CAMP, Ireland -- This was the place, or close enough.

``Can you imagine, your grandfather grew up near here!'' I shouted to my husband, waving my hand in the dismal rain.

Expectant, we stood upon the naked peak of the N-86 road as it fell away toward the distant villages. My husband gazed over the spread of hilly fields, stony houses and soggy sheep. He looked at the gray, whipping sea that took his grandparents, Patrick and Nellie, to America 105 years ago.

And I think he was waiting for something. A spark of recognition. A lurch of the heart. Some distant O'Donnell relatives popping out of the bushes, perhaps, with open arms and a pot of tea.

But the wind kept blowing. The rain kept raining. We got back into our tiny scratched-up Ford Focus and drove on to Dingle.

Thirty-six million Americans claim Irish heritage, and Ireland is always near the top of dream-trip lists for travelers -- it was No. 2 on the ``best family vacation'' survey conducted by Virtuoso Life luxury travel company. And it can be that place you dream about, bedecked in green and roguish charm.

What Ireland can no longer be, however, is a quaint little brother to the United States.

Long gone are the days when jolly Americans could disperse a few bucks and live it up in Ireland amid genteel poverty so charming when you visit, so harsh when you're living it.

The truth? Ireland has flipped the tables on the United States.

American tourists will feel poor and even desperate when they get hit with $5 coffee, $14 tomato sandwiches and $800 car rentals.

Fueled by a huge increase in its citizens' standard of living and paychecks in the last 15 years, Dublin is now the fourth most expensive city in the world after Oslo, London and Copenhagen, according to the annual survey by Swiss bank UBS. The Euro-trendy boomtown has nightclubs and sex shops along with its cathedrals and books -- and, really, how can the centuries old Book of Kells be expected to compete with Shauna's Naughty Adult Fun Store?

However, I'll try to be kind.

I won't say much more about Dublin, a tense, traffic-jammed place whose major redeeming virtues are its bright-painted doors and Trinity College.

I won't dwell on the fact that the land of emigrants has turned into the land of immigrants, with workers from Poland, Latvia and Africa waiting tables, bartending at pubs and staffing hotel desks.

And I promise not to mention all the rainy days, although there were at least three in a week.

Instead, I'm going to talk about the Ireland Americans want to believe in.

WHEN IT SHINES

I've found my way to Killarney, 185 miles southwest of Dublin. After a big breakfast of Wheatabix shredded wheat, and bacon so substantial several pigs must have donated to the portion, I take a peek outside. The blazing sun reveals bright green mountains just outside the hotel, perfect for a pretty three-mile walk through the magical Killarney National Park to Ross Castle, whose history dates to the 13th century.

Can this be the same moody, grumpy Ireland of a couple days ago? The blue lakes of Killarney glisten as boats glide across. Equestrians trot horses down quiet lanes. Cyclists ride trails and a little girl feeds the ducks in the castle pond.

When the sun shines in Ireland, it's like a big smile. Flowers bloom ardently in small gardens and public parks. Historic castles are clean and shining. Everything is green, green, green.

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