Tag Archives: borders

Life in the slow lane

Posted on by

2

After we crossed the border into Northern Ireland, we drove the few miles of farm road to Derry and parked the car in front of our new home-from-home for the week. Well, we did use it once or twice during the time we were there. One gorgeous day, we took to the road to find the church where my great-grandfather was baptized. Cumber Upper is a wee, bucolic town just ten miles south of Derry.

“Miles?” Marcus asked. “Why are you giving me the distance in miles? You’ve always given me distances in kilometers.”

“For some reason, Google Maps is now giving me distances in miles,” I replied.

That should have been our first clue.

On another day we had to drive to Derry airport to return our second rental car and pick up a third. (For car insurance coverage through our credit card, we can only rent a car for 30 days at a time. Before the 30-day period is up, we have to return one car and rent another; otherwise, we’d have no coverage.) This was another ten-mile drive, but this time along a major thoroughfare.

“Why are these drivers riding my bumper?” Marcus asked. “I’m driving the speed limit.”

I looked in the sideview mirror. There were several cars queued up behind us. One guy passed us and honked, albeit politely. What gives? City drivers! we decided. Always in a hurry to get places.

At the end of the week we checked out of our Derry apartment and started our 60-mile drive to our next destination on the County Antrim coast. We weren’t far into the trip when traffic started piling up behind us again.

“I won’t drive over the speed limit,” Marcus insisted. “I’ve been told by several people that the police here won’t hesitate to pull over a rental car for speeding.”

Why didn’t we have this problem “down south”? I pondered. Why is it just since arriving in Derry? “Hang on a sec. Let me check something.” I pulled out my phone and googled: Are the speed limits in Northern Ireland in mph? Answer (from Wikipedia): Speed limits in Northern Ireland are specified in miles per hour. Those in the Republic use kilometres per hour.

Oh, my! We’ve been driving 60 kph (37.5 mph) in a 60-mph zone! 80 kph (50 mph) in an 80-mph zone! Neither Fodor’s nor the road atlas we picked up, both of which cover both countries, thought to mention this. It’s a wonder people haven’t been making rude gestures as they pass. Obviously, Irish drivers are very patient and kind.

And we thought crossing the border was seamless. Who knew?

Cumber Upper, Co. Derry, where my great-grandfather was from

Slipping over the border

Posted on by

4

Horn Head

The day promised to be wet and windy, like 25 mph windy. But despite the horizontal rain we had in the early morning, it was relatively calm and dry as we checked out of our Airbnb and started our trek to Northern Ireland. We thought we’d squeeze in a sight or two, as long as the weather held. Our first, Horn Head, was only ten miles north, on the northern coast of Ireland, but by the time we got there the wind had picked up again. Or maybe we were just more exposed on this cliff 600 feet above the Atlantic. I was afraid to stand too near the edge, the wind was that strong. And then the rain started. I opted to shift my vantage point to the warmth of the car.

Lough Swilly with Inch Island midstream

An Grianán, one of those cool, circular Stone Age forts on a hill overlooking Lough Swilly, was our second stop, an easy forty miles closer to our destination. Lough Swilly is another one of those Irish fjords [Irish fjords], this one much longer and wider than Killary Harbour.

The wind at the top of the hill was ferocious. Jackets whipped liked sails in a tempest. Hair plastered to faces making it difficult to see. The temperature plummeted. I watched tourists trying to take photos in the elements. I just didn’t have it in me to get out of the car. Marcus found a parking spot overlooking the lough, and that’s where we enjoyed our English picnic. [Going local] One of the best views on a picnic so far, and no chasing sandwich wrappers and napkins across the car park.

As we drove down the hill from the fort, I entered the address of our Derry Airbnb into the SatNav (car navigation system). ETA: 15 minutes. What? That can’t be right. We’re still in Ireland. I looked up and saw a line on the road about fifty feet in front of the car, where the pavement was darker and smoother. I laughed. “I bet that’s the border.” Sure enough. No border control, not so much as a sign, just more cow pasture and white cottages. The few cars we encountered on this little slip of a farm road now had UK plates. 

“Welcome to the United Kingdom!” I said to Marcus.

Anti-climatic? Not at all. I hope that’s as much of a border as there will ever be between these two countries. And is it too much to hope that one day there is no border at all, physical or otherwise?