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As our plane touched down at Shannon Airport in Ireland, any hazy feeling of jet lag blew away with our first glimpse of the Emerald Isle. When we began to plan for this trip, my husband vetoed the idea of a group bus trip. His dream included the two of us, with him at the wheel of his own car, leisurely traveling through the southwest coastal area of Ireland. His American machismo attitude about driving remained confident anticipating the difficulties of reverse-side driving. Really, he thought, just how hard could it be?

He found out quickly when we picked up our rental Toyota and, without the benefit of any practice, he found himself on winding airport roads with confusing round-a-bouts. I tried not to notice that the stress was turning his face red. I did notice that I was strangling a bottle of water.

I was our navigator, and as my eyes scanned the road signs, he concentrated on avoiding a collision. Our preplanning did not take into account that we would hit the large city of Limerick at morning rush hour. Here we ran into the type of annoyance that we thought we had left at home-road construction and disorienting detours. When we spotted a restaurant advertising an Irish breakfast, we escaped the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

After refueling on a classic Irish breakfast, we felt rejuvenated and hopeful.

He slowly navigated toward the parking lot exit. His head twisted right, and then left, and he began to accelerate just as I looked to the right myself and screamed "STOP!" A 4-wheeler was barreling down the highway right at us. The truck was so close, that if my husband had continued to accelerate, leprechauns would have swept us up like fairy dust.

In America, our Toyota would be considered a compact car. On the tiny roads of Ireland, it felt like we were driving a "Hummer".

The challenges of driving here seemed overwhelming, and it crossed our minds that perhaps we had made a terrible mistake. Ahead of us loomed almost 100 miles of ancient rock walls covered in thick vegetation pressed tightly against every road with no shoulders. Normally, we would have been in awe of the lovely, red bleeding heart bushes that grew everywhere. But, at this point, they had become the enemy just waiting for a chance to grab the mirror on my passenger side of the car, or scratch the paint leaving us with damages to pay on our rental car.

Our plan was to drive the first full day south to the coastal resort village of Kinsale. About half way there, a break beckoned, and we took

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