Cork Views: The hazards of a walk through Cork city when you are blind

Come with me for a walk through Cork city. It’s early December and the streets are bustling with the excitement of Christmas. The air carries the faint scent of mulled wine from nearby market stalls and fairy lights twinkle above.

For most people, it’s a joyful time of year, a chance to enjoy the city in all its glory. For me, as a blind person, these streets - filled with obstacles - sometimes become a gauntlet.

We’ll start at the Grand Parade, where the city has set up its usual Christmas attractions. The centrepiece, a giant Ferris wheel, towers over the street, its lights drawing the attention of families and couples alike. It’s a festive sight, but for me, it’s a hazard.

Running across the walkway is a thick cable covered by a ramp-like trunking, painted yellow for visibility. For someone with sight, it might seem a small inconvenience, but my white cane doesn’t pick up on it properly.

When I tripped over it a few days ago, I caught myself on my hands, thankfully avoiding serious injury. Still, I was left winded, embarrassed, and shaken.

Moving past the wheel, let’s cross over to Oliver Plunkett Street, known for its lively atmosphere, especially now with Christmas shoppers weaving between the stalls and storefronts. Yet, even here, the path is far from clear.

Many businesses have extended their outdoor seating onto the pavement, leaving little space for pedestrians. My cane sweeps against chairs and tables and I’m forced to step off the pavement into the road.

It’s a nerve-wracking experience, especially when a slow-moving garbage truck inches past me. There’s no way to squeeze by until it’s gone, so I stand there, vulnerable, wishing I didn’t have to contend with this.

As we head toward Patrick Street, you’ll notice the festive shop windows, filled with decorations and bright displays. For me, they’re nothing more than a blur of light and shadow, but their presence means crowds of people stopping suddenly to ire them. Navigating through these groups is like threading a needle.

I often rely on the sound of their chatter to judge where to move next, but it’s exhausting, like solving a puzzle at every step. Adding to the challenge are people glued to their phones, heads bent as they drift through the crowds without looking up.

More than once, I’ve been bumped into so hard that I’ve been winded, my cane knocked from my hand. It’s beyond me how anyone can voluntarily blind themselves like that, staring into their screens as they walk down Patrick Street. For me, I’m trying to use every bit of my residual vision, with every step requiring careful vigilance, yet they move as if oblivious to the world around them.

It’s a strange irony - while I’m doing my best to see, they’re voluntarily closing their eyes to the world.

We reach the pedestrian crossing at Patrick’s Bridge and see another challenge I face every day. The button is there and I press it, waiting for the familiar audible signal to tell me it’s safe to cross. Except today, as on many days, the signal is silent. Broken crossings like this are all too common and reporting them often feels like shouting into the void.

Repairs sometimes take time, during which I must rely on the movement of others to cross - a nerve-wracking experience at times.

Heading back onto the Grand Parade, we cross the bridge onto Sullivan’s Quay. Temporary manhole covers - half a foot tall in some places - dot the path, their yellow paint meant to signal caution. For me, they’re trip hazards.

I’ve learned to expect these obstacles, but they still catch me off guard, leaving me frustrated and weary.

As we cross the bridge, a cyclist suddenly speeds past, inches from my cane. It’s a food delivery rider, using the footpaths as a short-cut. These encounters have become all too common and each time it happens, my heart skips a beat. There’s no way for me to predict their approach and I’m left feeling shaken and vulnerable.

Finally, we make our way toward my neighbourhood. The challenges don’t end here. The suburban footpaths are cracked and poorly maintained, a legacy of years of budget restrictions. Blind residents like me, as well as those with mobility issues, are often left to navigate these hazards alone. Many of my blind friends have suffered injuries from falls and the recovery can be long and isolating.

I think to myself, next time I need to go to town, I’ll go down South Main Street. But then I the problems there grow even more daunting. The area is a maze of roadworks, with Bishop Lucey Park also undergoing significant renovations. Diversions for pedestrians snake through narrow, makeshift pathways that barely accommodate one person, let alone anyone with a disability.

At times, these paths are so constricted, they almost force you to step into the street, where cars speed by with little room to spare.

Just the other day, I nearly fell into the road when my cane failed to pick up a temporary tar ramp. It was a heart-stopping moment and I couldn’t help but think how easily such hazards could lead to a serious accident.

These conditions aren’t just inconvenient especially for someone like me who relies on minimal residual vision, touch, and sound to navigate safely.

Christmas should be a time of peace and togetherness, but for someone like me, it can feel isolating and even dangerous as I attempt to access the civic space.

I’m not asking for the city to abandon its festive celebrations - far from it. Cork’s Christmas traditions bring joy to me and they’re an important part of our community. But these celebrations should include everyone.

Simple changes, like clear warning signs, accessible crossings and better-maintained footpaths, could make a world of difference.

I invite you to imagine what it would be like if every journey you took felt like this. Scanning constantly for dangers others barely notice, relying on the kindness of strangers when the infrastructure fails you. It’s not just about safety - it’s about dignity and independence.

As we finish our walk, I hope you’ve gained some insight into what it’s like to navigate Cork as a blind resident.

These streets are my home and I love this city, but I believe it can do better. Together, we can make Cork a place that everyone, regardless of ability, can move freely and safe - this Christmas and beyond.