KILKENNY

Breakfast at Butler Court is of the continental sort, in your room, which fits us exactly.  It's a bit more elaborate that what we enjoy at home...here we had fresh fruit, cereals, scones, juice, coffee, tea and more, which resulted in total happiness.  On this particular morning--cool air, blue sky and sunshine--we opened our door.  Surprisingly soon, we noticed Bob standing at the door.  We asked him in, but Bob was on duty and stayed on the porch.  "C'mon, Bob, it's OK," we coaxed.  Bob takes his job seriously and, so,  he continued to simply watch us.  Finally BC tried the old, "Have I got a treat for you" trick.  Bob stood firm.  BC went to the door, petted Bob, and carefully laid a trail of scone crumbs from the door to his chair.  Bob was seriously tempted.  Bob fought the temptation.  Bob  fought hard.  Bob was losing.  Bob became a victim of his more baser instincts.  And, Bob became our best friend.  

Since Kilkenny Castle was right next door, we started our tour there.  Construction began on the castle in 1195 and, in reality, continued for centuries as it expanded, modernized, was damaged in battles, rebuilt, and damaged again.  What we see today is a 20th century restoration of the final version of the castle.  The Butler family bought the castle in 1391 and held onto it until 1935 when they sold its contents for 6000 pounds and rented it out.  Finally, they sold the castle itself in 1967 for 50 pounds.  And we thought real estate was bad in Arizona! 

 

We enjoyed the tour of the castle as it was self-directed (booklet of directions and descriptions of each room) with a docent in each room to answer questions and offer more details.  We could linger--and BC could chat--to his heart's content.

Had we been invited to dine here, this would have been our view.

Had we been invited to sleep here, this would have been our view.  I'm pretending this is home.  BC--who let those commoners into our grounds?

We wandered from the castle through town and and climbed another significant hill to arrive at St. Canice's Cathedral which, now that I think about it, might have been the same route the Butler's took way back when.  I do love graveyards, and this one was quite nice.  Suddenly, and unexpectedly, the dramatic music of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 burst through the open door.  Whoa!!  What's going on here?  Had I died while I was struggling up that hill?  It had felt like I might.  Is this heaven?  No,  it was still Kilkenny, and an All Ireland orchestra and chorus was rehearsing in the cathedral for the Arts Festival concert that evening.  We wandered into the cathedral, which looked authentically 14th century to me, sidled by the entry desk (3 Euro for a tour), watched and listened for a few minutes.  The acoustics were great and, as always, made me think of Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth.

That visit worked out so well, we popped into three more churches over the course of the day.  All were beautiful, of course, and come Sunday morning, most were as empty as they were on Saturday afternoon. 

Late that afternoon, we chose our dinner spot as we were planning to join the Traditional Music Tour later in the evening.  We went to the Marble City Bar, cozy and relaxed, and enjoyed a really nice dinner, elbow to elbow with fifty of our closest friends.  (It was fun to listen to the conversations, though.)  As always, I asked where the "Ladies Room" was and, as always, it was in the basement or, more nicely put, down the stairs.  And...there was a keypad plus a code to enter it. The code was 2244#.  As I descended the stairs I repeated 2244#, 2244# a few times so I wouldn't look like an addled old lady and have to return to ask for the code again.  As it happened, there were quite a few ladies already down the stairs, so the door was held open and I simply walked in.  A few minutes later, I was alone in the bathroom, dried my hands and tried to open the door.  Locked.  Locked...  Then someone knocked on the door.  I called out to them.  They couldn't open the door--what was the code?  "2244#", I answered.*  "There's no pound sign here," answered a woman.  I assured her the pound sign was there, she insisted it was not.  Finally I realized she was British and, no, the pound sign she was thinking of wasn't there.  I began to draw the # sign in the air, over and over, but that wasn't working.  Oh! She couldn't see me inside the door while she was still outside the door.  Then I tried to describe #.  Have you ever tried to describe #?  Through a locked door?  To make a long story longer, BC joined the group of women, not because he was worried about me, but because he needed a bathroom also, and couldn't get the men's door open.  (It was not a surprise that he hadn't listened to the code part!?!)  Finally, someone who understood 2244# came down the stairs, opened the door and pointed out the little button beside the door on which I'd been beating that, with one press, popped open the door from the inside.  Oh!  So sorry...

**It is obvious that 2011 was a far away time. In that long ago era, # was a symbol for pound...weight type pound. Not a symbol for money type pound. I was talking weight while the poor distressed lady was talking money. Today--we could all have agreed on Hashtag.

The Traditional Music Tour, or "Trad Tour" as they're known, was great fun.  This likable and talented young couple explained the history of traditional music, took us through the centuries and ended with a not very complimentary song about Bob Dylan.  Nearly fifteen of us, from all over the world, visited two pubs with this couple and had a great evening.

I can't explain it either, but there it was as we walked down Patrick Street later that evening.  I'm not sure if she was going or coming but the next morning it was a block and a half farther down the road.  Your guess is as good as mine