One could not do a fleeting trip to Ireland without mentioning its particular traffic idiosyncrasy, which builds on the basic British tenet that ‘anything goes’ on the road.
Tractors. We haven’t seen one on the freeway yet, but then we have kept off the freeways so that is no indicator. But all along the maze of other roads and including tiny one-car lanes all of which don’t seem to faze semi trailers or people who think it’s a good idea to just stop and have a cup of tea the while, there are capped gents driving all sorts of tractors with all sorts of trailers and loads.
They obviously feel, and probably quite rightly, that they have an equal right to the road and that as they are not in a hurry nor should anyone else be. We weren’t; I didn’t mind. But it can be a bit hair-raising passing them. They never seem to see the need to pull over and let everyone pass, and everyone is so good-natured and relaxed that it sort of doesn’t matter, somehow. And it’s contagious.
Actually – there was a trotting horse and gig being driven happily along one main-ish road, with no apparent sense from any of the many cars waiting to pass that this was in any way untoward or even possibly (heaven forbid!) illegal.
Registration? Tail lights? Indicators? You gotta be kidding!
I just love it.
In fact, we both just love Ireland. You can sense that they have the same sense of humour as us; they are pathologically pleasant and happy; they are unfailingly polite and friendly (unless you capture them with your car door); and they are heartwarmingly ready to laughter.
If you see a space where we used to be, look for us in Ireland.