Quickly fading from lack of sleep, we decided to rejuice with dinner at The Coach House, a mid-1600s coach-house-turned restaurant on the banks of the Nore. As we marveled over the antique beamed ceilings and wide-plank pine floors, owner John Casey stopped by to chat. Local legend has it that English military leader Oliver Cromwell — much despised by the Irish — stopped there before his death in 1658. As we ate, we drank in another distinctly Irish phenomenon: a coal fire.

Refreshed by a good night's sleep, we started early the next morning for the Cliffs of Mohr via the historic towns of Cashel and Cahir in County Tipperary, both known for their medieval fortresses.

En route, we stopped to explore the remnants of an ancient, vine-covered stone church in the middle of a sheep pasture. It was but a taste of the wonders to come: Dramatically situated on an outcrop of craggy limestone, the Rock of Cashel rises some 200 feet above the town below. Its origins as a center of power go back to A.D. 370 (St. Patrick visited in A.D. 450), but in 1101 it was given to the church, which consecrated its imposing Hibernian Romanesque chapel in 1134. It was abandoned in the 18th century.

To the south, the Norman-style Cahir Castle, built in the 13th century and enlarged between the 15th and 17th, sits on a rocky island. One of the largest and best-preserved fortresses in Ireland, it features spacious courtyards, spiral staircases and a grand hall.

This being Ireland, there were plenty more castles and ruins I longed to investigate. Time being of the essence, we instead sped toward the Atlantic, with the soaring Galtee Mountains in the distance. Which brings us to our second mistake. Thinking it'd be easier, we'd purchased "town and country" vouchers from Aer Lingus for each night's stay at a B&B. The agent assured us we'd have our choice of "hundreds" of homes. Turns out most of the B&Bs we came across didn't accept vouchers. And even when they did, the rooms were priced much lower than the $125 per night we'd forked out in advance. Luckily, the sole B&B in Doolin that accepted vouchers still had a room.

By noon the next morning, after some sweater shopping on Fisher Street and a delightful seaside drive that took us through a bleak, rocky stretch of land known as The Burren, we'd reached the unspoiled village of Ballyvaughan. Then it was just a skip and a jump to Galway, where we picked up our son and headed into its cosmopolitan town center for some lunch and shopping. At the top of my list was a claddagh ring from the oldest jewelers in Ireland (est. 1750), Thomas Dillon's on Quay Street.