Living the Fairy Tale

I have to tell it. There is part II to the previous story. There was one other time in Ireland that we had trouble with finding a place, although in retrospect, it would have been better for us if it had stayed, er, lost.



Since none of us had much money, we had opted to stay at a lot of small bed and breakfast type hotels. We decided, however, to splurge and treat ourselves to one night in a real, honest-to-goodness castle. We were gonna live the fairy tale. Too bad it turned out to be Shrek instead of Sleeping Beauty.



Our first indication that things were not going to work out for us was when we couldn't find the castle. Once again, there was no real address, but we figured ,"how hard could it be to find?" Biiig castle, tiny little town. It should stand out, right? Nope. Wrong. This place was hidden away better than Brigadoon.



Finally, we did spot a sign with an arrow, indicating that the castle lay over the bridge on the outskirts of town. Ahhh. Directions at last. So over the bridge we went. Five miles later, there was still no castle, and no more signs, so we turned around, trying to figure out where we had gone wrong.



As we approached the bridge again from the opposite direction, we spotted the same sign showing that the castle was over the bridge in this direction.



Excuse me? If both signs were correct, that meant the castle was somewhere...on the bridge?...under the bridge?...hovering over the bridge? Hey, maybe we were staying in Brigadoon after all. Sadly, it took us about four more trips back and forth across the bridge before we were willing to admit that the castle wasn't actually there.

Just as we were about to cry "uncle", Tim spotted a road near the bridge. Or what might be a road. Maybe more of a lane. Or perhaps a path. Whatever. It looked like perhaps someone, at some point had driven what appeared to be a vehicle with wheels this way, and after all, it was Ireland, so we took it.

Twenty minutes later, as we sat in some farmer's field facing a very large, very angry-looking bull who seemed to view our little car as a rival for his cows' affections, we came to the conclusion that perhaps it wasn't really the road to the castle after all. We're smart like that.

Once again, we found ourselves back at the bridge trying to interpret the signage. Eventually, and I appear to have blocked this out of my conscious memory, we did find the castle. Even after all these years, though, I have not been able to block out the actual castle itself, no matter how hard I try.

Glad to be there, we eagerly ascended the grand staircase to our room. Tim and I were on the second floor, while my mom, Pat and Mary Ann were in the turret. (he he he)

As we pushed open our door, we recoiled in horror. Far from the sumptuous decor we expected, it looked like our room had last been updated in the 5o's...the 1850's...by someone who had mistaken it for the local bordello.

Bright orange carpeting (stained, by what I still don't want to know) warred with the red and black flocked wall paper, while an enormous naked, gold cupid chandelier hovered over the bed which was covered by a nasty-looking spread with large gold tassels. The shower curtain was stiff with age and I'm pretty sure the mold was the only thing keeping it from completely falling apart. Ewwwwww.

Were they kidding us? Really? Seriously, where was the hidden camera? We were supposed to sleep here and not have nightmares? I began wishing we had given up looking for the castle when we didn't find it on the bridge.

Turns out they were completely serious about the room though, and the castle was fully booked (apparently, we were not the only suckers, I mean tourists, in town that night). Suddenly, the turret didn't look so bad. Maybe I could hang my hair out the window and somebody from "Maid Brigade" would climb up and rescue me.

With no other choice, we resigned ourselves to our fate for the night, consoling ourselves with the fact that, with all the castle had to offer, we would not even be in the room anyway.

With cheerfully grim determination, we enquired at the front desk about the skeet-shooting offered in their catalogue.

"Oh, shooting? We host a contest once year. Too bad you just missed it, it was last weekend."

Grrr. How about horseback riding?

"Weell, it's not actually here at the castle, but it's really close. Just over in the next village. It's easy to get to."

Yeah, I'll bet. We'll probably only need a map, compass, guide dog, Sherpa and picnic lunch just to get there. Thanks, but I think we'll pass. So what is there to do besides shrieking in horror at the accommodations?

"You could visit the town?"

After weighing our options, which were, um, let's see none, we decided to go into town, gorge ourselves on fish and chips and try and plot a course for our escape the next day back to the comforts of a lovely little motel by the airport.

As hard as it was finding our way to the castle, we wanted to make darn sure we could find our way away from it!