What hitchhiking in Ireland taught me about selflessness
It took some stunning cliffside views and a ride with strangers to understand my place in the world.
The sun was setting quickly over the Irish countryside. Too quickly. Dusk had arrived and with it, a sharp drop in temperature making it hard to distinguish the chill in the air from that brought on by nerves.
I checked the posted bus schedule again. And then a third time for good measure. We’d definitely missed it — the last bus back to civilization. The last bus to our hostel in Doolin, a charming little village on the west coast of Ireland, about 9 kilometers down the road.
My friends and I had spent the day exploring the breathtaking views offered by the Cliffs of Moher. The kinds of views that made you stop and contemplate life and our planet and all of the natural beauty we take for granted.
This was a stunning place. It felt like you had arrived at the end of the world. You couldn’t go any further, but you sure as hell didn’t want to go back. To return to the mundane life you’d left behind.
What I felt at the Cliffs was as close to a real sense of spirituality as I had ever come. It was the realization that we, as individual humans, were insignificant pixels within the larger image of the world. In this vast, glorious landscape, our desires and needs and impulses seemed petty and foolish. And selfish, frankly. We were part of something larger, and far more important. We had to start acting like it.
Distracted by these thoughts, or more accurately, consumed with them, we had lost track of the day. By the time we ambled along and found our way back to the empty parking lot at the start of the trail, the sun had departed. And so had our only means of transportation.
The moments of zen we’d had on the Cliffs quickly dissolved as my six companions and I argued about our current situation. If three’s a crowd, seven’s a total circus. Too many people to wrangle into agreement, especially when exhaustion, hunger and panic were beginning to set in with the darkness.
“We could call a cab,” someone suggested. But cell reception was spotty, and looking up numbers online was nearly impossible.
“Maybe another bus will come,” someone else said.
“Doubt it.”
“Why would bus service end so early?”
“Because we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
Every minute we wasted bickering, it was getting darker. And colder.
We went on like this for a few minutes. Talking in circles. Not coming up with any real solutions. Every minute we wasted bickering, it was getting darker. And colder.
That’s when the car appeared. A small red sedan, coming slowly around a bend in the road and toward where we were standing. There was no time for discussion. A split-second decision had to be made or else the car would drive right past us, and who knew when the next one would come along.
So I waved it down.
“What are you doing?” I heard someone behind me ask. I ignored them.
The car slowed to a stop where the parking lot met the road. A window rolled down. The driver was a young man who appeared to be in his late twenties, and a young woman of about the same age was in the passenger seat. The first thing I noticed was that both the man and the woman had the most beautiful blue eyes, warm but also piercing. They smiled.
“Hello,” the woman said in a friendly Irish accent.
“Hi,” I said, with a shy smile. “My friends and I missed the last bus. Do you think you could help us call a cab back to our hostel?”
The man chimed in, “Where are ya staying?”
“Doolin.”
“Oh, that’s not far. We can take ya,” he said assuredly.
I hesitated. I’d never hitchhiked before, and suddenly my mind was a film projector, playing scenes from every horror movie ever made. Then again, we didn’t have a lot of options, and I was even more scared of the desolate countryside at night. I looked back at my friends but couldn’t read their faces.
Turning back to the couple, I said, “Are you sure? That’s not too much trouble? There are seven of us.”
The woman smiled again. “No trouble at all!” She pronounced “at all” as if it were one word. “We’ll take four of ya now and come back and get the other three.”
I was struck by the pair’s total lack of hesitation. Their willingness, without a second thought, to make two trips to give a group of strangers a ride.
“Thank you so much!” I said.
I updated my friends, and four of us piled in the back of the car, leaving three brave volunteers by the side of the road.
“See ya soon!” The man shouted to them before driving off toward Doolin.
The couple, we soon found out, were newlyweds, and we chatted with them during the ride back to our hostel. They were from eastern Ireland and were visiting the scenic west coast on their honeymoon.
We also found out that in order to bring us to Doolin, they had to go in the opposite direction of where they were originally heading. Twice. But it didn’t even faze them. Kindness, it seemed, came naturally to them. Selflessness was intrinsic.
As promised, they delivered us safely to our hostel, went back to the Cliffs, and returned shortly after with the remaining members of our group.
Kindness, it seemed, came naturally to them.
At the risk of seeming tacky, I tried to hand them a twenty euro note for their troubles. They politely refused it, insisting that it was no trouble at all.
I, for one, was incredibly moved. Was it an Irish thing? Or a European one? Did I just come from an inherently selfish culture? Or perhaps it was simply good fortune, and we had happened upon those rare selfless beings.
Regardless, it compounded the thoughts I’d had while looking out over the Cliffs of Moher. About our relative insignificance on this majestic planet. And although they weren’t even from this part of Ireland, the couple seemed to understand this concept. They seemed to get that being a part of something larger then yourself makes selflessness the default, makes altruism second nature.
When you come to realize how big and beautiful the world really is, and that you’re just a dot on the globe, compassion becomes the only way to navigate your way around it. Only then can you see all individuals as equals, working toward a common goal.
I guess I had to go hitchhiking in Ireland to finally make that connection.
Not so much in Ireland, but speaking the local language when you travel to other parts of the world helps you meet more people and have truly authentic experiences. Choose a language and get started!
