Why People Bought Us Drinks, Travelling When You’re Blind: our trip to Galway, Ireland 5 of 5

I never appreciated the essentially grid-like layout of our streets or the general uniformity of our sidewalks until we started walking on our own as two blind people in a European city. In some parts of Galway, Sidewalks are often quite narrow, sometimes with café tables set right against the kerb so you have to jig past or step into the street. On the other hand, there are also some audio traffic signals and textured pavements which helped a lot.
Travelling in a city we didn’t know without a sighted companion was a new adventure for both of us. We relied on a mix of strategies, and things went remarkably well. The first step was doing our research. We thought about the kinds of things we knew we’d like to do: hear live music, walk around, drink whisky, hike, boat, or tandem cycle, then about how many of them we thought we might need help for. We contacted the local blindness organization and the local volunteer center, hoping to make connections with real people and get assistance for things like hiking, boating or biking, which we wouldn’t be able to do alone. Since we both love music, we researched the best pubs for traditional Irish stuff, so we had some destinations in mind before we even left home.
In the end, the best decision we made was hiring the services of a private guide. This wasn’t a trivial expense, but as well as getting a professional walking tour of the city catered to our tastes, we also got one-on-one orientation to the neighbourhood where we were staying, and a basic orientation to the city. After the first day, we were well positioned to begin exploring on our own.
We relied heavily on GPS tracking to find our way around. Despite the abundant friendliness of people in Galway, getting directions wasn’t straightforward. Some streets seem to have no name at all, and others change their name every few blocks. It’s common for someone to say “pass the pub and then …” or “turn left at the pub and …” rather than using street names. This doesn’t work so well when you’re blind, and the GPS aps aren’t a lot better at making sense of it all.
The fact that a single street changes name every 50 meters or so is just the beginning. Different GPS aps might give you the names in English, or in Irish, which speech synthesis turns into a hopeless jumble of unlikely consonant combinations. If you ask a local person for directions, they’re just as likely to know the street by the name it used to be known by 20 years ago, if they know the name at all. It was common for us to ask for the name of a street we were about to cross, and to have a local person peer curiously around looking for a sign, then say, “Well, just cross the road here and go straight.”
Of course the constant in travelling when you’re blind is relying on the helpfulness of people around you. Airlines offer assistance navigating through airports, bus drivers are there to direct, servers are always willing to show you to the facilities, and there are always people around if you need to ask for directions. It’s a kind of ocean of benevolence that we count on, and my primary reason for traveling in countries where I know the language.
Traveling when you’re blind isn’t all challenges. When we walked into the very crowded Tig Choili’s for music, we somehow ended up in the very best seats in the house. We were so close to the musicians that the fiddler’s bow was practically up Jason’s nose, and that’s just how we like it. On three separate occasions people bought us drinks. The people are very very friendly, but I don’t think they do this for all the tourists. It was subtle but clear to us that they wanted to express polite respect for our bravery in travelling alone, and I can’t think of a better way than whisky. When we boarded the hop-on/hop-off tourist bus, the nice guide said, “Now I hope you won’t mind, but I’d like to charge you two half fair, because I really admire what you’re doing.” His manner was so respectful that we were glad to agree.
And it was always like that; never were we grabbed unceremoniously or patronized, experiences with which blind people are all too familiar. All the local people we interacted with treated us with warmth and respect, and an easy friendliness that was absolutely endearing. It was common for a server or shop person to answer our request for directions by walking us out, sometimes into the rain, and taking us where we wanted to go. Every restaurant server we met cheerfully read through the entire menu for us, rather than skimming, or asking us what we’d like, as sometimes happens.
I’ve always had an ambivalent attitude toward travelling, and I never imagined doing it without a sighted companion. This trip was a revelation to me. My partner, who’s very skilled, did the heavy lifting when it came to navigating. I just followed in his wake like extremely admiring luggage. By the third day we could get most places we wanted to go on foot, which was both cheaper and more fun.
I think our situation gave us unique opportunities when it came to meeting people. We may have gotten lost more often than the average tourist, but I think we got to have more genuine and telling interactions with people which, for me, is one of the most important reasons to travel. In a way it’s like how people describe travelling alone; things can happen that can’t happen when you’re with others. Likewise, while we love travelling with friends, the interactions we had and the satisfaction we felt in being self-sufficient, were priceless.