Hitchhiking 101
• Get an early start
• Stay positive, or at least try to look happy
• Wear bright colors and remove sunglasses when talking to people
• Make a simple sign with a compass direction and major city name
• Stand near major road signs that indicate your destination if possible
• Stand somewhere cars can safely pull over to
• Show gratitude to your drivers – offer gas money, cigarettes, help with errands…

After an early breakfast and saying my heartfelt goodbyes to the friends I’d made in Doolin, I hit the road with my thumb stuck out. I was in a fantastic mood as I stood on the side of the main road out of Doolin holding a sign that simply said NORTH – GALWAY. I wanted to try hitchhiking as far as Westport that day—a distance just shy of a hundred miles—but I put Galway on my sign since it was closer. A good mood and a simple sign are your best assets as a hitchhiker. When people drive by you, they’ll take less than two seconds to register your smile and the couple words you’ve written before making their decision to stop or continue driving. It’s also wise to get an early start because you’re out in time to catch all of the people going out on day excursions or leaving their weekend accommodations.

I ended up getting my first ride with a couple of French girls who had just checked out of their bed and breakfast in Doolin. I squeezed myself into the backseat of their little Ford Fiesta and tried to make some small talk with them; between my broken French and their broken English we found some things to laugh about. They told me about where they planned to stay up north, some place near the coast called Murroogh. I pulled out my map of Ireland and found the curiously named town northeast of us but unfortunately far away from the main road that continued up to Galway and Westport. After only about twenty minutes, one of the girls exclaimed that she saw a castle through the trees and we diverted to go check it out. We drove up a hill and got out to see the crumbling tower that was old Ballinalacken castle. After taking some photographs, I decided to say goodbye to the French girls there and continue on foot to find another ride going my way.

I walked at a leisurely pace from Ballinalacken castle to the town of Lisdoonvara, taking about an hour to cover the three-mile distance. It was a beautiful morning with clear skies, and the rising sun encouraged me to shed my jacket as I walked. I had a red flannel on underneath (I’ve been told that it’s a good idea for hitchhikers to wear bright colors to catch peoples’ eye quicker). Although I had my thumb out as I hiked down the narrow country lanes, none of the passing cars so much as slowed. Knowing that this was likely due to the lack of safe places to pull off the road, I didn’t take it personally or get discouraged.

When I reached Lisdoonvara, I bought some fresh fruit and almonds at a small grocer to refuel a bit before finding myself a nice big sign pointing north to Galway to stand beside. I rewrote my sign to say NORTH – N67 to indicate the major highway I was looking to reach and prominently displayed an American flag bandana in the hopes that it might spark drivers’ curiosity.

I stood at that intersection in Lisdoonvara for about an hour until a white van with the words Animal Ambulance emblazoned on the side honked enthusiastically and pulled up next to me. A friendly looking Irish guy with bright red hair leaned out of the window and asked me where I was heading. I told him and he said he’d happil take me at least halfway to Galway if I wouldn’t mind helping him with a quick errand first. Happy for the lift, I agreed and hopped into the passenger seat. The Irish guy’s name was Alan, and although he was only 25, a decade of smoking made him look much older. I offered him a cigarette from the pack of Lucky Strikes I carried with me despite being a nonsmoker myself (you never know when they might come in handy). He happily accepted and told me after a couple long drags that he was on his way to pick up some neglected dogs and that he could really use an extra set of hands for the job. He also told me to prepare myself mentally for what I might see at the caravan park we were going to. Oh boy, I thought, Irish trailer trash. My mind jumped to scenes from the movie Snatch. Alan and I got along famously as we talked about travel, politics, and Irish girls.

After turning down a series of increasingly smaller and rougher roads, Alan and I finally reached the caravan park. It was a dump. There were a handful of muddy looking mobile homes spread out in a crooked semicircle and there was an astounding amount of garbage strewn around the area. Mangled bicycles, rusted car parts, and moldy washing machines added to the “homey” atmosphere. There were some young kids climbing around on an old beat up truck that was missing its hood, and they all pointed at us and shouted as we got out of the car. “Just let me do all the talking,” Alan told me, “Mind the car and try to look, I dunno, formidable.” Once out of the car, I could see behind the kids that there four scrawny dogs, all chained to the axel of one of the caravans, lying in the dirt with not so much as a water bowl within sight of them.

