JOHN MAHONEY

When you come to Ireland, and England, be sure to bring your own wash cloths or plan to buy some wash flannels from the local chemist because your BnB may not supply them – wash cloths are not ubiquitous, eh?

And do carry a small supply of plastic baggies because you'll be toting around damp wash cloths. Jane made a sizeable cloth bag for our dry dirty clothes, which worked out fine. But the damp stuff proved a problem.

We're quickly discovering that it's the little things that make traveling more comfortable -- the big things sort themselves out.

We took the 4:30 a.m. shuttle bus (2 pounds each) from the hotel to Stansted airport, checked in and got our boarding passes, chowed down, then went through security.

Judy's titanium knee triggered the alarm – the only time in four flights this happened -- and she and Art got a full body pat-down, arms stretched out at shoulder height.

"What's this, then" asked the young woman doing the body search, pointing to a small bulge in Judy's pocket.

Judy looked down, then laughed: "That's my coughdrop."

While waiting to board our Ryan Air flight to Cork, I logged on to SoverNet's account tool service to check my e-mail and try to let family and friends know what was happening with us. I got the mail -- 119 messages, much of it spam -- but couldn't get a message out. Bummer.

The same thing happened the next three attempts in Ireland -- more about bad computing experiences later.

It's only takes about an hour to fly to Cork and our 737 floated above the clouds over the Irish Sea. There was an illusion of substance below, like a windblown January snowfield in Quebec, rippled and creased.

We plunged through the cotton-batting level and touched down in Cork, where my grandmother was born 110 years ago and my great-grandfather stole equipment and food from the British army for the rebels of the Irish Brotherhood.

Our Hertz rent-a-van was waiting. Art got behind the wheel on the wrong side of the car, I rode shotgun on the wrong side, the ladies took the spacious seats in the rear, and off we went down the wrong side of the narrow coast road towards Kinsale.

And did I mention we were on the wrong side of the narrow road? And that the roads were narrow? And lined on both sides with stone walls covered with brambles? And the draining ditches were narrow and deep enough to mire you? And that the concept of roadside shoulders didn't exist?

So lovely, so scenic…drive on, cautious North American, drive on…and don't mind the fingernail gouges left on the dashboard.

Next stop: artsy-fartsy Kinsale.

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