Whenever you hear politicians yodel joyously about the wonders of car-free cities, you should ask: how close to state-subsidised transport do they live and work? In the case of Eamon Ryan, he has a Luas stop virtually alongside his downstairs loo, and an eco-friendly Luas tram whooping virginally will soon plonk him right beside Dáil Éireann. A tweak here and there, and maybe it’ll put him in precisely the right seat. He lives, as you might guess, in Ranelagh, pronounced “Renla”, which residentially is to secular Ireland what Knock once was to Catholic Ireland. Greater Renla encompasses Rethmines and Rethgar, and its residents have established colonies in the Silicate Triangle of Sandyford, Sandycove and Sandymount, rather like Greeks in Anatolia. But North of the Liffey lies a wilderness of unconquered and untameable barbarians, whom Renla folk might occasionally visit in a bathyscape, peering in horror at their woad-daubed capers before returning southside, with relief going through the decompression chamber in Charlemont Clinic before emerging, sobbing gratefully, at Beechwood.
All countries are different, but Ireland is more so than most. For example, it is apparently incapable of governing the city streets a mile from its parliament. But nonetheless, talk has started of making Dublin a car-free city. So, start your investigations into this project by going on-line and tapping in “car-free city”. A series of gorgeous locations will dazzle before you like a line of singing, dancing chorus girls from the Folies Bergere, toes a-twinkling: Vauban in Freiberg, Germany, where Lorelei with handlooms probably light its streets, and Lamu in Kenya, and of course Amsterdam.
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