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Even the most insulated American on a visit to the Emerald Isle, or indeed nearly anywhere on the European continent, eventually will have to experience the bathroom. It easily can be one of the most intimidating rooms in the house and holds center stage for many of the most harrowing tales of adventure and intrepidity by travelers.

First, do not confuse the "toilet" with the "bathroom." Unlike the USA, these are not necessarily interchangeable terms, though globalization has begun to change that. Toilets in Ireland are reasonably similar to those in America, though the handle has a mildly disorienting habit of being on the right-hand side rather than the left. One wonderful thing about them is the terrific flow of water that swooshes into oblivion whatever quantity of refuse is dumped into it. Unhampered by sissy government regulations on how much water you can use to swirl away yesterday's curry, Irish toilets give a wonderfully satisfying flush, using enough water to hydrate a small drought-stricken African village. When you flush the toilet there, it stays flushed.

The sink will pose somewhat more of a challenge. Hot and cold taps do not necessarily follow the American custom of having the hot water handle on the left and the cold on the right. Rather, it seems that the hot and cold taps are placed according to whatever whim tickled the fancy of the plumber that day. In older houses, however this isn't much of a problem, since either tap will deliver a stream of icy cold water, as it may take a significant portion of the day for the hot water to make its way round to the sink. Hot water isn't necessarily available 24/7 either. Many homes have an immersion heater that must be switched on via an actual switch on the wall in order to have hot water at all. This is often supplemented by hot water that is generated from a tank behind the fireplace which delivers water to the radiators as well as the hot taps. Further fun in the sink can be had with those sinks that have two separate taps, one for the hot water and one for the cold. Trying to find a balance between the scalding water on one side and the frigid arctic runoff in the other is a fascinating exercise in the laws of averages.

On to the shower. Recently, I stayed with some friends who had renovated their bathroom some months before. When I went to take a shower I was somewhat alarmed to note the absence of a shower curtain and worried about how careful I would have to be to keep the water from splashing all over the floor. My fears were allayed when I actually turned on the shower and noted the miniscule trickle of water emerging from the shower head. I have seen leaky faucets with a greater flow of water than that. As I labored to achieve a workable dampness, it occured to me that a shower curtain would be nothing more than a superfluous ornament, as there was no chance of any water splatters whatsoever.

This, though, is after I had interpreted the cryptic markings on the showering device itself. A shower in Ireland is not so simple a thing as one or two taps that cause water to spray (or trickle) from the showerhead. No, usually there is a machine that heats the water as it enters the showerhead. You would think that the temperature gauge and a simple on-off switch would be a wonderful idea, but such a simplistic device would pose no challenge for anyone, and the clever Irish generally hide at least one switch somewhere else in the bathroom, or possibly a different bathroom, that actually causes electricity to become available to the heating element. On many occasions I have stood there in the bathroom, naked and shivering, desperately searching for this well-concealed switch. Often it masquerades as a string suspended from the ceiling, or a button on the outside of the bathroom (always fun to find after you're butt-naked). But rest assured that it will never be clearly marked. It is something of a collective joke around the country for natives not to give detailed instructions on proper shower operation. Or, for a more subtle hilarity, to explain the workings of the shower but never reveal the location of the Secret Switch.

Irish wit and wisdom is apparent in every aspect of life there, in the literary works of Joyce, Keane and Wilde as well as the beautiful music, the clever phases bantered about in conversation, and in the odd juxtapositioning of the ultramodern built right alongside the unimaginably ancient. But in case you missed any of that, they have conveniently afforded everyone a working demonstration of the quirky Irish psyche in every trip to the loo.