Friendly folk reminiscent of home and celebrity animals generating big bucks were the highlights of Lucy Ibbotson's trip to Ireland.
After my debut visit last year to the United States - where service with a smile and a warm welcome were as elusive as the Irish leprechaun, stepping off the plane in Dublin for the first time felt like coming home again.
Not in the "I have Irish ancestry" sense, as I have none to claim. Just an Irish boyfriend.
Instead, my instant affinity with Ireland stemmed from a new-found appreciation of New Zealanders' hospitable and here-to-help attitude. We are, I decided during my travels, world leaders in the friendliness stakes.
But the Irish are surely our northern hemisphere counterparts.
Stop to ask an Irish person for some quick directions, and you will find yourself driving away mid-conversation waving and shouting your thanks after half an hour of merry ramblings which, albeit in a roundabout way, will unfailingly get you to your destination.
Ireland's countryside can also be favourably compared to New Zealand's. The only real differences are centuries' old stone walls instead of No 8 wire for paddock dividers, and historic crumbling castles in place of the more modern nod to provincialism of giant fruit, trout, or L&P bottles.
I could rave endlessly about the beauty and quirkiness of Ireland.
The sheer scale of the Cliffs of Moher, the rich medieval heritage of Kilkenny, the over-supply of pubs and churches per capita, or the novelty of dangling upside down to kiss Cork's legendary Blarney Stone - the reputed "stone of eloquence", a worthwhile pursuit for any good journalist.
But there are two stand-out attractions in Ireland which hold a special place in my memory - Grainne the fox and Fungi the bottlenose dolphin.
Unconventional choices as holiday highlights perhaps, but as an animal lover, meeting these two Irish identities left a lasting impression.
Patsy Gibbons, who lives near Thomastown in County Kilkenny, first came to my attention via a YouTube clip promoting my boyfriend's place of origin.
To sum up simply, Patsy is a kind, free-spirited man, perhaps in his 60s, who runs an unofficial animal and bird refuge at his house in the countryside. He rescued an abandoned, malnourished baby fox, tamed it, raised it and named it Grainne (pronounced Gron-ya). Fast-forward several years, and Grainne is now an international star, who still makes time for frequent appearances in tiny Thomastown - perched happily atop her master's shoulders as he wanders the streets.
The story of Patsy and Grainne instantly appealed to me, and in no time at all after arriving in Kilkenny, my boyfriend had put in a call to someone, who knew someone, who knew Patsy, and we were on our way to meet the famed fox.
In the driveway of Patsy's modest home, unsure of the protocol for such a visit, we awkwardly exchanged introductions and presented him with cake - a cash payment to view the vixen seemed inappropriate - before being invited into Grainne's den.
To our delight, a second tamed fox named Minnie had recently joined the ranks, and the furry duo peered curiously down at us from a shelf above while we cowered in the opposite corner, unconvinced of Patsy's assurances the creatures were "friendly".
Patsy, a man of few words, eventually put the pair on leads and quietly escorted us all down the country lane a short way for a photo shoot.
Thankfully, the animals kept their wild instincts in check as we timidly stroked them for the camera and listened to Patsy's tales of his prized pets, whose interests include: custard cream biscuits for Grainne and fruit cake for Minnie, listening to Patsy play his harmonica, and watching television inside by the fire.
As unassuming and content with the quiet life as Patsy and his brood appeared, their appeal has in fact spread far beyond the humble confines of Thomastown.
At the time of our visit, Grainne was being picked up once a week in a helicopter and flown to Scotland, chaperoned by Patsy, to play a starring role in her latest big-budget movie - she already has several film credits under her belt - and just a week prior, a New Zealand film crew had been in Thomastown filming Patsy and Grainne for a tourism clip.
Then, as we reluctantly bid the trio adieu - after a short tour of Patsy's backyard bird haven - another carload of fox enthusiasts pulled up. Evidently, our assumption that Patsy was surely astonished and flattered by our unprecedented interest in his animal attraction was well wide of the mark. We were merely another group in a constant stream of curious callers eager to see Ireland's film-star fox.
Hoswever, Grainne's reputation pales in comparison to Dingle's dolphin.
The quaint seaside village in County Kerry lives and breathes its famous dolphin Fungi. From its well-photographed sculpture of the beloved bottlenose to the absurd amounts of Fungi-themed souvenirs in the many tourist shops, Dingle and its residents know how to capitalise on what has become a massive money-spinner for the town.
According to Dingle tourism websites, Fungi, as he was christened by local fishermen, first appeared in Dingle Harbour in 1984 and has remained there ever since.
A small cave under the cliffs at Burnham is thought to be his home, and friendly Fungi spends all day, every day, cavorting in the bow waves of boats and launching himself out of the water to entertain the tens of thousands of tourists who come to see him.
He has even been photographed bringing divers gifts of still-living fish, "clasped gently within his jaws", claims one website, and others insist he has magical healing powers.
The pulling power of Fungi is helped along considerably by the fact he never fails to make an appearance. Never.
Several boat operators running cruises to view Fungi, or even to swim with him, offer a money-back guarantee if he doesn't show up, but legend has it this guarantee has never had to be paid out. As my boyfriend and I sailed out to sea, both 16 poorer after forking out for Fungi-watching tickets, we wondered if our tour group could be the first in history to receive refunds after a long dolphinless 10 minutes lapsed on the water.
But sure enough, elated cries of "There he is!" eventually rang out across the vessel, and people surged starboard to view the distant silver fin weaving through the waves. After my initial panic the boat - now lurching dangerously to one side with the weight of its hysterical occupants - would surely capsize and we would all be at the mercy of Fungi and his fellow marine life, the dolphin's mysterious magnetism began to take effect on us, too.
For the next half-hour, Fungi ducked and dived and flew through the air right alongside our boat and the four or five other boats all jostling for position near the star attraction, and I can honestly say the sheer delight on the faces of every paying passenger out on the water that day spoke volumes about what that dolphin had done for Dingle.
He was worth every cent.
To the bafflement of many, Fungi rarely ventures far from the mouth of the harbour, which some believe can be explained by the body of a young female bottlenose washed up locally around the time of his arrival.
Dolphins apparently show great fidelity in their relationships, with possibly just one mate for life, which could be why Fungi chose to see out his days as a boat-chasing bachelor in Dingle Harbour.
He did have a short-lived fling with a young dolphin named Smokey, but in the end, Smokey left, and Fungi stayed on. And on.
The big worry is that a bottlenose dolphin's average lifespan is just 25 years, making Fungi positively geriatric. And given Dingle has built an entire tourism industry on the back of its seafaring superstar, what will become of the village when he swims on to more peaceful waters?
What will fill the void left by an animal who, at €16 a pop, must have amassed millions of dollars in revenue for his adopted home?
Perhaps someone should be putting in a call to a certain fox-tamer in County Kilkenny to suggest a move south . . .
