When I was but a wee lass, my high school marching band went to Ireland with a hundred of my closest friends and bandmates, and a team of chaperones. We won an award for our performance in the St. Patty’s Day Parade in Dublin, monkeyed around at historic museums and castles, ate weird foods (I skipped the blood sausage), and generally had a blast.
These days I travel to experience the local culture, adventure, and get off the beaten path. When the flight prices dropped, my friend Amélie and I packed our bags for Ireland.
I spent a day in Dublin before Amélie arrived, then we rented a car and headed for the hills. She bravely took the first shift driving on the left side of the road. We spent a few minutes parked at the rental car agency, debating whether the gas was still on the right or if it was mirror-image on the right. Answer: it’s still on the right.
We took turns cheering each other on while navigating, reminding the driver how to turn, and using clock-terminology to tell them where to exit the next roundabout. The roads were impossibly narrow and often filled with sheep, who didn’t care what side of the road you drove on. It was their road.