Norwegian Air briefly offered direct flights from Stewart Airport to Dublin in 2018 (RIP Norwegian Air, we hardly knew ye), which is the kind of opportunity you don’t pass up when you live in the Hudson Valley and the alternative is dragging two small kids and two grandparents through JFK. So in March we packed up the boys — Henry was 6, Elias was 5 — added Nonna and GPC, and went to Ireland.
Jennifer planned the itinerary to accommodate tiny attention spans and aging joints simultaneously. Ireland had its own ideas.
The red-eye over was a budget airline production with seatback screens that apparently never heard of the word “off,” so by the time we landed in Dublin we looked like extras from a zombie movie. Dublin Airport then sent us through a maze of stairs and hallways that managed to avoid every single bathroom in the building — I’m not sure how that’s geometrically possible, but they did it. The immigration line had its own weather system. Three windows open for half of Europe. The kids transformed from cherubs into hangry gremlins, and so did the adults.
Whoever decided I should drive a right-hand-drive manual van through Dublin on zero sleep was making a choice. The highway was survivable. The city center was where it got interesting — the GPS guided us down “alleys” so narrow our tires kissed both curbs simultaneously, and then a ten-minute traffic jam parked us motionless in sight of the hotel while the whole van complained in stereo.
The Central Hotel door wouldn’t open. Key card useless. Every family member became a lock-picking expert. Two trips to the front desk, one maintenance crew, forty-five minutes, and they had to literally break the door down. Nothing welcomes you to Ireland like watching staff take a battering ram to your room.
Our reward was a new room directly above what sounded like a rave for elephants. One song, on repeat, all night: boom, boom, bom-boom-boom. The kids slept through it. Jennifer and I became involuntary participants in Dublin’s underground music scene. The next morning we begged for mercy and got moved to the top floor — quieter, but apparently built by people who’d never heard of temperature control. Windows open meant street noise. Windows closed meant the surface of Mercury. And at 2 AM, the fire alarm threw a party. Three rooms in two nights.
Dublin itself, once we stopped fighting the building, was magical. Dublinia held the kids’ attention, which is no small feat for a Viking museum. Trinity College and the Book of Kells were genuinely impressive even when you’re explaining medieval manuscripts to a five-year-old via creative interpretation. The DART out to Howth was a hit — kids love trains, grandparents love trains, and Howth had coastal walks, a castle, and restaurants that didn’t require breaking down doors. The old covered shopping alleys around the city were the original malls, much more civilized than the modern kind.
Leaving Dublin we stopped at Dublin Castle — cold, wet, worth it, though “cold and wet” is Ireland’s default setting. Then we drove south to Adare and pulled in under brilliant sunshine with a full rainbow arcing over the thatched roofs. It was the kind of moment that retroactively justifies the previous three days. The Dunraven Arms was everything the Central Hotel wasn’t: quiet, comfortable, doors that opened on the first try.
While the grandparents recovered, the kids discovered the Adare playground, specifically its zip line, and basically set up permanent residence. For hours they slid down while I got an inadvertent CrossFit workout dragging the line back to the starting position.
From Adare we did day trips. The Doolin ferry to the Aran Islands on a windy day is Ireland’s way of running natural selection on its visitors. The seas were rough enough to make seasoned sailors nervous, and we had a 5- and 6-year-old on the top deck because of course that’s where they wanted to be. Nonna and GPC retreated below with Henry after the boat started doing its mechanical bull impression. Jennifer and I stayed topside making sure Elias didn’t become Ireland’s youngest overboard statistic. Henry did get a porpoise sighting before retreating, so he got his nature documentary moment. The Aran Islands themselves were worth it — shipwrecks, ancient ruins, and lunch at Teach An Tae, which was food, and sometimes that’s enough.
The Cliffs of Moher were spectacular even with the tourist crowds. Standing at the edge with dramatic skies overhead is one of those moments where you understand why people write poetry about Ireland. The kids were appropriately impressed, though more by the gift shop than the geological significance.
