The cross Atlantic flight was uneventful. We arrived in Shannon slightly disoriented, somewhat unfocused, and a little fusty as we dutifully waited in line to participate in one of life’s most exhilarating adventures:
Driving a rental car in Ireland.
The first indication that we were no longer in Kansas was the cost of “renting”.
I stood dumbfounded as the agent rattled off all the extra related charges. “Lets see now, that’s daily rental for six days, Collision Damage Waiver, Vehicle Theft Waiver, Liability Insurance, Premium Location Airport Fee, Plenary Indulgence, VAT Local Tax, Road Fund Tax, and a little something for the boys at the pub.”
And, God forbid, I needed a car large enough to haul three people, luggage and a cello. Yes I said cello! My daughter was competing in the All Ireland Music Competition (pronounced Fleadh Cheoil na hÉireann). No, a tin whistle wasn’t good enough... we had to haul a cello around for a week.
Sure, a larger car does have a certain charm, especially if one remembers that Newton’s Laws of Motion come into play during the daily side-mirror jousting tourneys, or guard rail bumping. Oh wait, this is Ireland. The roads don’t have guardrails. They don’t have shoulders either. For that matter, most roads “beyond the pale” are missing the other side of the road altogether.
Which leads to my second rude awakening at the rental car counter: insurance!
It’s not without cause that most major credit cards no longer provide an option to waive Collision Damage Waiver (CDW) in Ireland. Direct quote: “I’m sorry sir, but we no longer offer that service in Somalia, Afghanistan or Ireland.”
Most experienced travelers don’t begrudge the cost of CDW and even go so far as to purchase additional Super Damage Waiver (SDW) insurance to further limit their liability in the event of an accident.
Because I have a healthy respect for the inevitable, I purchased the Super Duper Double-Dog Dare Damage Waiver (SDDDDDW) insurance, which exempted me from any mishaps, to include running over members of the clergy or even farm animals.
While at the rental office, we also made sure to purchase the usual driving necessities: a good map, a set of rosary beads, some religious statuary, and one of those “Medic Alert Bracelets” in six different languages warning, “I am a Catholic, please bring me a Guinness.”
I wisely brought along a navigator, translator and early warning device: my daughter. With her help, I was able to master driving in the left lane after only a few hours. After all, the left side is, well, the left side.
She was especially handy when approaching “roundabouts”. Having had some experience with traffic circles here in the States, I would occasionally drift into U.S. driving mode. But in Ireland, traffic from the left had the right-of-way. Or was that the right? Wait no, I’m sure it’s the left and… “DAAAADDDDD!” my daughter screamed as I swerved to avoid an oncoming car whose driver gestured rudely, at least I think it was rude, at us as he roared by.
And then there were the sheep. While I’ll admit that the first few encounters of sheep strolling aimlessly down a country road did provide the ultimate Irish Kodak moment, by the fourth or fifth encounter I was very glad that I had decided to purchase the SDDDDDW.
A word to the wise: the “Garda” (police) in Ireland have a wonderful sense of humor, but they can get a little testy in some situations. Don’t pick up hitchhiking sheep.
Yes indeed, there was nothing quite like driving on a rustic country lane in the hills of Ireland, with the wind in my hair and the majestic fields of green unfolding in front of… “DAAAADDDD, TOUR BUS!”
I screeched to a halt, desperately trying to overcome that pesky Newtonian Law of Motion.
Thanks to the “Sheep Tours of Donegal” busses I had several opportunities to experience one of the trickiest driving maneuvers of all.
Backing up.
It wasn’t enough that I was fumbling with a stick shift using my left hand, or that I was sitting on the wrong side of the car. I was now looking at a mirror from the right side (which, remarkably, is the wrong side in this case).
My daughter wisely leapt out of the car and abandoned me in a moment of need. My instincts began to fail as I inched back along the guardrail-free cliff, sweat dripping down my face, when suddenly the car door swung open and I marveled at my daughter’s sense of faith and trust… until she stammered, “Forgot my iPod and camera” and slammed the door again.
As my daughter captured the predicament on video, I felt a strange sense of calm realizing that, should a calamity occur, I would likely be getting more hits on YouTube than the “Numa Numa” guy.
Thankfully, I somehow survived the ordeal of driving in Ireland and became a member of a large, yet nevertheless, elite club. There was only one more challenge that needed to be overcome.
Learning to drive on the right side again back home.
