Driving in Ireland

Traffic is anything BUT calm in Ireland.

On Tuesday we spend about 8 hours in the car, crisscrossing the emerald countryside and its plethora of interesting sites.  When I say driving I am using the positive term for being in a car along an average Irish road.  The negative term would be white-knuckled-holding-my-breath-while-bracing-for-impact-or-being-forced-into-a-rock-wall-and/or-thousand-foot-Atlantic-drop-off.  Seriously, of the 5,000+ kilometers of Irish roads, a meager 4% are wide enough for two men to pass by each other (on foot) without having to turn sideways.  I believe the Romans paved the best in the day of Caesar, and the worst are used by NASA as a testing ground for the lunar-rover’s shocks.

            My favorite experience was when our trusty Garmin GPS system pointed us towards Dublin along a path (road would be far too generous) with grass growing in the middle of the pavement. It was late afternoon and dark skies signaled that the hourly rainstorm was about to begin.  As I gazed towards the horizon (a world-traveler like myself tends to “gaze” as opposed to merely “look”), I could barely make out where the slender ribbon of grey and green disappeared behind a large mountain.  Surely this couldn’t be the most efficient way to reach the country’s biggest city, but I had been wrong before.¹ I reassured Christie that this was correct, reinforcing the statement with my best poker face.  Silently I tried to think back to what I could have possibly upset my electronic companion, hoping that she wasn’t retaliating by sending me down this desolate road during the aforementioned pending storm.  I gingerly pushed forward at about 40 km/hr (24 mph for those of you scoring along at home, or the equivalent of a safe traveling speed within a school zone with children present).  I had only gone about ten minutes when my fears were validated by a herd of sheep that decided that this center ground offered the tastiest grazing opportunity in the area.  Clearly this stuff was more inviting than the 400 acres of pristine munching on each side of the vehicle.  Their shepherd, a spry white-haired man smiling as he leaned on his stick, didn’t seem to think there was any hurry to move along these wooly obstacles.  Instead he politely waved at me, as if to say, “Yep, you Yankee bastard.  Welcome to the 19^th century.”  My only solace was that Christie finds sheep second only to dogs on the cuteness spectrum, and was happily snapping pictures out the window and squealing in delight while greeting them by name.  I made a U-turn.              

Very typical view of the Irish countryside.

Just some more sheep on the side of the road...

While we are on the topic of driving, let’s discuss another peculiar thing: Americans say that the Irish (and British for that matter) drive on the wrong side of the road.  This strikes me as a little odd, harsh even, as it seemed to work just fine while I was there.  Which made me think, since when did wrong become the opposite of right? (Directionally speaking, of course). We don’t call people who write with their left hands “wrong handed.”  You don’t tell someone to make a “wrong” at the next intersection.  So why just because the cars go in the opposite direction and the steering wheel is on the other side, does it make them wrong?  It’s just different.

The reason I bring this up is that I think this statement – which the vast majority of Americans say without thinking – perfectly sums up the American viewpoint of the world.  If it’s not our way, then it must be wrong.  Not different, but wrong.  I know this may just be an exercise in semantics, but hopefully this little humorous anecdote can begin to curb the stereotype of the ugly American who wonders through Europe thinking that things should be the same as they are back home in Des Moines, Iowa. (And please remember that the continental U.S. is the only place in the world still using miles.  That is definitely not wrong.)

The prize awaiting the most aggressive Irish drivers.

~ J. Twice

¹ Author admits lone mistake on the morning of April 3, 2008 when he inadvertently took the 3^rd exit instead of the 4^th at an unmarked roundabout in the Sicilian countryside, causing him 42 seconds of lost travel time.