The Limerick countryside featured roads that made Dublin’s alleys look like highways, but picturesque ones. We explored potato famine ruins — heavy history made accessible to kids through good storytelling and impressive landscape. Jennifer found us a stone circle guide who could make ancient history fascinating without putting anyone to sleep, and the kids enjoyed pretending to be ancient druids, which probably wasn’t historically accurate but kept them moving.
Departure from Dublin Airport proved the arrival maze wasn’t a fluke. Security, corridors, US immigration on Irish soil (because why not), then another security screening. An airport escape room designed by someone with a sense of humor. We made it back to Stewart tired but intact.
The Reference Version
The trip. March 22–31, 2018. Ten days, two hotel bases — Dublin and Adare — with the surrounding region as day trips from each. Two adults, two kids (6 and 5), two grandparents. Norwegian Air direct from Stewart Airport (SWF) to Dublin, which is no longer a thing.
Where we stayed. Central Hotel in Dublin (1-5 Exchequer St, Dublin 2) — central location was good, room quality and key card system were not. Dunraven Arms in Adare (Main Street, Manor Fields, Adare, Co. Limerick) — the recovery hotel. Quiet, comfortable, well-located for everything south and west.
The driving. Right-hand drive, manual transmission, narrow roads, roundabouts everywhere. The highways between cities are fine. Dublin city center is brutal in a van. The Limerick country roads are tighter than anything you’ve driven in the US — picture a one-lane road with hedgerows on both sides somehow rated for two-way traffic. Plan extra time for everything. We had a van to fit six; a smaller vehicle would have made the country roads easier but wouldn’t have fit the family.
Day 1. Red-eye out of Stewart Airport (evening of the 22nd, arrival morning of the 23rd). Pick up rental at Dublin Airport. Drive into the city. Check into Central Hotel. Crash.
Days 2–4. Dublin base. Dublinia (Viking museum, great for kids), Trinity College and the Book of Kells, the covered shopping alleys around Grafton Street, DART out to Howth for a half-day coastal break — Howth castle, cliff walks, lunch on the harbor. Dublin Castle on the way out of the city.
Day 5. Drive Dublin to Adare (about 2.5 hours on the motorway). Check into Dunraven Arms. Adare village walking — thatched cottages, the playground, dinner in town.
Days 6–9. Adare base for day trips. Doolin to Inis Mór ferry (or Inis Oírr, depending on conditions — check forecasts, the crossing is rough on windy days). Cliffs of Moher. Stone circle tour at Lough Gur near Limerick (Grange Stone Circle plus a heritage center that does guided programs). Potato famine ruins around the Limerick countryside. Pad in playground time at Adare — the kids will demand it.
Day 10. Drive Adare back to Dublin Airport. Build in real time for the security/immigration/re-security gauntlet on departure — US immigration pre-clearance happens on Irish soil, so you go through more checkpoints than a normal international flight.
What worked. Two hotel bases instead of five. Less packing and unpacking, more exploring. The Dublin/Adare split covered the eastern city and the western countryside without making the kids live out of suitcases. Booking a stone circle tour with a guide who could actually hold a five-year-old’s interest. Letting the kids run the playground in Adare while the grandparents recovered. The DART for the Howth day trip — public transit is easier than driving when the destination has parking issues.
What we’d do differently. Skip the red-eye if there’s any other option, especially day-of-arrival driving on the opposite side of the road. Test the hotel room door before bringing the bags up. Check ferry conditions to the Aran Islands the morning of — the islands are worth it but a calm crossing would have let the grandparents come up top with us, and Henry’s porpoise sighting wouldn’t have been his only sighting. Bring better rain gear; “cold and wet” really is the default. And lunch on the Aran Islands is limited — bring snacks or eat before the ferry.
Things to know. Dublin Airport is a maze in both directions; pad time. Irish food is genuinely excellent — we had one forgettable meal in ten days and it was on Inis Mór. The people are warm and helpful even when you’re clearly the confused American family causing traffic jams. The weather is whatever it wants to be — sun, rain, sun, rain, all in the same hour. Plan for layers and assume umbrellas will be useless in the wind. Pubs are family-friendly until evening in most towns. Cash is fine but cards are accepted almost everywhere.
Even that's Odd 
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