I had no idea that Blarney Castle is not “just” a castle. (Spend four or five days in Ireland and you’ll understand that sentence.) The grounds cover 60 acres and contain hundreds of both wild and planted flowers, trees, and foliage. Even as we parked and queued up to pay, we kept saying, “Where is the castle?”  The answer: hidden by the magical forest surrounding it.

Though there is a  $12 admission fee, residences can buy an annual pass and come as often as they like. I am under the impression that people do, as many were treating the grounds like a public park, laying on blankets, picnicking, and the like.  Of course Irish-style busking happens there as well, with a dreadlocked harpist on a footpath there and a long haired flowy skirted flutist there.

I’ve anywhere I’ve seen in Ireland, I’d vote Blarney Castle Gardens and the place most-likely-to-contain-fairies. Every spot on which my eyes fell held another tiny purple flower, a tree with mysteriously glossy bark, the quick dart of a sprite.

Human characters:

*the tiny little man from the Dominican Republic who smoked cigarette after cigarette AS HE CLIMBED THE STAIRS to the top turret (and the stone).

*the Irish girl who had an anxiety attack and had to come back down the narrow spiral staircase THE WRONG WAY

*the young British boy in a suit, tie, and slick dress shoes

*the boxy American women who tsk’ed tsk’ed at the graffiti (as did I)

*the bride with bitch face’s photo session

*the old Irish man who took his break at the top of the castle, pouring tea from a tall Aluminum thermos, eating a brown paper wrapped sandwich, taking in the view.

As we tend to do in Ireland, we stumbled onto this lovely café on the grounds and what could we do but have tea for two? We split a sausage roll with red onion chutney (street food in Ireland) and a blueberry muffin and were nearly silent as we took it all in.