As our plane descended below the clouds upon our final approach to Cork, we caught our first glimpse of Ireland. Irregularly shaped plots coated the softly rolling countryside like the patchwork of some vast quilt. This land was indeed green, in fact each farm seemed to advertise its own particularly unique shade of it. The Atlantic, off to the south of this part of the island, was reasonably calm. The waves betrayed no signs of white-caps until they broke into foam along the sheer brown stone cliffs of the coast.

"I hope we see sheep," Monika cut in. "I think, as long as we see some really white sheep on the side of a really green hill, I'll be happy".

By this time, we were finishing our descent and the pilot jerked the plane down for a particularly rough touchdown. Passengers exchanged furtive glances, some sharing nervous chuckles which seemed to communicate thoughts like 'hehe... ok, I wasn't the only one to think that was little much..." Within a moment, our faithful pilot chimed in in that characteristic drolling voice that I swear aircraft crews all around the world must practice: "Lllladies and gentlemen, in case you hadn't noticed, we've landed in Cork". That broke the tension, and we all shared in a hearty laugh.