Blarney Caravan & Camping Park, County Cork, Munster

We woke to rain and poor visibility; it was obviously not a day for sightseeing or at least a long drive through the countryside. Instead we decided to head into Cork for the day, a simple enough matter from here once one accepts that the bus fares for the day add up to about NZ$22. I put on my stern face and preached about the stupidity of cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face, a common enough theme right through this blog.

Lunch stowed in the backpack, we headed down into Blarney, a little more than two and a half kilometres away. We parked in the car park beyond the Woollen Mill Hotel, adjacent to a rather rundown industrial building. Here, according to the helpful receptionist at the camp, we could park all day for free.

Too late for the 9.38 am, and too early for the next, we wandered about the old village and reckoned that the Anglican Church, the Church of the Resurrection, would make for a Grand Design makeover, although we were not too sure what you would do with all the gravestones and remains resting beneath. The #215 eventually turned up outside the Catholic Church and we set off on a roundabout route south to Cork.

We stepped off the bus in the middle of the city, having crossed onto the island that makes up the centre, made our way to the Information Centre to obtain a map, then on to the Crawford Art Gallery, the One Must-do in Cork according to one of the guides I had read. Actually there is a heap to do and see here but we did limit our touring today, partly due to the weather and partly due to spending choices.

The Crawford Art Gallery is housed in one of the historic buildings in Cork, originally built in 1724, and transformed into an art museum in the late 19^th century, with a new gallery extension added in 2000. The collection apparently numbers 4,000 artworks and obviously very little can be out for viewing at any one time. 

Today we enjoyed several specially curated exhibitions, “Naked Truth: The Nude in Irish Art” which did not make for wholesome family viewing and another titled “Heroes & Villains”, artwork extracted from the collection with an interesting twist to the theme. There were a couple of smaller exhibitions as well, and we were well pleased with that on display and had to agree that the Crawford Gallery should definitely be on the tourists’ Cork itinerary especially for those seeking attractions without charge.

Our next destination was the English Market, but not until we had found a fairly discrete spot along the street to sit and eat our lunch. We watched the passers-by, and agreed it was all rather surreal, dining in the drizzle in the midst of such vibrant city activity.

The English Market has traded since 1788, predating most other markets of its kind. Apparently Barcelona’s famous Boqueria market did not start until eighty years after this first started to serve the folk of Cork. It had survived the Famine, revolutions, wars, fire and economic decline, and today with the crowds of vendors and customers, and the stalls so full of wonderful fresh produce ranging from fish to meat, fruit vegetables, bread, spices, cheeses, in fact everything one could consider consuming at the table, it was a wonderful assault to the senses. Chris remarked that he was glad we had already eaten or he may not have been able to resist the temptation of all the wonderful foodstuffs. 

We spent another hour or so wandering about the streets, enjoying the company of our fellow tourists and shoppers, walking to the south of the “island” and up and down lanes and streets. I liked everything about the city except the banner pole street lights that have been installed to bring the city into modern times. I reckon they look like cranes and the whole centre has ended up looking like a construction site.

No sooner had we boarded our homeward bound bus that the rain started in earnest. When we arrived in Blarney and made our way to the Centra, the best the village has by way of a supermarket, we were glad to have our raincoats and umbrellas. We were not impressed with the prices in Centra, and limited our purchase to bread, the only immediate essential on our grocery list.

Finding the car safe, unclamped and with no parking fine tucked into the windscreen wipers, we followed the signs around to Blarney Castle, hoping to get a glimpse of this historic site that draws the tourists by the coach load. Our children will be disappointed we did not visit the castle and kiss the Blarney Stone, but I reckon I have the gift of the gab without standing on some sort of slippery slope and kiss a cold rock. 

We have other places planned for the next couple of days and at this stage it would seem unlikely that we will bother to follow the crowds to satisfy the coffers of the Irish who must be laughing all the way to the bank.