And by Tour to Cork, what I really mean is Blarney Castle, because that was the main attraction of the day, although we also visited the graveyard where a tomb for the Lusitania and its victims is held, Queenstown, and a couple of other small stops along the way.
We started our trip at about 5:30am, leaving our hotel in Dublin 4 to make our way to Dublin 7, where Heuston Station (our meeting point) resides.
Of course...there was a stop for tea on the way, a drink which I learned to love while in Ireland. While in America, the masses crave coffee early in the mornings, Ireland stops for a cup of tea with milk before work in the mornings...and, for that matter, throughout the day.
And so, I joined them. After all, when in Ireland...
All my life, I expected Ireland to be this enormous, green expanse of absolute beauty.
And trust me, the country delivered.
My brother may have wanted to scream at points because of it, but throughout the week, I was constantly photographing flowers and grass and trees and fields.
Blarney Castle in the distance.
At this point, it started misting, but by the time we made it to the castle 10 minutes or so later, the rain had stopped, and the skys cleared.
At the front of the castle was a relatively small area where people had signed the walls. We looked, but couldn't find any white paint or markers to sign our own names.
So I settled for taking pictures.
The watchtower which apparently surrounded the entirety of the castle at one point.
The view from a window inside the castle
H. Smith. - the first name ever signed to the castle walls.
For the greater part of our climb to the top of the castle, I was to struck by terror to take as many pictures as I normally would have. This was at the top of the castle though, where we waited to kiss the stone.
And now, we have the Gift of Gab.
Can you tell? Aren't I more eloquent than I was pre-Ireland.
Lunch in the town where Blarney Castle was.
...and our friend, the snail
In Queenstown, the type of houses that Toblerone bars are named after.
...made me hungry for some chocolate!
This small town was the last port of call before the Titanic set sail for America.
A "small" church in Queenstown. According to our tour guide, what can be considered a large church in America is the size of a small-town church in Ireland.
Ater seeing this, I believe him.
While exploring the church, Corey and I (and a few others from our tour) almost missed the bus because we got so consumed taking photos of the inside.
Angel of Death statue given by America to Ireland after the sinking of the Lusitania.
If ever I was to find a Leprechaun, it would be at the end of an Irish rainbow...
a pub back in Dublin