Four middle-aged men came out of the smallish caravan the dogs were chained to, and in different circumstances I might have laughed at the clown-car appearance of such large men emerging from something so tiny. Alan, who was marginally shorter than me, sauntered up the guys and started talking to them and pointing at the chained dogs. I stood in front of the car with crossed arms and tried to listen in on the conversation, though I doubt I could have understood a word even if I were right next to them. The conversation got louder and seemed to grow more heated before Alan finally came back toward the car and me. It turns out, the men wanted money before they would part with the poor dogs that they were neglecting.

Alan got a few bills out of his glove compartment and aggressively pushed them into the chest of one of the guys with a disgusted comment about the man’s character. The men then went about undoing the chains but left Alan and me to carry the dogs to the car ourselves. The dogs were thin and very weak, barely reacting at all when we picked them up. In the back of the van, Alan filled a couple of water and food bowls that were welded onto the wall and encouraged the dogs to eat and drink before we left. It was sad to see them in such a state but heartwarming to see the way their tails wagged and their faces lit up as they ate.

Alan drove a bit slower with the dogs in the back, and we made a pit stop at a scenic mountain overlook to let the dogs out for a quick bathroom break. As the dogs had no collars, Alan and I slipped them into harnesses he had brought along so that we could put a leash on them while they sniffed around. Although they didn’t want to walk far, the dogs all seemed very happy to stretch their legs in the new surroundings. We let them eat and drink some more before loading them back up and continuing our journey. Alan dropped me in a small coastal town called Ballyvaugh, which he told me was a regular stop for people driving north to Galway. He thanked me for my help with a firm handshake, let me say goodbye to the dogs in the back, and drove east toward the the animal hospital he worked for.

As I dug my hitchhiking sign back out of my pack, a nice black Mercedes parked across the street. A guy who looked to be in his mid-forties got out and started trying to wrangle a large piece of heavy-looking machinery out of the trunk with a few audible swears. I walked over and offered to help him. He seemed surprised and called me a good lad as I helped him carry what ended up being the innards of an industrial-sized coffee machine into a nearby cafe. The man, whose name was Chris, had seen my sign and backpack and asked me where I was trying to go. I told him north toward Westport, and he said he that I was welcome join him on his drive home to Castlebar if I didn’t mind a quick stop in Galway. I check my map and was ecstatic to see that Castlebar was just a stone’s throw away from Westport. I loaded my pack into the Mercedes and joined Chris on a very scenic drive along the Atlantic coast.

Chris was an ex-aerospace engineer, originally from Limerick, who had recently found happiness as an entrepreneurial repairman of high-end coffee machines. He was a cheery person who had done a fair bit of hitchhiking himself in his youth. When we reached Galway, Chris had to make some minor repairs to a restaurant’s espresso machine. While he did that, I sat down to a nice dinner that ended up being free of charge thanks to Chris’s positive influence on the boss. Back on the road, we left the coastal N67 highway and continued north as the sun began to set. As we came into Castlebar, I offered to chip in some gas money for the long drive, but Chris wouldn’t hear of it. He dropped me in the parking lot of a large grocery store and wished me the best of luck on my journey to Westport.

Figuring that my chances of hitchhiking on to Westport after dark were slim to none, I went in the grocery store to ask about a possible bus to Westport. I stood in a small line for the customer service desk and chatted with an elderly couple in front of me as I waited. It turned out that their daughter owned and operated a small hostel in the nearby town of Newport, and they were actually on their way to visit their daughter for dinner. They were very warm and friendly people, and though Newport was still a bit shy of my ultimate goal of Westport, I accepted their offer of a ride since it held the promise lodging for the night. They called their daughter to let her know that they were bringing a hostel guest so that everything would be arranged by the time of our arrival. They took me on a little tour through Castlebar first, which was the biggest shopping hub in county Mayo. The streets were lined with an assortment of colorful little buildings selling everything you could ever want. The town had a very modern vibe despite its medieval origins. Like the name city Castlebar implies, there are castle ruins from the thirteenth century at the highest point of the city, but I unfortunately did not get a chance to see them.

After a short drive we arrived in Newport, a very small and dark town compared to bright and bustling Castlebar. They drove me to the door of the Greenway hostel where they picked up their daughter and dropped me off. The daughter, who looked to be in her late thirties, asked me how long I’d be staying and I told her just for the night. She told me that I could help myself to anything in the kitchen and even gave me a cheap prepaid cell phone with her number programmed just in case I needed anything. I thanked her and made my way inside. I was the only guest and had the whole place to myself. It had been a long day of traveling, but a very successful and rewarding hitchhiking experience. The people I met were among the kindest and most generous people I’d ever met in my life, and the laughs and experiences I shared with them were only made possible by having the courage to venture out into the unknown that morning and let serendipity bring us together.