Sunday 19 November 2017

Motorways are a metaphor for life now - safer and faster, but bereft of magic

Rock of Cashel
Rock of Cashel

Barbara Scully

Himself loves motorways. It could be because he's English or maybe it's just a man thing, but he thinks that motorways are always the obvious way to go. He loves any excuse to have a "run around the M50". I don't care what way he goes when he is working, but when we are travelling together there can be tetchy exchanges, such as "oh are we going the long way today?" Heading to Dublin Airport, especially in the early hours of the morning is always cause for a row because I think that driving through the sleeping city is a beautiful way to begin our journey. There is no magic on the M50. Although I will concede that I would have great difficulty finding Ikea or even the TV3 studios if it weren't for Dublin's mega ring road.

Last week I drove to Sneem, in Co Kerry, right out on the Inveragh Peninsula. It's quite the drive from Dublin. Himself assured me that we would "fly down as far as Cork with motorway the whole way." Sounded good. Two and a half hours if we made no stops, he reckoned. The next bit of the journey across Cork and into Kerry would probably take nearly as long.

As the Naas Road delivered us onto the flat plains of Kildare I had that old familiar feeling of relaxing into the drive and looking forward to once again marvelling at what a gorgeous country we live in. The lush green countryside interspersed with Weetabix-like fields of golden hay bales lifted my spirits as we tore our way south on the M8.

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