February turned into March and April and May, as February tends to do, and tourism returned to the world in force. We noticed more and more American accents in Ireland. Obviously we’re American tourists, so pot/kettle and all that, but the charm of visiting such historical, unique cultures is diminished when the accents we overhear in the pub all shift from Irish brogue to Jersey gruff. Fuh-gedda-boud-dit. We crossed the Irish Sea on May 7 knowing that they would soon follow. I felt like a reverse Paul Revere, warning the British that the Americans are coming. Getting from Belfast to Edinburgh was annoying (5:00 a.m. taxi to ferry station, ferry…

How do you think the unthinkable? With an itheberg. After nearly three months in green, sheep-laden, friendly, gorgeous Ireland, we switched tactics completely and headed to green, sheep-laden, friendly, gorgeous Northern Ireland. Belfast was a necessary stop en ferry route to Scotland, and we specifically wanted to see the Titanic Museum and do a “Black Cab” Troubles Tour to learn more about the afflicted history of this divided city. In the early 1900’s, Belfast’s shipyards dominated global shipbuilding. The RMS Titanic was built for the White Star Line by the Harland & Wolff shipyard in Belfast, as one of three Olympic-class ocean liners intended to regain White Star’s transatlantic advantage…

We continued our Irish journey northeast to Moville, a sea town near the very top of the island. Our route took us in and out of the UK, crossing the open border between Ireland and Northern Ireland with no signs or security, and at some points it was hard to tell which country we were in. The speed limits alternated between kilometers-per-hour on the Irish side and miles-per-hour on the British side, but neglected to show units, leaving Rachel perplexed as to why cars were zooming around her after a “60” sign – she was driving 60 kph in a 60 mph zone. (I’m reminded of an instance in Dubai…