On a trip to the Emerald Isle, there’s no place like home

WHEN we were planning last summer’s trip to Ireland, our children had one request -- they wanted to stay on a farm. They wanted to be able to pet horses, sheep and, if possible, a cow or two. I said I didn’t know about cows, but sheep should be easy enough. An affordable cottage on a farm somewhere -- how hard would that be in Ireland?

Pretty darn hard, as it turns out. But in the end, very worthwhile.

We have visited the republic every few years for the last 15, and it’s been a bit like watching the Old World morph into the new.

Where once there were only country lanes, now there are divided highways; cottages have given way to condos; and cities like Dublin and Galway are pricey, crowded and aproned with suburban sprawl.

For American tourists, the change is bittersweet -- yes, the monasteries and ring forts and castles are still there, but instead of being surrounded by quiet woods or velvety green fields, they are now hemmed in with visitor centers and kiosks charging 5 to 10 euros a head.

And the euro is big and scary. So scary that many families are putting off European trips. When you’re young and adventuresome you can always hostel it, but with kids, a certain level of comfort and stability is necessary. We put off a European trip last year, thinking things couldn’t get worse, and then they did.

So we took a trip to Ireland this year, attempting to beat the euro the way we always do -- by cashing in frequent-flier miles, finding the best deals on accommodations and eating out as little as possible.

We went for three weeks and rented two houses, one in County Mayo for two weeks and one on the Dingle Peninsula for the rest. Although the B&B; and guesthouse business is booming along with everything else, affordable rentals seemed scarcer than in past years. With the help of a Patrician Journeys travel agent, we found two of the nicest houses we have ever rented.

Greenacres is a lovely house (www.ballinrobe.mayo-ireland.ie) just outside Ballinrobe in County Mayo. It is behind the home of owners Catherine and Martin Concannon and their beautiful Garden Center. Flowers bloomed from every wall, pot, barrel and hedge; the house was spotless and newly modernized, its front yard a pasture full of sheep, an Irish ass (don’t call it a donkey, at least not in front of Martin) and a horse with a foal in the front yard. (We found out later that he had moved them there because of the children.) Trixie, the sheep dog, completed the children’s dream vacation.

Ballinrobe, although a small town, is close to Cong (of “The Quiet Man” film fame), Connemara and the Aran Islands, and made a perfect base, surrounded by rolling green hills and placid lakes.

Arriving at the house after 20 hours of travel, we felt instantly at home, mainly because Catherine and Martin were the perfect hosts, blessed with the rare talent of knowing when to come by for a chat and when to leave us be.

During our stay, Catherine brought scones and two delicious rhubarb pies; when our cellphone broke, Martin lent us one of his, and most wonderfully, they seemed to actually like our kids.

Despite having a working farm and garden center to tend to, Martin found time to take the kids for rides on the donkey and the tractor. He and Catherine also let them “help” around the place -- once they took them for a ride to their other pastures, giving Richard and me an unheard-of two hours alone.

The kids loved it and soon were treating Catherine and Martin like members of the family -- bugging them for games and treats and jabbering away at them while they tried to work. Richard and I loved it because the house was so comfortable, the pies were utterly delicious and there was plenty of room for the kids, both inside and out. Where else can you sit in a living room watching the BBC and have a horse slide its head through the window for a bit of carrot? Not Los Angeles.

We easily could have stayed there three weeks, and we tore ourselves away most reluctantly. But I had never been to the wild and ruin-dotted Dingle, and as we turned right at Tralee and onto the Peninsula, we left the Celtic Tiger behind and returned to the Ireland I remember from earlier visits.

On Dingle, a town consists of four houses, a pub and a tiny post office/grocery where you can purchase eggs, milk, fresh loaves of bread stacked naked on a shelf, sausages and cheese. Really, what else do you need?

Direen Cottage was a two-story house, modern and spacious with an enormous kitchen and a series of side yards edged by hedges of fuchsia and a small stream (www.holiday-rentals.com; property number 7825). The owners, Janet and Eamonn Murphy, lived on a family farm nearby. On the third day of our visit, Eamonn gave us a tour, including a lesson in sheepherding, which is much more difficult than it looks.

This was a much more isolated place -- to get to the town of Dingle, you have to cross Connor Pass, with its incredibly narrow roads and sheer drops. But the silence was amazing. There was a beach within walking distance, and a swing hanging from a tree kept the kids happy for hours. Danny was thrilled to stay in a two-story house; owning one is his dream.

When we talk about Ireland now, the kids remember the castles and the forts and the big rocks we climbed. But mostly, they remember the horses and the donkey, the dogs and the sheep and the people. In their minds, the trip is clearly divided between the houses, more than the sites or the towns.

For them, traveling is not so much where we go, as where we stay.