7 Circles of Hell* - Dante's View of Irish Roundabouts

My biggest concern, my only concern, while planning our trip to Ireland was driving.  Steering from the right hand side of the car while driving on the left hand-side of the road, kept me up a few nights.  I woke up a couple of times in a full body sweat but that may have been more menopause than fear.

As a rule, I avoid traffic circles like the plague.  They just seem to defy logic.  Well at least my logic anyway. In a large metropolitan area near our home, two traffic circles were put into a road we frequently use.  These circles were put in for purely "aesthetic" reasons, not functional ones.  Seriously!  The real dilemma comes when large groups of people try to use them at the same time, who have absolutely zero experience with such an endeavor.

Clearly, this is not the case in Ireland.  Traffic circles or roundabouts have been in use since the early 1500's.  My friend +Neil Jackman , an archaeologist of some repute, has unearthed some early examples of roundabouts.  Specific carbon dating is still pending.  Confirmation is beginning to trickle in from various sources including noted English historian Dr. Monty Python.  Dr. Python states, "Roundabouts are the Holy Grail of the Irish transportation system." Tradition has it that most Irish babies are born in or near roundabouts.  I personally take this as fact, after our trip.  My point is this, every Irish driver has extensive knowledge and experience in the function and use of roundabouts.  I have neither.  I am in trouble!

It really only took me a couple of hours to get comfortable driving.  It took a couple of days to get used to the size of the roads.  It took a couple of Valium with a chaser of Jameson to get to the place of, what I like to call, "roundabout recovery".  For the first week in Ireland, this was an almost daily occurrence.

One of the quaint things about Irish roundabouts is that every one of them is named.  Some farmers do this with their cows or sheep, which seems silly to me as they all look the same.  So too, I found it equally interesting that these circular intersections are named.  The roundabouts are not just "named" by the locals, but actually have a rather significant sign which faces the oncoming traffic (more on Irish road signage another time).  This is excellent for out-of-towners, except the sign is less than a meter off the ground.  This means unless you are the first car at the circle, you don't know which circle it is until you enter it.  This has the undesirable effect of having to make quick decisions and lane selections especially if you are taking the first exit out of the circle.

Our first night in Ireland was going to be spent near Galway.  We landed in Dublin by 8 am local time and were on the road by 10 am.  With a quick stop in Clonmacnoise on the way, we anticipated being in Galway by mid to late afternoon.  A good friend of ours from Dalkey told us it would take a couples of hours to get to Galway and almost that much time to get through Galway due to traffic.  So we were somewhat prepped for traffic difficulty.  But nothing could have prepared us for the Galway Gauntlet.

The Marless House is a lovely B&B in Salthill just west of Galway. Their web site provided excellent verbal and pictorial directions for those who are coming in on the M-6 from Dublin. Once exiting the motorway, we would have to navigate 7 roundabouts to get to our destination.  As my wife read the directions out loud, each named roundabout hit me like a pillowcase filled with rocks.  Though my outer demeanor was stoic and steady, my inner pilot was screaming NOOOOOOOOOOO! Seven?  What is wrong with these people? I steeled myself for the mythological quest which lay before me.  I quickly conjured up the spirit of Jason and his Argonauts to face the 7 sirens that lie ahead in the turbulent roadway waters of Galway roundabouts.  In just two kilometers, the trial would commence.

I entered the Coolough roundabout in the left lane, quite by accident, but was saved by the fact I had to get out at the first exit.  My confidence was artificially buoyed by this "success".  For in short order, I was going to enter the Martin roundabout and would need to take the 3rd exit.  As I entered Martin I got into the inner lane to get to the third exit.  Another car came in alongside me which prevented me from getting to my exit.  Panic flooded my entire being as our revolutions began.  With our third trip around the circle, I thought we had been caught in a swirling vortex like being flushed down a toilet south of the equator.  There was no way out.

It was then that I noticed a group of pedestrians sitting on folding chairs in the grassy center of the roundabout.  I noticed one of the older gentlemen standing up as he pointed in my direction, his finger following my path round the grassy circle.  Others began to rise and look as we circled them yet again.  With each subsequent revolution, I began to feel like I was in a Sartre play as their shouts turned into cheers and applauds. I found out later it is the habit of many of the locals to sit and wait for the appearance of a driver from the States.  When a foreign driver is caught in a roundabout it is an entertainment event which rivals local soccer matches.  It was then that I rolled down the window waved to my adoring fans, turned sharply and made it out the third exit.

Five more roundabouts lie ahead and each requiring that I take the second exit. Skeritt and Joyce were slightly easier to traverse as traffic eased a bit.  Bodkin and Browne had heavy traffic coming from the first and third exits.  My entry would be a death-defying feat requiring NASCAR-like skill, timing, and shear dumb luck.  It would be on this occasion I would hear my wife cry out to a heavenly deity.  With one last roundabout, Deane, I will have completed my journey of the 7 Circles of Hell.  I snugged my seat belt, adjusted my glasses, flex my fingers for a firmer grip on the wheel and prepared for the worst.

It was as if something mystical happened.  As we got to the roundabout, traffic seemed to vanished from sight.  All pedestrians, all cars must have been caught up in some apocalyptic rapture, for they were no more.  The car was suddenly moving in slow motion.  I heard each bead of perspiration as it came out of my pours and clung to my skin.  My breathing slowed and deepened.  My lips pursed to allow the oxygen to escape my lungs in one long slow breath.  It was like a movie dream sequence which is shattered by a violent crash, as the unseen truck to appears and crushes the car to pieces.  My vision started to slowly darken from the outer edges towards the middle until all went black.

I remember my wife calling my name as light began to stream back into my eyes.  My first sight was my hands still clinging to the wheel.  As I became more conscious of my wife's words, She kept saying we're here.  We made it. Come on let's get out of the car.  As I looked around, we were safely in the parking area of the Marless House.  My hands released the wheel and my arms fell limp to the sides of my legs.  My head drooped forward as my shoulders slumped.  It was then that I issued a silent thank you.

I had been baptized by fire.  I had been christened by adversity.  I had gotten past the Sirens. I had made it through the 7 circles.  I had conquered the Gauntlet.  I was Lord of the Roundabout!

*To all you Dante aficionados, I know it was actually 9 circles of hell but 7 has better numeric symbolism and it fit the story better as there were 7 roundabouts.  My deepest apologies, Mr. Dante.