The toddler on the bus says: Forget the destination, it’s the journey that matters

It was only after the bus drivers went on strike a couple of months ago that I realised exactly how heavily I rely upon public transport as a cheap, and sort-of educational, mode of amusing my two-year-old.

At the first mention of industrial action, I felt a twinge of panic about how we were all going to cope without the promise of “Going on the bus”, which is used as a very effective, and remarkably healthy, bribing technique: no broccoli, no bus. Not to mention as an invaluable and toddler-exhausting means of passing the time.

The joy is in the journey itself; the destination is more or less irrelevant. Toddler takes it all in and baby sleeps. Result. After a few journeys in the mobile oven that was our car last summer, accompanied by a screaming chorus in the back seat, the bus became our preferred wheels of choice.

No parking. No pay and display. No toddler waving their arms around from the back, and threatening to open the car door while on the M50. No problem.

My little one chats to every Tom, Dick and Harry she comes across at every stage of the journey, whether that’s waiting for the number 83 to arrive or making “friends” with the other baby sitting next to her in the wheelchair space.

The unique beauty of the bus is that she gets to see and hear every age, colour and creed aboard, and gets to experience the great melting pot of society far better than through any contrived TV show or politically correct book.

She learns all kinds of valuable life lessons on that bus.

She learns that anything that moves with undue haste should be treated with a certain amount of caution – she’s not shy about commenting that the bus is going “Too ffaaast” when we come across a particularly cavalier driver.

She learns that help can come from the most unlikely of places. I’ve had pensioners help me navigate the double buggy on and off the bus, while twentysomething gym bunnies look on, blindly.

She only knows that smartphones have spelled the end of idle chit chat – she knows instinctively not to even bother trying to befriend anyone wielding one, and has, quite rightly, banned her mother’s use of hers while on board.

And, most importantly, courtesy of recent goings-on at Siptu and the NBRU, she has learned that sometimes, we all have to live without the things we have grown to know, love and rely upon.

Silver lining

She has also learned however, that every cloud – even of the industrial relations variety – has a silver lining. So, when the bus went “on its holidays”, we took to the “Lu Las” with a vengeance.

It had the definite advantage that it’s a whole lot easier to get a double buggy on and off, and my little girl could even have a wander around during the journey. Crucially we found the lifts very accessible and reliable. Unfortunately, in my very limited experience, the Dart was not so reliable, and not a plank I’m willing to walk again any time soon. Try lugging a double buggy, and two children, up 75 concrete steps, in the rain, while praying some kind, strong, punter will appear out of nowhere and come to your rescue. Definitely not fun, and definitely not an “excursion” to be repeated.

When the bus eventually returned from its holidays, my daughter positively squealed with delight at the first sighting of her familiar blue and yellow friend, closely followed by the mother of all tantrums when they weren’t allowed to have an immediate reunion.

The next day, after a breakfast full of bribes, we set off. After an initial false start, and further tantrum – the first bus already had a buggy on board and sometimes they let you on, sometimes not: it seems to depend on driver discretion – we successfully boarded the next one.

As we stuck the coinage into the machine, my toddler immediately asked the driver whether the bus had enjoyed its “holidays”. We got an amused smirk and a little wave that positively sent her into toddler heaven.

Still, mortification aside, I continue to foster her blossoming relationship with Dublin Bus, if for no reason other than to enable me to link potty training with her graduating “ut-sstairs” – ie, it’s only for “big girls”, who don’t wear nappies.

As toilet-training strategies go, I’ve definitely heard of worse. Big girl pants equals upstairs on bus has a beautiful simplicity to it that is hard to beat.

All aboard: travel tips for easy bus journeys

Be wary of trying to move the buggy while the bus is moving. A sharp turn or fast driver (on or off the bus), and your back is toast.

Putting a toddler on your knee scores endless brownie points and makes for ideal entertainment, particularly if your kids find favour with the other passengers. And while I always look dishevelled on such journeys, I try to ensure the kids look half decent. Cute, well-dressed kids get more attention from other passengers, which ultimately gives you an easier ride, so it is worth the extra effort. All you need is one nice pensioner – or, better still, an English-speaking tourist – to take an interest, and you're set.

Don't be a martyr or suffer in silence. Ask the bus driver to bring the bus level with the footpath, or at the very least to move the bus alongside it . I've ended up "beached" between the pavement and the bus. Where most children would find this terrifying, mine thought it hilarious – but my back didn't. If you're particularly concerned, or brave, you can request the wheelchair ramp.

This tends to prompt various forms of reaction from behind "the Perspex". From a resigned sigh, as you are forced to endure the indignity of the loud beeps, and "Caution! Wheelchair ramp opening!" announcements heralding your arrival to the driver politely pointing out that your buggy is not a wheelchair.

Accept offers of help from passers-by to lift the buggy out of the bus. Don't get drawn into the sales, no matter what the reductions on designer shoes. You will end up having to navigate rush hour, and then you will end up walking. And lastly, and most importantly, thank the bus driver.