behind me down like bowling pins.

Once at the top, we joined the line to kiss the Blarney Stone. I peered around to see an older man on the roof's edge, bundled in a black rain jacket. He grabbed each person by the upper body as they lay down on their backs and bent backward over the ledge.

"We have to lean over the ledge to kiss that freaking stone?" I asked, horrified. I was terrified of edges and mainly falling off them.

"Yeah, you didn't know that?" Ella said.

Well, I didn't come all this way not to do it, so I got in line. I went first. I sat on the mat and wondered why I was leaning backward off the top of an ancient castle to kiss a more ancient stone to get the gift of gab. I chalked it up to one of those stupid things you do when traveling.

I leaned backward and reached for the bars to support myself. The older man held onto me tightly. He guided me back to the stone lighter than the rest. I puckered up my lips and kissed. He pulled me upright and moved on to Ella. I stood up, exhilarated. I walked over to Kelly, who chose not to partake.

"I wonder how many germs are on that thing?" Kelly asked. I gave her an annoyed look, and as soon as she turned away, I rubbed my mouth on my sleeve.

After exploring the grounds, we returned to the car, and I offered to drive to give Ella a break. Secretly, I offered because the lanes were nice and wide.

My confidence in my driving inflated as I drove on the normal highway road, and I thought of Ella running over a couple of curbs on the way out of Dublin. My driving was smooth and curb-free.

Then, as if the universe wanted to punish me for my hubris, the road changed to one lane through the dark mountains. There was no shoulder to speak of, and the lane was so narrow that the little car barely fit. The Punto didn’t need much room, but the many tourist buses passing did. The speed limit was still 100km, and the buses were the only ones remotely going that fast and they often traveled well over the dividing line.

"Jeez, are these bus drivers kamikaze school dropouts?" I said, my shoulders tensed as another bus thundered down on our Punto.

"Hmm, yeah, this road is really narrow, but you're doing great," Ella said from the passenger's seat as she read my guidebook.

It's okay, I can handle this. I can handle driving a Punto through Ireland, I thought to myself. I was the lead car convoy driver in Iraq, after all. I drove down the most dangerous stretch of highway while there. What was it called? Route…Irish. The irony struck me.

I spotted another tour bus heading towards us. I moved the car away from the center line, imagining what a head-on collision with a tour bus would do to the tin can we were riding in.

I scooted over a little more until I heard the screech of metal. My mouth dropped, and I whipped my head towards Ella. She looked up from her book, resembling a child who had accidentally broken her mother's favorite china.

"Oh, god, what did I just hit?" I asked, my heart racing.

An alcove appeared thankfully on the side of the road. My shaky hands parked the car so I could inspect the damage and take a few deep breaths. We stood there looking at the wounded Punto. I managed to graze all four of its periwinkle panels.

"What the hell did I hit?" I exclaimed.

"Um, you hit the wall," Kelly said evenly.

"Wall? What wall?" I looked back; sure enough, a stone wall covered in foliage about two feet high lined the road's edge.

"Maybe we can buff it out?" Ella asked.

"Buff it out? Look at this. It's dented," I said, pointing to the six-inch scrape that lined the car like a racing stripe, "You can't buff this out! Damn it! Well, I guess this is why you get the insurance."

Ella and Kelly looked at each other and then back at me.

"Well, there's…I mean, we…" Ella stammered, "We didn't get the insurance."

"What! You didn't get the insurance? Why not?" I shrieked.

"Well, I never get the insurance back home because my car insurance covers me in a rental car," Ella answered.

"I can guarantee our insurance will not cover us in Ireland. Oh man, the rental company is going to stick it to us. I just wrecked the rental car I wasn't even authorized to drive."

"And they'll probably charge us for the days that it is out of service," Kelly added unhelpfully.

I slapped my forehead with my hand, "I can't believe you didn't get the insurance."

"Well, I didn't think we would wreck the rental car," Ella said defensively.

"What made you think we wouldn't wreck the rental car? We're driving on the wrong side of the road and on the wrong side of the car, shifting gears with our left hand. And look," I waved my arms wildly to the road, "Just look at these roads; it is an accident waiting to happen."

I put my hands on my hips and thought it was pointless to keep arguing as it would not magically make an insurance policy appear.

"Okay, we need a plan. What are our options?"

"Well, we turn it in like this and pay out the ass," Ella said.

"Helpful," I said.

"Or we could find a body shop at our next town and fix it ourselves. Then find the next rental car place and get the insurance for the rest of the trip," Kelly said. Ella and I looked at her, stunned we hadn't thought of it ourselves.

"What are the chances there will be a body shop in Kenmare, Country Kerry?" I asked.

"I don't know, but it's worth a try. If so, we'll stay an extra day in Kenmare and hope the town doesn't suck," Ella said.

I agreed it was the best option, and I returned to the driver’s seat.

"Do you want me to drive?" Ella asked.

"No," I said, "I need to redeem myself,"

The driving conditions did not improve. The road snaked and twisted over the Shehy Mountains, yet the speed limit and the bus behavior did not change. A tunnel with a fresh rock slide blocked my lane, and that about did me in.

Ella acted as my co-pilot, offering estimates of space and words of encouragement. As my nerves frayed, I opted to drive down the center of the road and pull over completely as tour buses passed.

We arrived in Kenmare and were delighted at what we saw. The main street was lined with row buildings as bright as Christmas lights. It was a cute little town that time had somehow missed.

"Look! Vehicle Repairs! There is a body shop right by our B&B!" I exclaimed. We all cheered for our good fortune.

We pulled into our B&B and were met by a pleasant older woman named Mary. Like many others, Mary had turned her home into a bed and breakfast after her sizeable Catholic family moved out.

She welcomed us warmly, and Ella explained our situation and that we may need to stay another night.

Mary put on her reading glasses that hung around her neck, determined to help her temporary children. She sat next to the telephone table and called the body shop.

"Well, ladies, tis already too late today, but Danny said to come by first thing in ta morning, and he will do his best to help you girls out. And tis no trouble for you to stay tomorrow night as well," Mary said.

I wanted to hug her. Instead, I replied with a heartfelt "Thank you."

The following day, we awoke early and drove to the body shop, where we met Danny O'Shea, car repair expert and possible savior of our bacon. He asked us what happened.

"A wall hit my car," I said.

Danny smiled, and he knelt to see the extent of the damage.

"Yes, driving around here can be a wee bit tricky. I can fix tis for ya and have it ready tomorrow morning," Danny smiled. I guessed we were not the first tourists to visit him with this problem.

He offered to fix it for a fair price, so we left the Punto with Danny and walked to the visitor center in town. We decided to enjoy our time in Kenmare by going horseback riding, which seemed like a harmless activity and didn’t involve cars.

Little did we know the bad luck was about to continue until we stumbled across an ancient site that might be the answer.

This story continues into part two of The Curse of Ireland’s Blarney Stone, the Dangers of Horseback Riding & Druid Blessings

In honor of one of my favorite holidays, Halloween, I’ll be releasing spooky-themed stories all month long.