Driving in Ireland

With the proper outlook and vehicle, driving in Ireland is a pleasure.  Don’t be put off by the prospect of driving on the left; after an hour or so you’ll be used to it.  Do, however, set aside thoughts of going quickly and directly from point A to point B.  The shortest distance may be a straight line, but the roads in Ireland hew to the landscape, which is hilly, dotted with lakes, and quilted with ancient farms.  That’s wonderful for contemplative sightseeing but inimical to a crammed itinerary.  Unless you have lots of time, a modest Irish bucket list is more realistic and enjoyable.  (You’ll just have to return to see what you missed the first time.)

Start by renting the smallest car that fits you and your luggage.  We learned this the hard way, having arranged for a “minibus” to house the six of us and our bags, backpacks, and cameras.  The car rental agency (Dan Dooley) dutifully handed over the keys to a Ford Transit, which resembles an adolescent bakery truck.  Reality check:  Dublin has European-sized streets and dense traffic, and our hotel parking garage was meant for gas-sippers (understandably so, with fuel at $8 a gallon).  We threw ourselves on Dan Dooley’s mercy, and the kind and accommodating folks there – adjectives that describe virtually everyone we met in Ireland – swapped us into a minivan, in which we happily and safely criss-crossed the island.

In choosing a car, it’s worth paying a bit extra for an automatic even if you’re comfortable driving a stick.  There are so many roundabouts and curves that manual transmissions require constant shifting.  It also makes sense to spring for a GPS.  Getting from town to town is easy enough with a map, but the GPS takes the guesswork out of finding specific locations.

After leaving Dublin, the wisdom of downsizing our vehicle was confirmed time and again.   Many rural Irish roads boast “severe” or “acute” curves (their words, not mine), a profusion of roundabouts, and inexplicably grandiose speed limits.  In fairness, however – and in sharp contrast to American roads – most drivers in Ireland treat the speed limit as a theoretical ceiling applicable only under ideal conditions (which apparently is its intent) rather than a suggested minimum.

There are four classes of roads in Ireland.  “M” roads, or motorways, are well-maintained, four-lane divided highways with a speed limit of 120 kph (75 mph).  One step down are “N” roads – generally two-lane, undivided routes with a mix of straightaways and curves, narrow-to-nonexistent shoulders, and a speed limit of 100 kph (62 mph).  Further down the hierarchy come “R” roads.  These hug every contour in the land, have stone walls or hedges abutting the roadway, and are, by generous estimate, one-and-a-half cars wide.  The speed limit?  80 kph (50 mph), which is somewhere between physically impossible and suicidal.  Finally, there are “L” roads, upon which we did not dare to venture.  (A note on Irish road terminology:  a paved shoulder is called a “hard shoulder,” which seems something of a misnomer, given that the alternative to a paved shoulder generally is an even harder stone wall.)

Having said this, don’t cling to the M and N roads or you’ll miss some phenomenal scenery and, with prudence and patience, a terrific driving experience.  Half of our travel was on R roads, and I enjoyed almost all of it (admittedly, meeting a tractor on a blind curve with a stone wall a hair’s breadth away was not all that enjoyable).   Twice, our road turned into a one-lane, spottily paved track with grass growing in the middle.  The first time, in County Mayo, we happened upon only one oncoming vehicle in six miles –fortuitously, at the only place where two cars possibly could have squeezed past one another.  On a similar byway in County Clare, our luck turned:  we met several oncoming vehicles, eventuating a few intimate encounters with roadside bushes.

Driving these roads would be far more challenging if not for the refreshing sanity and politeness of Irish drivers.  Not only do they heed the speed limit and avoid tailgating, but in six days of travel I don’t think I heard a single car horn.  In fact, the only truly aggressive drivers were the bicyclists in Dublin, who seem to have a collective death wish.  On the rural roads, drivers routinely gesture to one another, but unlike in the D.C. area, where I live, nothing rude is involved.  Rather, there’s an arcane system of raising the index finger, two fingers, or on rare occasions, an entire hand, to acknowledge the driver who, if the cars’ frames disappeared, would be violating your personal space.  (Presumably, which signal to use is a matter of individual preference; I varied my approach with no discernible consequences.)

If you’re lucky enough to be in Ireland, don’t hesitate to drive.  Slow down, see the sights, and as the Irish say, Slán abhaile (safe home).