Getting off the airplane was like climbing out of a time machine that had been sent back 40 years -- technology and decor has been slow to arrive in Shannon.

No fancy arrival and departure monitors, designer carpet or fashionable seating here. Instead, we were greeted by burnt orange seats, dark wall paneling, dusky vinyl tile, stark lighting and maybe two ancient monitors.

First order of business -- exchange money.

I stuffed the $300 in U.S. currency I had brought into the airport exchange center's window bin. I got only 160 Euro back. Ouch! The dollar was worse than I'd thought.

Pulling luggage, my daughters and I stepped out into the brisk 40-degree April morning and climbed into in my uncle Pat Murphy's taxi for a two-hour ride to the town of Bandon, near the southern coast of Ireland. Pat and my aunt Mary, my father's sister, live and operate a taxi company, Murphy's Cabs, in Bandon, County Cork. Their son Eric, my cousin, is one of the taxi drivers.

All around I saw nothing but small cars, like Honda Civics and mini Coopers -- no SUVs or pick-up trucks.

My uncle explained that there aren't many SUV or pick-up drivers in Ireland. And he said most of the cars are standard shift and run on diesel fuel.

We were caught in Shannon's morning rush, and traffic was at a crawl. The rising sun beamed across the steamy, rolling countryside, covered with pasture squares, black and white speckled cows, stone farm houses and castle ruins.

"A castle!" I shouted and pointed.

There was no response from the back seat, where my daughters were snoozing.

As we neared Bandon, the roads become lineless, narrow and winding, bordered by hedges and in places by stone walls. We passed through many towns resembling Main Street in Rock Hill, except in Ireland, the buildings were concrete painted in bright colors.

The morning sun was bright, but I'd expected rain. Pat said it had been raining non-stop for two weeks. "You never know what kind of weather you're going to get in Ireland," he said.

More than two hours later, we arrived at my cousin Olive Murphy's townhouse, where we stayed. Townhouses seemed to be more common than single-family homes in the urban areas.

Olive, 37, is a paramedic based in Cork City. She had just gotten home from working night shift and whipped us up a breakfast of Irish sausages -- which taste much different from any sausage I'd ever eaten -- and porridge, which is similar to oatmeal. We gobbled up every drop and went to bed.

Over the next 10 days, sun and mid 50-degree days followed us. My relatives insisted we had brought the good weather.

Olive's townhouse was close to downtown Bandon and fairly new. It had all the modern conveniences -- except automatic heating and a continuous hot water heating system.

A thermostat on the kitchen wall allowed manual control of the house and water heat. Pressing a button warmed radiators in all rooms for just 30 minutes before the heat shut off. It wasn't turned on at night and outside temperatures dipped in the low 30s.

It was necessary to press the hot water heater button on the kitchen thermostat about an hour before showering or surprise -- only cold water.

In the shower, water temperature and pressure was controlled by a loud box device attached to the shower head. Water did not get very hot or stay warm for long.

But Ireland's scenery more than made up for the lack of heat and hot water. Even from grocery store parking lots, stone abbeys and castles were visible on the hills.

Just out of town, rolling farmland was abundant as were black and white speckled cows, horses and the aroma of manure. Olive said farmers spread manure in early April.

Farm houses were often set close to the road, surrounded by cropped hedging or short crumbling stone walls and usuallyguarded by a friendly, fluffy black, white and brown dog.