Ramble
Quest - Hitchhiking in Ireland
Clearly, I did more than my usual amount of hitchhiking here in Ireland, and later in Northern Ireland as well. This was primarily because the bus services were infrequent and didn't go to many places this time of year, plus they were expensive, although that was less of a factor. By all accounts, and I do believe this, hitchhiking is dying out here, as it is just about everywhere. People tell me it's harder to get rides than in the past, but still, I'd say, Ireland is easier than most places.
Now there are great advantages and disadvantages to hitching. The big advantage is the people that you meet. I met some real characters here and will end this with a brief description of some of the more memorable ones. The big disadvantage is getting stuck out somewhere, particularly in the ever-too-common rain here. It's hard to avoid the feeling of begging when you get in this situation, and I hate to get like that. As for the danger, while I'm sure it exists, I have to confess that I really don't think about it too much. Just as with traveling in general, I'm convinced the dangerous aspects are exaggerated.
My worst experience getting stuck was, as I've recently related, in the Burren. Even then, I "only" stand out for a bit more than an hour. I put those quotation marks in because there was a cold rain hitting me the entire time and it seemed like a very, very long time indeed. I was hitching in both directions, jumping from one side of the road to another as cars went by, and go by they did! The worst hitching experiences are when plenty of cars are on the road but none of them are stopping! I was in an ideal spot too, far from any town, but just didn't have any luck, until a German woman got me out.
My best hitching luck came later, in Northern Ireland, along the road stretch that passes the Giant's Causeway. I spent a few days hitching along here as I section-hiked a trail. I never had to wait long for a ride and everyone I met was nice. In no particular order, here are some Irish hitchhiking memories, and my very heartfelt thanks to everyone who has ever given me a ride.
As I'm whipping dangerously close to trees on the passenger side along a narrow winding road, I make some joking comment about Irish race car drivers and the roads here. My driver surprises me by launching into a long story about how he was a former race car driver and his son is a current race car driver!
Kevin with his three nephews who took me to Galway and tried to tell me where things are, even while it's raining too hard for either of us to tell. He offered a stay at his house which I unfortuately missed. Corrado and Cristiana, the nice Italian couple I wound up hiking with for part of the day after they took me to the Cliffs of Mohar, which I wasn't planning on heading to but took the opportunity when they told me that was where they were going.
The little old lady who stopped for me and then was so obviously terrified about picking me up that I'm absolutely amazed that she stopped in the first place. The German couple who has been visiting the Dingle peninsula since 1984. The guy who bothered to stop while on his way home from the night shift to rescue me from rain. The local guy who quizzed me suspiciously but then wound up going out of his way to drop me off at some ruins. The French couple who were clearly lost. The guy who makes Irish bagpipes but didn't seem very happy about it. The guy who related the story of meeting his Zambian wife and living in her country for a few years. The woman who said the highlight of a youthful American stay was a road trip from the east coast to an Oklahoma religious commune.
The very strange, yet extremely nice, obese couple with the sleeping baby in back who insist I sit in the front seat while the woman crammed into the back. They have about two inches of cigarette butts on the floor of their vehicle. The young, divorced, devoted dad who kept turning around to talk to his kid about trucks they spot on the road. The
Roumanian thug who can't speak English but I like him anyway, even though he chain-smokes Marlboros and drove too fast while he making deals on his cell phone.
Finally, the colorful Basque/French group, led by their energetic Jean-Paul Belmondo-esque driver, who works as a security guard for armoured trucks. "Is it dangerous?" I ask. "He's the dangerous one!" everyone else in the car agrees. Belmondo wants to chat with me about Radiohead and President Bush. His girlfriend holds up a light for his cigarette and he takes the time to wave his head passed the flame a few times before waiting on the light. At one point he abruptly lets go of the wheel and turns completely around: "Hold the wheel while I chat with this guy for awhile." Just for effect really, and I like that about him. I later wind up going to Valencia primarily on his recommendation.