A castle, an abbey, and how to tell when you're not welcome in a pub

Today we headed out of the city again (hallelujah) and down to Kilkenney.  Frommer's describes Kilkenney as the Irish town of many visitor's imaginings.  I didn't have any imaginings of Irish towns before I got here, though, so it mostly looked cute and slightly touristy.  But we didn't choose Kilkenney because of Frommer's anyway.  I had stumbled upon it when I was researching Letterkenney in Donegal, discovered that there was a huge amount to do and see there, and then realized I was reading about Kilkenney by accident.  Shush- it's an easier mistake than you might think with all the towns here that are so similarly named.

    We started with Kilkenney Castle.  If you're wondering if all these castles are really so different that we need to visit them all, the answer is no (except Dunluce, which is, as far as we all are concerned, in a class by itself).  But we have two little girls who love castles, so to castles we go.

    Kilkenney was reputed to be one of the most fairytale-esque castles in Ireland, and it was, at least on the outside.  Of course the glorious blue sky after a week of rain might have helped.
[argh...side note.  Sorry about the formatting below. Blogger is screwing up and won't let me put text next to photos beyond this one here.]

Later, we drove over to Thomastown to visit Jerpoint Abbey, a medieval Cistercian ruin.  It was so nice to be in the country again, where the fields are green, the roads are curvy, and the hedgerows are close.

We arrived well after closing time, so we couldn't go into the ruin itself, which I regret.  It was one of the loveliest sites I've seen since we've been here.  

What I don't regret is that since we arrived so late, we were completely alone.  We were able to walk around the perimeter, peer through the (barred) windows, wander through the small graveyard, and look at the old, old stones in stillness. Well, as much stillness as a 4&6 yr old will allow. 

It was incredibly peaceful.  There was a gentleness at the abbey that I hadn't yet felt any place else here in Ireland, North or South.  I was aware that I was walking on ground that had been considered holy for a long, long time.  And unlike at the cathedrals, which insist with their grandeur on being given their due respect, here I instinctively fell into reverence.  

For all the hours we spent wandering around the cathedrals, I'm already beginning to forget them.  But this little abbey, where we spent all of 20 minutes, I'll remember 20 years from now.

Our last adventure for the night has no photo, because alas, I didn't think to take one until it was too late. But here is the tale in brief:  upon leaving the abbey, we decided to eat in Thomaston instead of Kilkenney due to an emergency potty situation.  So we stopped at a little pub with a blackboard outside advertising sandwiches.  In we went.  

    The pub was small and dark, and there were only 6 or so people sitting around.  There was no creepy vibe, however, so I wasn't concerned.  As I walked past the first man sitting at the bar, I gave him a smile.  While he looked into my eyes for an extended beat, he most decidedly did not smile back.  Uncowed, I gave my most winning smile to the next man at the bar I walked past.  He also looked into my eyes for an extended beat.  And did not smile.  Now he did offer a head nod.  but I know lots of people disinclined toward smiling for whom a nod is at least a neutral acknowledgement, and this nod was not one of those nods.  

Hmmmmm

    Michael took the girls to the bathroom, and I could hear him chatting with the bartender, who was clearly being quite friendly with him.  Reassured, when the bartender came back front, I offered him my biggest smile yet.  He looked at me...and did not smile in return.

Then the phone rang, and when the bartender answered, all he said was, "the eagle has landed" before hanging up.  

Huh. 

     I was pretty sure he was just joking with a friend.  But there was a slim possibility that in fact we had stumbled into that weird Steven King story where on one day every year in one small town unsuspecting visitors are caught and then sacrificed to frogs with needle teeth.

Unfortunately it turned out that the pub didn't serve food that late anyway, so we had to cut our visit short.  I'm sure they were devastated to see the back side of me.

    We headed back to Kilkenney, ate at a pub that had absolutely crap food, and then wandered back to the car, passing on the way a hen (?)  party, aka bachlorette party, that was waiving over their head an enormous, blow up penis.

You just can't make this stuff up.