Castles
THE GIFT OF
BLARNEY
only follows an upside-down kiss of the stone
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The highlight of
CORK, Ireland -- If you haven't heard of the Blarney Stone, you probably just haven't met someone who's kissed it. Because, if you believe the myth, they've been blessed with the gift of gab. I don't know if I believe in the legend myself, but my guess is that public relations directors and telemarketers are chartering planes to Cork at this very moment just in case the magic worked.
Not everyone is familiar with the legend of the Stone. I realized this when I asked two 30-year-olds from Los Angeles about it.
PERSON 1: Doesn't it have something to do with luck? Like you touch it for luck or something? But I should really know this 'cause I'm Irish.
PERSON 2: I think there was a movie about it.
PERSON 1: No, that was about a leprechaun.
Blarney Castle itself dates to 1446. Tourism to the Stone took off after 1789, when the French consul in Dublin visited the castle and reported back that all who kiss the block "will gain the privilege of telling lies for seven years."
I had heard about the Blarney Stone and its gab-giving properties years ago, but I suppose I always pictured it standing on its own as the center of attention, like Plymouth Rock, the Rosetta stone or Sharon Stone.
Instead, it's a rectangular slab precariously embedded in the battlements of the castle, stretching from the outside wall to a spot just above the former altar of the castle church. Until they removed a slice of stone from a small portion of the roof in the early part of this century, accessing the stone was as tedious as passing a kidney stone. You had to dangle over the edge of the roof, suspended 90 feet in the air by leather straps attached to your ankles. This must have been all the rage in pre-bungee-jumping, thrill-seeking community -- until one stone smoocher's straps gave way.
These days, the Stone gets several hundred-thousand suitors every year. Although it's much more accessible now, planting a kiss still requires a little physical maneuvering. You have to climb 127 steps, then lie on your hind parts, tilt your head waaaaaaay back and deliver the smooch more or less upside-down. There's a pair of handles to grab onto and a 60-something "holder" named David to give you a hand and throw a blanket over the young women who arrive in miniskirts, not realizing the compromising position the Stone will put them in.
David swabs the Stone down with rubbing alcohol every so often, but you're basically kissing the person (or several people) who kissed it last. According to David, some people refuse to touch their lips to the Stone, or opt to kiss it through a handkerchief. A few others, much to David's dismay, slip it the tongue -- which gets them a quick reprimand before David re-swabs the Stone.
I spent about an hour with David, chatting about some of the more unusual things he's seen and heard on the job.
"A lot of people -- usually American -- want to have their pets kiss the stone," he said. Neither of us could guess why they'd want more talkative pets.
One of the most challenging aspects of David's job is the size of some kissers.
"You get these tourists over 300 pounds," he said, illustrating the girth with his hands for visual effect. "It's hard to lift them back up."
Many try to say something witty when they stand up, but David couldn't remember anything that made him laugh. Most of the comments I heard fell pretty flat.
When there was a short pause in the line I took my turn, grabbing the handles as David helped lower me back. A steel grate prevents you from sliding over the edge, but you get a good view of the 90-foot-plus drop. I gave the clammy rock a two-second peck, with a little kissing sound for added effect, and sat back up. I didn't notice much besides a minor head rush as the blood found its way back down.
"So, do I get the gift of gab straight away," I asked, "or is there some kind of incubation period?"
"You've got it now," David said. "But according to legend, you've got to come back in seven years to recharge your batteries. See you then."
Doug Lansky is a twentysomething adventure-humorist |
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