Drive Me Crazy

While for some time I have been accepted over here by friends and family, locals who see me less as an interloper and more of just another friendly face, there are a few facets of everyday life which I have previously been unable to take part in.  I eat the food, I wear the clothes, I sing the songs and dance a few steps of the dances, and yet in one or two areas I still found myself limited.  In an effort to erase that feeling of exclusion, and indeed to keep me sharp as to one classic American institution, I saddled up, strapped in, gritted my teeth and turned the ignition.  Yes, hide your pets and children, I started driving on Irish roads.

You probably are aware, at least in a general sense, that motoring takes place on the left hand side of this country.  Making the switch to south paw navigation is not that difficult, in my limited driving experience here I’ve only been on the ‘wrong side’ of the road a handful of times, and never for so long as to cause a ‘major’ collision.  What requires a more serious adjustment is reacquainting yourself with all of the car’s controls, knobs, buttons, and levers that control the little things on cars, like headlights and turn signals which are by and large juxtaposed as you might or might not expect when the steering wheel is on the other side.  Combine that with the ubiquity of the stick shift (luckily I had some experience with manual gearboxes) which are also controlled on the left (which I had no experience with) and all of this can make your first few forays into Irish driving daunting on a good day.

Once you do get accustomed to making the car go in the direction you want it to your next challenge will be navigation.  Do you have a fairly comprehensive knowledge of Irish geography especially all of the small towns and villages that lay between you and your desired destination?  No?  That’s unfortunate, because must directions you’ll receive from helpful guides will be a series of places you will drive through in order to get to where you want to be.  For example, the 15 minute drive from ‘the home place’ (family home) in Laragh (which isn’t so much a proper town but rather a general area in the country not marked by any road signs) to Castlerea (a nearby town that actually appears on google maps) one has two options as to how to get there;  the Ballymoe way or the Ballintubber way.  While these two towns lay in opposite directions from one another, both can be passed through on the way to Castlerea, however once you’re through the town proper both routes seem to wind through similar country sides, once of which contains a prison while the other has a castle.

Going further a field offers further difficulty especially once you get to the coast, I have heard recently that ‘the road’ on Inishmore (one of the famed Aran Islands) has washed away.  Imagine, after going to the effort of driving out to the island you find out that the road had fallen into the sea, you’d never complain about construction delays again.  Trying to get to Donegal in the far off north of the country is even more harrowing in winter, I am told, because you have a choice of just two roads which will get you there without passing the border into British owned Northern Ireland.  These two roads are not the most reliable it would seem, as one was long known as the deadliest road in all of the republic due to its habit of icing over and sending drivers careening to their unfortunate fate, and the other is a costal road prone to high winds and the occasional aforementioned washout issues.  It should also be noted that a small amount of snowfall can render either impassable and with that in mind, the good people of Donegal constructed a very nice airport to deal with such issues. 

Most everywhere is connected by networks of rural roadways and while there are some proper dual carriageways (highways) which connect major cities, the majority of roads will consist of two lanes-one for each direction- and if you’re lucky there will be some kind of shoulder.  You will still be lucky if there’s a ditch on the sides of the road as opposed to the standard brick wall covered in bushes from whence any multitude of small animals, or in some cases large animals, dogs, or pedestrians, may spring unexpectedly.  Traffic on such byways is not restricted to small cars, lorries (semi-trucks), tractors, and horse and trap (carriages) are all likely to be found on them, more accurately they will find you as they come head on from around a sharp and blind corner.  There may or may not be lane markers, or for that matter well maintained pavement, while all of this is coming at you and people walk bravely along the edges of thick knotted grass which separate the tarmac (road) from the walls and fences which keep livestock in the field, except for Sundays when it’s easiest to move sheep and it’s not surprising to be held up by the wooly cross traffic.

Seemingly all of these factors come together in what I can only say is the pinnacle of Irish driving terror; The Roundabout.  Long relegated to the status of legend and butt of jokes American abroad movies, these staples of European traffic systems are inarguably the best solution to the problem posed by five or more roads converging at a single point like spokes on a wheel.  This knowledge is of little comfort when approaching your first busy intersection in the midst of a city, the constantly circling flow of cars, trucks, and busses overwhelms the senses and their coordinated flow in and out of the melee baffles the mind.  After a few lessons from helpful Irish drivers, it becomes less opaque;  around the inner island of concrete there are two (unmarked) lanes, the inside lane is used to access all but the road immediately to your left and as the flow of vehicles proceeds clockwise you are to move from the inner lane to the outer only when exiting the roundabout while keeping aware of cars merging in from every direction.  If you miss your turn-off you are instructed to circle around once more and try again this time praying just a little bit harder that you’ll signal correctly while shifting into third with your left hand and not be overtaken by a passenger bus which seems to be the size of a cargo ship. 

In short, driving here is not for the weak of spirit and liberal use of classic Gaelic phrases such as ‘feck’, ‘bugger’, and ‘eejit’ is recommended.  Believe me when I say there will be plenty of opportunities to use such glowing terms if you ever take a journey across this beautiful land.  It seems that no mater which country you hail from we’re all afflicted by drivers who go too slow in the fast lane (the right lane over here), ones who pull out ahead of you, tail-gaters, people who don’t know how to use their turn signals, or don’t turn off their high beams when on-coming on a dark night.  No, there is no shortage of thick headed, ignorant, impossibly moronic drivers on the road, and now, thanks to me, Ireland has one more.