The trip home went fine. Until we hit American soil.

Travel abroad is always a bit of a coin toss, with long flights, customs, security, and the myriad snafus that can easily emerge when working on a schedule outside your own control.

When coming in to Ireland, customs took about 10 seconds--glance at the passport and interview went like this:

"How long are you staying?"

"Until Sunday."

"Have fun."

Cool. Grab the bags, change the currency, and go.

We did not have such luck on the return journey, which I attribute primarily to Dulles' monumentally inefficient design for processing international travelers. We deplaned ("De plane, Boss, De plane!") with two hours until our flight to Cinci was to depart and immediately formed a line to load up into what looked like a semi-truck trailer to be hauled across the tarmac to another terminal. This put us in the line for customs, which was formidable. Then baggage claim, another line for baggage check, agriculture check because I said I'd been to a horse farm (didn't need to do anything when I said I'd used the boots on location), then - and here's the rub - we had to leave security, go upstairs and recheck our bags for our transfer to Cinci.

An unmoving line at the counter was luckily bypassed by direct check. Then to security. Which was the longest line I'd ever seen. It literally circled the entire terminal. We plead to bypass, citing our now imminent departure, but found no luck. So our plane for Cinci left as we were waiting among the masses.

What followed is one of the most frustrating travel experiences I've encountered. Between the jet lag, miserably high temperature in the terminal, yet more lines, another ride in the semi-trailer, and attempts to rebook through several different carriers, I was on the verge of Getting Uppity a couple times but Chad's diplomacy helped smooth the way to get us back in the sky. (Go Chad!)

We finally made it to Cinci by way of Charlotte at midnight, to find our bags had preceded us on the earlier flight and were snugly secured in Bag Jail. (Finding someone with a key for Bag Jail in the wee hours of Monday is no small feat.)

But in the end, we made it home with fabulous photos, fond memories, a few extra pounds (both luggage and selves - I blame the butter, which is amazing), and several nice videos.

Here are some new photos of our time at the National Stud, the Curragh, and Mount Juliet, courtesy of Fáilte Ireland, the National Tourism Development Authority, which provided a photographer to chronicle parts of the trip.

Stay tuned for another collection of my favorite images, and some advice for those planning a trip.