Ireland may be one of my favorite places in the world. I feel at home as soon as I step off of the plane. From the moment I hit the concourse I instantly know I am on the Emerald Isle. Certain things are unmistakably Irish.

People are greeting each other on the turd (third) of June with lots of feckin’ profanity. It is a spectacle. And can be somewhat off putting to hear otherwise proper grannies cursing like sailors and then giggling. I must be an eejit, but I can’t help but grin with them.

At the house, I am welcomed with the unmistakable smell of peat and a cleaning product that we don’t use in the USA. The smells are forever associated with Ireland. Other reminders that I am in Ireland are the Bewley’s instant coffee and Irish breakfast tea bags left by an electric kettle. There will be no brewed coffee this trip. I do manage to buy real ground coffee and a French press small enough to fit in my suitcase at the local grocer.

I am most excited about Taytos, the world’s best potato chip (at least in my opinion). I am addicted to the cheese and onion variety, although salt and vinegar will do in a pinch. I dream of Taytos between trips and have been known to seek them out at an international market back in the states.

Foods are part of my Irish ritual. First on my list is a slice of Banoffee pie. It is death by sugar and I can’t finish a slice in one sitting. I also look for Guinness Stew, a nice plate of fresh fish and chips with malt vinegar (which they bring without being asked or looking confused), and authentic shepherds pie. I also have to find a 99 (ice cream cone with a chocolate stick).

Each time I get in a car in Ireland after leaving the airport, I suck in my breath. The steering wheel is on the opposite side of the car. The car travels on the opposite side of the road. You turn the opposite direction onto roundabouts…..and there a lot of roundabouts. Once on the road, there may not be a shoulder. There may or may not be enough room for two cara to pass on the two way road. Speed limits make no sense. Rock walls, hedge rows and other obstacles fly past. Livestock wander onto roadways and everyone walks along blind curves even though there isn’t room for cars let alone pedestrians. I have to breathe deeply and remember I am in Ireland. It is normal here and within a few days it will feel normal to me.

In Ireland sheep cover the hillsides. They are in the backyard and occasionally eat the garden flowers. You know you are in Ireland if you see a random cow on a highway overpass or if you are stuck in a 30 minute traffic jam because the farmer is moving his herd across the roadway. You really know you are in Ireland if you pass more tractors on the highway than cars.

Every field seems to have ancient ruins. There are stones left from houses, churches, walls, and monuments. My brain doesn’t know where to pay attention. Should I look at the mountains, the sea, the road, the cars, the people, the fantastic historic landmarks? Those first few days of driving are overwhelming. But eventually we settle into the rhythms of the island.

I know I am having the full Irish experience when there are on and off switches on every electrical outlet, the heating is on a timer, and the main electrical box looks like a maze of wires. The refrigerator is quarter the size of the one I use at home and will hold only enough groceries for a few meals, ensuring frequent trips to town. The washing machine holds only enough clothes to fit on the folding rack that serves as a dryer. All functional but very different. I am in Ireland and I appreciate sustainable living.

At the end of the day, there is always a pub. People gather to talk, tell a joke, place a bet, or sing along. You are never a stranger. I know I am in Ireland when I am not allowed to touch a Guinness until it is properly poured, settled and topped off. A time honored ritual conducted by people with pride in their work. I can relax. A comfy fire, the smell of smoke, a fiddle, and community. I know I am in Ireland when I am content.