When we ran low on Irish currency, I decided I’d catch a bus to Tralee and visit a bank. Our American traveler’s checks weren’t generally accepted by the local merchants. After asking when and where I could catch a bus to Tralee, I casually mentioned the need to go to town to cash some traveler’s checks. "No need," I was told. "At 10 a.m. tomorrow the bank will stop right out in front here for half a hour." Next day we waited in line for a van — something like our library bookmobiles — to arrive so I could turn my traveler’s checks into punts.

We purchased food each day at small villages along the way, and generally had a picnic for lunch and ate in pubs in the evenings. The few other tourists in the area were recognized by the fact that they would roar past our little caravan, stop their rental cars, jump out, take our photo and roar away. It was sad to think that they wouldn’t experience the pleasure of moving at less than three miles per hour through the most beautiful rolling hills of County Kerry. How would they ever know the lanes lined with rock fences or hedges of roses and scotch broom? Their vacation was one of racing from picture opportunity to picture opportunity, for tomorrow they had to see Cork or Dublin. Tomorrow, we were going to see a pasture near Inch.