Drayke's Travels

…or rather, riding. I have only been a passenger up to this point, because it is Dennis who has prior experience driving a car with manual transmission. Before we picked up the car, we talked about the pros and cons of someone with said experience versus someone without. For example, where Dennis’ muscle memory might hinder his reaction time, I would learn and be comfortable with shifting gears left-handed because I would know no difference. On the other hand, Dennis’ prior experience means he’s more comfortable with the ins and outs of shifting, clutch management, etc, while the entire concept would be knew to me.

Learning these ins and outs wouldn’t be too difficult if there were some convenient, open stretch of road or parking lot in which to practice. Alas, we have yet to come across such a mythical place. We thought we’d have some room to maneuver in the rental parking lot where we picked up the car, but the lot was completely full and the lanes so narrow that even Dennis was a little nervous navigating our way out from the “wrong” side of the car. And it only got more nerve-wracking from there.

Even though both the locals and previous visitors from home warned us about the narrow roads, nothing could have prepared us for the truth. During our stay in Kilcullen we traveled to and from Dublin by bus, which gave us a good idea of just how narrow some of the roads are as well as what it would be like to travel on the left side of the road. But these supposedly narrow roads were close enough to Dublin that maybe they weren’t that narrow at all compared to the roads we ended up on once we left. We pulled out of the parking lot onto a main thoroughfare, which had nice wide shoulders and gave Dennis a good chance to get himself oriented. Soon, though, we turned off onto a smaller side route that would eventually bring us to Avoca for a sight-seeing detour (more on that later), and that’s when the fun began.

When people warned us that most non-motorway roads had very little shoulder, what they meant was that there was no shoulder at all. The side of the car was brushing shrubbery every time another vehicle passed, and every successful pass felt like a small miracle during the first hour of driving. The fact that the roads wound back and forth most of the time meant that we needed to consistently stay as far over to the left as we dared, since the other fact people mentioned about driving in Ireland was also true: the locals drive really fast, regardless of bends in the road or the lack of passing space.

Surprisingly, riding on the extreme left side of the road doesn’t really bother me at all, and I feel that, were it not for the manual transmission issue, I would be pretty comfortable driving in this country. So far, it’s only the narrow roads that make me nervous because I’m the one sitting on the side getting cozy with the shrubs and brick walls, and we’ve been told the roads only get more narrow the further west you get. Grand.

In hindsight, our detour to Avoca (while time-consuming and stressful) gave Dennis a good chance to learn to navigate the narrow roads during the daylight hours. Once we hit the motorway on our way to Limerick, it was smooth sailing until we reached the town and backroads heading toward our destination, in the dark.

But before the motorway: Avoca. When going on a trip, I like to keep things simple and not over-plan anything, which I believe makes things more flexible and less stressful. Of the few things I was determined to do/see while in Ireland, Avoca was one of them. It is a tiny town about an hour south of Dublin, and was the central filming location of the 1990’s show Ballykissangel. My dad and I had enjoyed several seasons of this great show before it was taken off Netflix, which (incidentally) was also right before I moved out west. So, naturally, I had to visit Avoca, knowing I might never be back this way again.

The church of Bally-K, where Father Peter Clifford did his thing from season 1 to season 3.

The front entrance. Obviously.

The bridge entrance into town, where several pivotal scenes take place.

River Avoca

 

Me standing on the bridge.

The little convenience store across from Fitzgerald’s, fictitiously owned by the fictitious Kathleen Hendley.

The long-angle view of the scenes of many crimes (or crime of many scenes, if you prefer to look at it that way) outside Fitzgerald’s Pub.

 

Me standing outside Fitzgerald’s, with a reminder to all why tourists even come to this tiny town in the first place, casually written on the bottom right corner of the pub’s entrance.