IRELAND
would be my travelling companion for the
next three days: A white Suzuki! But of
course. The catalogues always showed the
unattainable.
Then I was off! The engine started
with a cat-like purr, happy to be active,
the automatic shift stick was easy, the
tyres floated just above the ground, as
I headed with a faster-than-usual heart
beat towards the highway to Killarney,
308 kilometres away. My helpful Hertz
assistant had set the GPS for me, I was
told the toll had been pre paid on my
behalf, and all I had to do was press the
accelerator and keep my tiny craft on the
road, till I reached ‘Home’.
Obediently, as I hit the road, the GPS
came on, telling me well in advance which
way I should turn, and which exit I should
take. It was a well modulated woman’s
voice, and somehow I felt glad. Did not
quite fancy taking instructions from a
man, even an invisible, all knowing one.
As the road straightened out and we
hit the highway, I felt again the usual
joy I feel when driving, and relaxed my
shoulders that had till then mimicked a
prize fighter’s. The road stretched ahead;
houses, then fields, trees slipped past.
The photographer in me raised a protest.
How could all this beauty go unrecorded,
it asked? What would I post for mwy
facebook friends to see... But the driver
won. I kept relentlessly on.
Driving here is easier than in Mumbai,
I told myself, even as I flinched as a
multi-axle rumbled past. Everyone obeys
the rules. If only I knew what the rules
were, I could ensure I broke none. Double
white lines, single and double yellow lines,
dotted lines... By the end of an hour I had
worked out what they meant. At least, I
hoped so.
Everything was admirably sign-posted.
Lush countryside swept past marked by a
running deer sign. I slowed, in deference,
and was the only one to do so. Perhaps
because I do not eat venison.
Imagine if we posted signs like this
on our highways, I thought loudly. We
would have signs showing cows, sheep,
goats, the occasional camel in some parts,
dogs, cheeky, hopping crows, children;
sign board painters would never be out
of work!
By now I was talking loudly to myself.
The eight hours of half wakefulness in a
tiny economy class airplane seat, coupled
with the near monotony of driving
alone was soporific. My smooth-voiced
companion had told me to continue for
the next 113 or so kilometres and shut
down for a nap herself.
When the rain clouds massed up, it
gave me the right cue. Nonsense rhymes
knit themselves into a tune, and I sang in
what sounded like a rather tired, tuneless
voice.
Be kind, I am a guest, Mr. Rain
From spoiling my trip, please refrain.
You get the gist? It was all so bad that
my sleep slunk away, shutting its ears.
On, and on, past county towns, and
children playing in a park, past cows
ruminating on fields eyeing the greener
grass on the hill beyond.
“After one kilometre...” I jumped at the
voice. Then realised it was my formless
friend who had come awake. “You scared
me,” I said, and laughed.
Then on, I kept up a chatter. Asking
her if she had fallen asleep, when she fell
silent; telling her to shut up when she
repeated instructions as if I was deaf or
slow witted. It began to feel like fun.
We reached a toll gate. I slowed down
to read the instructions. It would only
take coins. And I had none!
Pulling to one side, I waited trying to
think. Perhaps I could beg or borrow the
2 euros from the next car to drive up.
“What is the problem,” the driver in the
parellel lane asked. I explained. He waved
me to the last cabin... “See the sign? It
is manned, you will get change there” .
Relief! And a pinch for being unobservant!
November-December 2015 Travel Secrets 63