The Full Irish

Grand hotels, falconry, the world's best bread and butter: how two generations of a family fell for Ireland's famous hospitality.

- Peter Terzian

ABOVE The entry hall of Dublin's Merrion hotel.

THE OLDER I GET, the less shame I have. I'll think nothing of, say, falling asleep sitting upright on a bench at Dublin's National Botanic Garden, the day after an overnight flight from New York. (Jet lag, my old enemy, slayer of vacations.) "Is it okay if we leave you here to nap for a while?" my husband, Caleb, asked. He and his mom, Suzanne, a lifelong gardener, had some herbaceous borders they wanted to investigate. Caleb and I are in our mid 50s; Suzanne is 79. She had flown to Dublin nonstop from Texas, but showed no signs of flagging.

For our first family vacation in years, Caleb and I wanted to take Suzanne to Ireland, a country we had visited before and loved. I put myself in charge of booking our accommodations, and picked splurgy hotels.

I told myself that Suzanne, being older, would be gratified by the comforts of these high-end properties. But of course, when I fantasized about the trip, the person I imagined enjoying those thick mattresses, rainfall showerheads, and no-brakes breakfast buffets was me.