EUROPE | ROAD TRIPS
Ireland, by car, is easy on the wallet
Driving a rental is an economical way for a visitor to experience Ulster and the Irish Republic.
European road trip: Italy, Monaco, France & Switzerland
Dublin, Ireland
We careened through the hectic maze of a traffic circle and spun off onto a seemingly quiet side road. A yellow-and-blue double-decker bus, its horn blaring, thundered toward us.
"What's he doing on our side of the road?" I screamed to my friends.
"We're on his side of the road," one answered.
Could it be? The three of us had been in Ireland less than two hours and were about to be incinerated in a head-on collision. We swerved off the highway onto a dusty shoulder as the bus blew by.
St. Pat may have cast the snakes out of Ireland, but he didn't do anything to improve highway safety. The country is bedeviled by road hazards and hindrances, which include driving on the left side of the road, which stupefies many Americans. Then there are those cursed roundabouts (a.k.a. traffic circles) and those maniacal Irish drivers.
It's enough to make you feel as though you've been catapulted onto Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Or, as Phoenix tourist Liz Kirchgatter put it: "Driving here? Mercy, now that's a challenge."
But the payoff is Ireland itself, a magical place where the journey takes visitors along spectacular coastlines, through wild glens and to small towns overflowing with character -- and characters. The best way that I have found to see it is by traveling the Emerald Isle's crazy highways and byways.
Another plus: An Irish road trip is an economical way to go. Weeklong packages, with round-trip airfare from LAX, car rental and bed-and-breakfast lodgings, start as low as $855 a person, double occupancy, in the fall and winter off-season (August high-season rates are $1,350 per person). And you can choose from hundreds of bed-and-breakfast inns that annually put out the welcome mat. They offer a night's lodging, huge breakfasts, companionship, advice, driving tips and a glimpse of Irish hospitality at its best, all for less than $50 a person a night.
Two friends and I sampled that hospitality on a weeklong driving trip last fall that we booked from Sceptre Tours (see "Planning This Trip" box). Our itinerary took us from Dublin to Northern Ireland and then on a counterclockwise tour of the Emerald Isle; we hoped to see some of the major highlights along the route and visit some pubs.
We hadn't expected the white-knuckle twists and turns as we drove through the Irish Republic and Northern Ireland. At times, we felt as though we were sitting on the inside pole in a NASCAR race, but the experience was worth the thrills and chills.
Driven to near-tears
We weren't so sure about that, however, the afternoon we left the rental car facility outside Dublin International Airport and nearly became road kill.
It was our fault, of course; we were typical American tourists. We'd been confident we could handle any driving dilemma Ireland put in our path. But driving on the left wasn't the only issue. Everything in the car seemed backward -- turn signals, wiper blade controls and headlight switches.
As semis, vans and cars whizzed by, we found ourselves wishing we were ensconced on a giant Gray Line tour bus piloted by an Irish driver.
After the near-debacle with the bus, we hit a low point as we sat hyperventilating on the shoulder. A group of highway workers blocked traffic while we turned the car around as the crew foreman explained, "They're Americans. Just go around them."
The drivers smiled or nodded and dutifully steered their cars around us. I doubt the response would have been the same if we had caused a similar problem on Pacific Coast Highway.
We were trying to find our way to the motorway, an interstate-like divided highway that would take us to Northern Ireland. We'd been told the drive to Browns Country House, a bed-and-breakfast north of Belfast near the North Channel seacoast, would take about three hours. But we got lost so often it took six.
We tumbled into Browns after dark in a driving rain. Several people had warned us not to drive at night or in the rain. Good advice. It's hard enough to find your way around under perfect conditions. Many roads don't have signs; others have so many signs you can't tell which way to go. Then there are the lights. At some intersections, both red and green lights are illuminated at the same time.
Our GPS seemed as confused as we. When we made a wrong turn, it repeated, "Recalculating. Recalculating." Then it would really get wacky and say "Impossible. Impossible" in a clipped British voice that seemed on the brink of a breakdown.
We felt the same way after a 10-hour flight across a continent and an ocean, topped by six hours of tense driving.
But Jean Brown's country house took the edge off. The good Mrs. Brown had tea and coffee waiting, directed us to comfy rooms with private baths and invited us to join other guests in the sitting room for what she promised would be "spirited conversation."
We asked directions to the closest pub instead.
In less than an hour, we were quaffing Guinness and savoring aged, peppered fillet of beef flamed in Irish whiskey in the dining room of the Bushmills Inn, a quaint re-creation of an old coach inn and mill house. For dessert, we soothed our stressed psyches with sticky toffee pudding, a restaurant specialty.
The inn, along with Bushmills Distillery, are focal points of the charming village of Bushmills. The next day we returned to tour the manufacturing plant, Old Bushmills, which opened its doors in 1608. It's the only working Irish whiskey distillery open for tours; it's also the first recorded whiskey distillery.
Early the next morning, I explored the bucolic grounds of Browns Country House. Sheep and cows grazed nearby, and wild blackberries grew everywhere on the 1-acre property.
The dining room was my next stop. I couldn't wait to try the fabled full Irish breakfast. Eggs, two types of sausage, ham, tomatoes, toast, juice, coffee, tea. I wouldn't need lunch. And Sam Brown, Jean's husband, seemed a natural entertainer in the lovable-Irish-rogue vein. He told joke after joke, many of them slightly racy.
The other B&B guests, including two couples from Toronto and two Irishwomen, had gathered in the dining room, laughing at -- and with -- Sam.
I asked about the sausage, then wished I hadn't. The darker version, I was told, is sometimes called blood sausage and is made from meat mixed with blood. One of the Irish guests volunteered that it's usually made the day of slaughter when the blood is fresh.
I pushed away from the table.
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