Big Iron Balls in County Cork

Top O' the afternoon to ya! I just finished eating lunch in a large garden outside of Kilkenny Castle in south-eastern Ireland. Ireland is a very beautiful country. Despite what 99 percent of the postcards might indicate, the landscape of the country isn't the homogenous green rolling hills dotted with sheep. In fact, it varies from lush forests of deciduous and conifer trees to vast expanses of flat rocky fields where almost nothing grows. John and I landed in Dublin on May 1st and so far we've been many places including Galway, Doolin, the Dingle Peninsula, and Kinsale in the South. Some of my favourite places have been the Cliffs of Moher (huge mystical cliffs which hug the far west coast) and Newgrage (a prehistoric structure built in about 2500 BC to venerate the dead).

While many of the touristy things have lived up to their expectations, except the Blarney Stone (never waste your time or money doing this), it is the unexpected things that have been the most wonderful. Two days ago we were driving south towards the wealthy sea-side town of Kinsale from Dingle. We decided to take a rural road as it was more direct and far more scenic -- the only problem is the insanely narrow lanes on the road, but I've gotten used to it. While driving through a forested area with the typical blind corners, I had to slam on the brakes for a huge crowd of men standing in the road. The stern look on all their faces made me think at first we were driving into a funeral procession - but when I noticed that there wasn't a woman amongst them, I thought we might have stumbled into some civil unrest! Slowly the crowed parted and I was able to (nervously) drive through the crowd of about two or three hundred. When we emerged on the other side of the crowd we came across several women in cars slowly following the crowd. I stopped and asked a woman what the hell was going on. "Road bowling," she said frankly with a look on her face that stood in place of the suffix "you idiot!"

This activity is exclusive to two small areas of Ireland (West Cork being one of them) and it only takes place on Sunday afternoons on rural paved roads. Two brutish-looking men were taking turns hurling a surprisingly heavy iron ball (a bit smaller than a baseball) down the road. The competitor who is able to have his ball reach a two mile mark in the fewest throws is declared the winner. The atmosphere surrounding the spectacle is extremely serious -- this ain't no Irish kitchen party! The austere tone is likely due to the wages. The competitors we encountered were playing for 2000 Euros and, supposedly, there are also many side-bets going on. The scene was far from official in appearance (t-shirt and jeans was typical), but there was an official referee who was in charge of stopping traffic and the official marking of ball distances and other rules. In fact, it was even suggested that I speak with him before snapping a picture of the competition so I didn't provoke an "incident." I'm telling you - these boys were serious about the game! Nevertheless, everybody was pretty receptive to my inquiries and interest -- it was really a great thing to stumble upon. Indeed, the most "Irish" experience yet.

Other things have included hoisting more than a few pints of Guinness while watching a fantastic duo play Celtic music in a three-hundred year old pub in Waterford last night. I had to duck my head in most of the pub as the ceilings were so low; also, the bar tender assured me that the bar was the place that Sinead O'Connor used to perform while going to school in Waterford. Very cool. I'll be home in three days.

A.