Adventures in Ireland

The unmistakable sound took me back to a time when a blown transformer in our old neighborhood took out the electricity and resulted in a swarm of firetrucks and firefighters descending upon our community.

The blown transformer left every lightbulb in our neighbour’s home shattered while our damage resulted in a new stove and microwave and, as I discovered the next morning when I went to leave our garage, an inoperable garage door opening.

All of that chaos was bad enough, but the crescendo was yet to come. As I pushed up the now manual garage door and readied myself for the day ahead, my fingers became caught between its rolling slats. The pain was excruciating, but with a crucial meeting ahead, I had no choice but to press on. It was as I navigated the back lane that I was introduced to a noise I wouldn’t forget: Whump. Whump. Whump. The cause? A flat tire.

Talk about insult to injury!

I’d just passed Millenium Hill when ‘it’ happened

Fast forward to my drive towards Ballina. A day of exploring the towns and countryside. The winding lanes, the allure of adventure, and yet… there was that all-too-familiar sound again. The cause of this flat was clear: while making room for an oncoming truck on the narrow two-lane road, I hadn’t anticipated the lack of a shoulder, nor the sharpness of the road’s edge.

I pulled over to a grassy stretch of access road leading to a private driveway, got out and surveyed the damage.

Front tire Flat.

Mood. Deflated.

Tears. Imminent.

Soon, a good Samaritan stopped and, together, we discovered another unexpected twist: my trunk, or rather, “boot”, lacked both a spare tire and a jack.

The ensuing half hour felt like a comedy of errors.

The start of the laneway where I pulled over.

I am on the phone connecting with the emergency number provided by the car rental agency. The good Samaritan is surveying my flat tire. I finally reach someone on the phone who can help me. The good Sarmaritan admits defeat and drives off. Still standing on the roadside, phone in hand, a young woman drives up and pulls into the lane. She gets out of her car, asks if I’m okay – I am but I’m not really. I want to cry. I’m struggling to keep it all together. She lets me know she’s just driving down the lane to her parents’ home and should roadside assistance be too long, I should walk down the lane and join them for a cup of tea.

She drives off. I am still on the phone when, five minutes later, her father walks up the lane to see if he can help.

Now, picture this…

I am kneeling on the side of the road, squinting at the tire, phone in hand, attempting to discern the tire size. He realizes the issue, kneels down beside me in his freshly pressed khaki pants, loafers and green jacket over a rust colour sweater — very Irish country gentleman looking. The two of us begin to call out numbers, which, given neither of us have our reading glasses with us, is quite the struggle. Eventually, after tracing a number with my fingers, (I thought was a ‘9’) and letting the woman on the phone know it was actually a 3, she confirms she has all the information she needs, she promises to have someone there in about an hour.

“That’s an Irish hour,” the man tells me before inviting me to their home where his wife is hosting her book club and has made a wonderful cake. “You can enjoy it with your cup of tea,” he tells me with a kind smile..

I take him up on the offer. Who wouldn’t want to share tea and cake with an Irish Ladies’ Book Club in a beautiful home on the shores of Lough Derg?

Ten minutes later, when I told the gathered ladies about my flat and lack of devices to fix it, one of them piped up. “Wasn’t there a cannister in the boot? They put those there to inflate your tire enough to get you to a garage.”

Seriously?

I’d noticed the cannister when the first stranger and I inspected the boot. The only consolation was, he didn’t know what it was for either.

But seriously. I think my way worked better.

Mr. Baggins. My morning writing companion.

I could never have scripted this day – the unexpected turns, the chance encounters, and the invaluable lessons. By the end of it, not only was my tire repaired, but my belief reaffirmed: while detours might lead us astray, they also pave the way for the most memorable journeys.

Lesson Learned: Expect the unexpected and you’ll never be disappointed.

Life will always throw curveballs our way, often when least expected. Being prepared is key, but it’s also essential to embrace the unexpected with an open heart. You never know, your unplanned detour might just lead to your most cherished memory.

I’m seated at a writer’s desk that once beloned to the grandfather of Pippa, the owner of the Half Door Writer’s Cottage, my temporary Irish abode.

Earlier today, I ventured into Nenagh, the largest town nearby that has a delightful town centre, a 1200 year old castle and a TESCO, Ireland’s supermarket chain. On the main street I spotted a store named with the same surname as Pippa. I wonder if it’s linked to her grandfather’s desk? I’ll need to ask her once we meet. Currently, she’s in Greece, navigating roads she described via WhatsApp as even more narrow and exciting than Ireland’s.

Switching driving sides is a mutual adventure for both Pippa and me. I commend myself for adapting rather quickly, save for a single blunder. One car had to flash its lights to alert me of my lane mistake! Now, I constantly remind myself, “My right shoulder is closest to the white line in the middle of the road.”

Yesterday evening, after settling into the cottage and the friendly feline Mr. Baggins, I headed to Gerrykennedy, a quaint lakeside village just a few minutes away. At Larkin’s Pub, I treated myself to delectable fish and chips on their patio and nursed a glass of Pinot Grigio as I wrote in my journal.

Things I’ve observed while travelling alone:

Talking aloud, especially when fatigue sets in. It’s a way to remain alert, especially after an exhausting transatlantic flight. And it’s a great way to give myself pep talks as I try to navigate the standard transmissions, driving on the opposite side of the road and a foreign landscape.
I’m more open to seeking assistance. Take the incident with my rental car’s non-existent ignition button for example. Accustomed to just pushing the button to start my car at home, I searched for the same facility on my rental car until I gave up searching and asked the lovely young attendant for help. He was very kind in showing me how the key just pops out of the fob and where to insert it on the steering whell. 😊
Balancing ego and self-awareness is vital. While ego nudges me to appear infallible, curiosity prompts questions about my presence and awareness.
The joy of unplanned detours, despite Siri’s insistence on sticking to the route.
The comforting presence of my inner voice, guiding me towards mindfulness.

Solo travels have been insightful:

It’s made me delve deeper into the essence of solitary journeys and heighten my self-awareness.
I’ve discovered the importance of relishing my own presence.
The conveniences of modern tech, like Google Maps and phone-to-car syncing, are deeply appreciated.
Staying connected with loved ones is just a call, text, or email away, reinforcing that we’re intrinsically linked irrespective of distances.

Traveling solo doesn’t equate to loneliness. It’s an enriching experience heightened by the omnipresent interconnectedness and the deep love that binds me inextricably where ever in the world I am.