101 Places Not to See Before You Die - Catherine Price [37]
Regardless of which, if any, of these rumors are true, there’s still no explanation for why a stone of such importance would have been inconspicuously incorporated into the exterior wall of a fifteenth-century castle. But that’s not the point. Set into the battlements of Blarney Castle, about five miles from the Irish town of Cork, the block of bluestone is said to bestow anyone who kisses it with great eloquence and talent in empty flattery. So for over two hundred years, pilgrims from around the world have been planting wet ones on the stone’s surface in hopes that they too will be blessed with the so-called “gift of gab.”
Unfortunately for would-be orators, the stone does not lend itself naturally to public displays of affection. Reaching it requires climbing to the top of the castle, leaning backward over a parapet, and dangling much of your body in the air, angling for a kiss as you gaze at the ground looming several stories below. In the good old days before liability waivers, visitors were held by the ankles and lowered headfirst over the wall. Now there are metal rails to help support and guide you, and a protective grate that prevents uncoordinated tourists from falling to their deaths.
The stone’s actual powers are debatable, but one thing’s for sure—the Blarney Stone is a germaphobe’s nightmare. Kissed by more than four hundred thousand people per year, it’s covered with trace bits of spit left behind with every pucker. Smooching it might not give you the gift of gab, but you could take home a different souvenir: a saliva-transmitted affliction like herpes, warts, or glandular fever. At least you’re safe from meningitis—to get it from kissing, you’d have to use a lot of tongue.
Wikipedia Commons
MICHAEL BALDWIN
Mexico City on the First Day of the Swine Flu Outbreak
My timing in visiting other countries hasn’t always been the greatest. My first trip to Beijing happened just after America had bombed the Chinese embassy in Yugoslavia. (Nothing says “Welcome” like a mob stoning your embassy.) Two years later, I bought a return flight from Paris to New York for September 13, 2001. Two years after that, I went to Rio de Janeiro, only to be greeted by drug gangs setting fire to city buses. So when I arrived in Mexico City for a weeklong vacation on the exact day that swine flu hit, it was par for the course.
I boarded my overnight flight in ignorant bliss and, since news of the outbreak didn’t come out until a couple of hours after we took off, I arrived at the Mexico City airport in ignorant bliss as well. Determined to experience the “real” Mexico as soon as possible, I decided to take the metro instead of a taxi.
That’s when I had the first sense that something was wrong: standing on the platform, I noticed several people wearing blue surgical-type face masks. Funny, I thought. Mexico City may not be known for the cleanest air, but this seemed a bit extreme.
I spent the morning walking around the historical center, becoming increasingly puzzled by the masks. But I still didn’t think much of them until I stopped by my hotel to ask the man at reception where I could find out about concerts going on that night.
“There aren’t any,” he said.
That didn’t make any sense. This was Friday night in a major world city. The problem must have been my Spanish, so I tried simpler words.
“Music. Tonight. Where?” I played some air guitar to reinforce the message.
“Everything’s closed,” he replied.
Confused, I found another tourist in the lobby and asked him what was going on. “There’s this pig flu going around,” he said. “The government