Ever since I was a young man, I have dreamed of traveling to Ireland. So much about it — its music, accents, native language, countryside, legends — has spoken to my imagination like no other place of which I’ve ever learned. So for my fortieth birthday, this will be my slightly belated gift to myself: My wife and I are going to Ireland for a week this July.

The plan is to fly out on a Saturday night and arrive in Dublin on a Sunday morning. We’ll catch a train from Dublin to Galway, where we’ll take a bus out to Rossaveal (Ros a Mhil for you language purists), then catch a ferry to the island of Inis Mór.

We’ll be spending three nights and two days on Inis Mór, just chilling out, seeing the archaeological sights, and appreciating the scenery. We’ve booked a room with a double bed and a private shower at a cozy bed-and-breakfast.

Then we’ll head back to the mainland and trace our steps back to Dublin, where we’ll check into a modern five-star hotel that was having a sale on its business-room accommodations.

As before, we’ll have three nights and two days in Dublin; maybe we’ll catch a show. We’ll definitely visit some pubs and enjoy Guinness as it was meant to be; I might also make time for the guided tour of the Jameson distillery. Stops at Trinity College, the National Museum, and the National Gallery might also be on the plan.

And then … alas, we shall return home.