So Ireland, we meet again. You're turning my passport green with all your entry stamps! What do you say you just give me that visa and we'll call it even.It was a wedding that brought me back this go-around. Specifically, DeVon Jackson's. Yes! That DeVon Jackson! Ninth grade, Geometry. Twelfth grade, Government (and a Wyclef Jean group project that rivaled anything Bill and Ted ever attempted). Late-20s/early 30s New York. Yes!He had recently moved to London to live with Ciara, his Irish girlfriend. In fact(!), it was DeVon I visited in London for World Cup. We were both so excited to live so close to each other again. And then I ended up 10,000 miles away in Seattle.I arrived in Dublin on December 30^th, giving me enough time to settle in to... the sweetest digs in Dublin! As if the top floor apartment wasn't enough, I'd be sharing it with Sam the Jam Jackson! Yes! Two Jacksons for the price of one!!! He and his girlfriend Allie occupied one half of the swank. I took the other.With the crew together, we set out on those raucous Dublin nights. The Rehearsal/Welcoming Dinner doubled as a New Year's Eve celebration and involved more Jacksons than I could count. Brothers, half-sisters, cousins, moms, and step-moms. The last time I had seen some of them, they were unclothed toddlers blitzing through Sam and DeVon's high school home. Grandma Jackson had made the trip as well. At one point, she needled up beside me in the bar booth, imploring me to buy her three cigars for the evening. Three cigars, that would be it. After that she was quitting. Who am I to deny a wonderful woman like her?!

One last day in Dublin. With my stuff still in the city, I could still tell people I “lived” in Dublin. In 24 hours, it would all be different. I’d need to find a new place to call home.I worked that afternoon, but snuck in a good walk as a break. I said hi to Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square. Then strolled down Baggott Street and through St. Stephen’s Green. That green oasis was my reprieve during especially stressful work days. Funny how a simple loop around the lake could make everything better. While in Seattle, I’ve unsurprisingly had similarly stressful days and that park was always at the forefront of my mind. If only that walk was as accessible.

Too much driving. That’s the best way to sum up the end of the trip. There was just so much to see and do and I made the mistake of trying to see and do it all.Through Donegal Town and the river-side castle, over to Ballyshannon and its Rory Gallagher statue and microbrewery and discount Ireland jerseys, down to Sligo and its shut up abbeys and pedestrian-packed thoroughfares.I tried to watch the sunset in Westport, but it was another in a week-full of misses. That didn’t keep me from enjoying a can on the seawall before barhopping through the town square. Live acoustic sessions filled each of the bars as they seem to do across the island. The emphasis the Irish place on music and conversation is inspiring! Even Matt Molloy of the Chieftains was in his namesake bar filling the space with his flute.

The sun was setting in (London)Derry. After walking the old city walls, I had it in me to check out the protest murals on the other side of town. Only, I didn’t. Northern Ireland was a wonderful host, but my mind was on the Republic. Like a star-crossed lover, I snuck out of the Kingdom after daylight and was in the warm embrace of Ireland and the “town” of Termon, County Donegal, two hours later.Termon consists of a gas station, a general store, a pub, and a bed and breakfast, all in one building. Convenience is king! I checked in to the room late, but Irish hospitality overruled the clock and I was immediately offered a room and dinner in the pub.My seat was next to Charlie, one of those guys where the light burned a little brighter in the heart than the head. We talked GAA. He watched the Donegal match there in the pub with the rest of the town, "shoulder to shoulder" he said. One of his friends might have had a few too many Guinness’ in celebration and ended up driving his TRACTOR into a ditch on the way home. Because people in Donegal don't drive cars, they drive tractors. The tiny rural community gathered the next day to help him pull it out. And that, that right there, that’s Donegal. We drank together into the night, unwilling to let the other drink alone.

Jaysus, what weather. Sunny. Warm. It’s like this year round, right Ireland?‘Jaysus.’ That’s one of those good Irish words. Jaaaysus. ‘Yer man,’ that’s another great one. Everyone is ‘yer man’ in Ireland. That guy? Yer man. The soccer player on TV? Yer man. You can’t know yer man. That’s what makes him yer man. ‘Craic’ is another one. Oh, and fer feck’s sake, can’t forget ‘feck,’ the polite way to swear.Within a week, the Irish accent was creeping back in me. There’s a vowel shift, especially with the o and the a. And the th- totally disappears. TANX! Monkey hear, monkey say: I spent six month mimicking everyone I heard. How quickly it goes. But how quickly it comes back.But Jaysus, that weather. I followed the sun up the coast to the northern reaches of Northern Ireland. There’s a stark beauty to the island. A rugged, isolated beauty. It’s not so much peaks and valleys, but expanses. Expanses of cliffs and seas and rolling hills and, if you get the right day, contrasts of blues and greens. Today was one of those days.

Things were quickly coming together. The bike got sold off. The World Cup bet I made on the Yanks got cashed: 28 Euros!!! My stuff was (almost) consolidated. I even got my haircut. A road trip through the northern part of the island beckoned.The plan was to not get tied down with a plan. I knew the general route: Belfast by Friday night, then north along the coast, over to Donegal, down through Connemara, and a last evening in Galway before heading back to Dublin that next Friday. But sleeping arrangements? I’d figure that and everything else out on the road. After all, that’s what the road’s for, right? Figuring things out?As soon as I could get out of work on Friday, I rushed over to the car rental place. I’d be rolling in a black VW. Manual. Driving on the left side of the road. Shifting with my left hand. Yeah, go ahead and give me the full insurance policy.

Within thirty minutes of checking in to my Dublin hotel, I had a full Irish breakfast at O’Neill’s in front of me, Guinness in hand. Welcome back!To think, almost one year ago to the day, I was in Dublin interviewing for the job that would not only take me to Ireland, but also take me away. After that interview, I stopped in O’Neill’s for a drink but left thirsty. I simply didn’t have enough money to buy a beer! My how quickly time moves...But Ireland -- I was back! One week in Dublin to tie up loose ends followed by a week-long road trip. Adventures to be had and hangovers to be conquered!Hurricane Jeff blew in from Germany on the same day I arrived, leading to more drinks that first evening than would be usually be prescribed for jet lag. Waking up surprisingly refreshed on Sunday (relatively speaking), I set out to play tourist with a bucket list. Most memorable was a tour through the Kilmainham Gaol, final resting place of many of the leaders of the 1916 Uprising.