Sandycove in south Co Dublin on a sunny, late summer day is truly a sight to behold. All around are people tripping towards the sea, tote bags heaving with towels and snacks. Ice creams drip on to the hands of sun-kissed toddlers. Summer blooms creep up walls and around fences. Giant four-by-fours graze wing mirrors as they prowl the small streets looking for a space.
On one such day recently I joined the urban tractors in the quest for a parking spot. I had an appointment 20 minutes away that morning and had brought the togs and the towel, never one to pass up the opportunity to fling myself into the sea. Any time around high tide on such a bright day in such a sought-after location is always going to be tricky. Again and again my hopes were raised by what looked like a gap in the rows of cars, only to be met with a line of mismatched traffic cones, guarding the precious parking real estate in front of a home. If it was humanly possible for steam to come out of one’s ears, cartoon-style, that’s what would have been visible through my windscreen.
It is a pet peeve of mine, people hoarding parking spaces with traffic cones. However, it also sits heavily on the fulcrum of my allowed-versus-not-allowed moral seesaw. I get the urge to do so, I really do. It usually happens in places where parking is at a premium. Where commuters ditch their cars to continue by foot or public transport. Where concerts or sporting events bring thousands into the area. Where an amenity such as a beach or swimming spot is a big attraction. Being a resident – and particularly a resident with a car – must be infuriating.
On the flip side, residing in such areas is already a boon. With the light comes the shade in the form of high demand on parking and increased footfall. Deciding to live in a highly desirable location is always going to have its downfalls. And in the beautiful suburb of Sandycove with its large houses – some with actual turrets – sea views and sought-after postcode, the traffic cones are enough to send a visitor into apoplexy.
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You buy the house, not the road in front of it. You have no right to park your car in front of your home or to block other people from doing so. Usually, when I feel the rage rising, I try to rationalise that maybe the resident has mobility issues or a bona-fide reason for needing to preserve the space. But when the cones are taking up enough space for two cars and the property features a large and empty driveway my graciousness tends to evaporate.
I get it. Cars are bigger now. There are more of them. There are people who have lived in a place such as Sandycove for decades who might struggle with the influx of summer sea worshippers and the constant comings and goings. I can only imagine the highs and lows of parallel parking skills witnessed through twitching curtains. My sympathy is minimal though. The inclination should be to share such resources as swimming spots and beaches, not gatekeep them.
I did much of my summer swimming in Portmarnock on Dublin’s north coast. It features a long and sandy strand and offers more in the way of dedicated beach parking – although on a sunny day I wouldn’t be surprised to see a car teetering on top of a bus shelter, such is the demand. In May I started the season though with a trip to Seapoint, back on the south of the city. I parked in a spot I had used for years, along with countless other swimmers. In a residential area, yes, but not blocking or impeding. Not staying for long. Just visiting and marvelling at the enormous properties and the proximity to a coveted swimming amenity.
I left €125 poorer and with the telltale sticky clamp docket in my bag with my towel. A private clamping company had been brought in to deter visitors from parking, and the – arguably bijou – warning signs had gone unnoticed by me and many others who had arrived for a dip. “Don’t they already have enough?” I cried, gesturing to the large private gardens in the centre of this beautiful square. I vowed there and then that if I’m ever lucky enough to live by the sea I’ll never become a traffic cone tsar or get into bed with the clampers. I might even leave out biscuits. Posh ones.