That picture at the top of the blog

Those are the Cliffs of Moher, one of the most gorgeous things I saw on the most amazing trip of my life - I actually took that picture. My best friend, Petey, her mom, our friend, Johnny, his Aunt Bernice, and I went to Ireland last year, and it was beyond fabulous. To tell everything I loved there would take forever and try the patience of the Blarney Stone, but here are some highlights:

Favorite town: Kinsale. We saw cities all over Ireland and Northern Ireland, and all of them were beautiful. But Kinsale stole my heart - if I could live anywhere on the planet, this is where I would pick. It was once the last stop in Europe on a voyage west to America; now it's mostly a vacation spot, although there seemed to be a fair amount of commercial shipping going on, too. It's a pirate town, and there was a pub there, The Pirate's Cove, that I know I'll never forget.

Favorite medieval structure: The Rock of Cashel. Technically, it isn't a castle but a church. But the ruins are in the process of being preserved, and access is amazing - you can walk through the cathedral, through the older, smaller chapel, get a real sense of what it must have been like when it was all new. I could have stayed there about twice as long as we did, just touching the stones.

Favorite castle: Bunratty, because it was my first. For years, I've been writing about life inside a medieval castle, but I had never actually been inside one before. Bunratty was the first stop on our two-week tour, and not even jet lag could blunt its impact on me - I actually sat down on a window seat in the solar and cried, as stupid as that sounds. It really was like walking into one of my books. We saw many other sights in Ireland that were more objectively moving - the natural wonder of the Giant's Causeway and the Cliffs of Moher, the human drama of the murals in Belfast, the serenity of the ruined cathedral at the Rock of Cashel. But Bunratty was the place that shattered me.

Favorite local cuisine: the Pavlova. Speaking of spiritual experiences . . . I realize that the Pavlova is not a strictly Irish dish - it's named for a Russian ballerina, isn't it? But I had never had one before. I had my first at dinner about three nights in and fell for it head over heels. I ended up eating them from one end of Ireland to the other - at a fancy hotel restaurant in Galway, at a tiny pub in a village so tiny I don't even remember the name of it, in the tea rooms of three different museums I can think of right off the top of my head. Every single one was absolutely delicious.

As trite as it sounds, though, the most beautiful thing about Ireland is the people. Never in my life have I encountered such kindness and humor and warmth. I never met a native who was anything but friendly - seriously, no Irish person spoke a single cross word to me the whole two weeks I was there, whether they were being paid to help me or just running into me on the street. I had been warned that there was a fair amount of anti-US feeling in some of the pubs because of the war in Iraq, but I never saw or heard it - maybe my southern accent saved me, I don't know. All I do know is that my friends and I went to enjoy Ireland to its absolute fullest, and the people we met there were, all of them, happy to help.