How long is a Dublin minute? Adventures in waiting around, with ‘real-time’ bus predictions

It definitely said five minutes. Passengers awaiting a bus in Dublin, 2010. Image: Getty.

It’s one of the little quirks of our postmodern wonderland that slight imperfections in a quasi-utopian service are complained about far more than the absence of the same thing: you’d rather no WiFi than slow WiFi, that kind of thing.

In a similar vein, until quite recently all the humble bus user had to go on when waiting on their chariot were timetables and some educated guesswork. How quaint it must have felt. In the last few years, though, the development of various breeds of real-time software means you can see your bus’s ETA down to the minute, via apps and on-street displays.

That’s the idea, anyway.

Dublin’s version of this, the Real Time Passenger Information system (RTPI), was launched in 2011, supplying travel information to a network responsible for 128m passenger journeys in 2016. And it has a bit of a reputation.

Every commuter has a story about buses supposedly coming closer before receding into the distance, or showing up on the displays, only to vanish entirely. “That thing’s been saying ‘6 minutes’ for a quarter hour now” sits alongside “shite weather, isn’t it?” in the annals of Irish small-talk. Different countries have their own version of the same popular discontent - some a little better, some a little worse.

Basically, RTPI works by inserting a GPS signal into a bus and working out how far it is from each subsequent stop along the route. Jeremy Ryan, head of public transport contracts with Ireland’s National Transport Authority, says that the system is fed with regularly-updated ‘profiles’ of how long a bus should take to get from stop to stop, with different profiles for different days and times. These profiles are aware of normal traffic and pre-planned roadworks, but can’t know about ad-hoc things like heavy rain or emergencies, which leaves the predictions a little sticky.

The NTA carries out quarterly surveys to assess the system’s accuracy. According to this research, about 97 per cent of Dublin buses arrive within three minutes of the scheduled time, which the NTA and Dublin Bus say is “well above industry norms”. Reassuringly for people convinced that their own area is cursed with malevolent software, there apparently aren’t significant variations between routes, directions, or times of day.

Approaching these assertions with the swivelled eye of healthy scepticism, I decided to engage in a bit of citizen’s quality assessment. I walked to some strategically-placed bus stops around central Dublin, waited for a bus’s expected arrival time to tick over to “5 minutes”, and measured how long it took to roll up beside me.

Not having all day, I limited myself to clusters in Phibsboro and Rathmines, 2-3km north and south of the city centre respectively, and to the city centre itself from O’Connell Street to South Great George’s Street.

And what do we find? Well, probably unsurprisingly, on the whole the RTPI system does indeed appear to be remarkably accurate. Averaged across 62 buses, the average time it took for one to arrive after the ticker moved to “5 minutes” was a lean 5:58. Bearing in mind that nowhere is it claimed that “5 minutes” should be taken to mean 5:00 exactly, keeping the average error down to less than 20 per cent is not too shabby a performance.

This makes all kinds of sense. A system with much more of an inbuilt error would be nigh-pointless to continue using from a passenger’s perspective. And it’s easy to see how a system with even a 3 per cent error would develop a negative reputation, considering how many people it stands to annoy every time there’s a slip-up.


That said, at different points of my experiment, “5 minutes” could have meant either 2:32 or 11:21. If you arrived at a stop proclaiming “5 minutes” on a given day last week, it seems there was about a 1 in 4 chance of the bus being more than 2 minutes early or late. Insofar as there was any variation between areas, buses heading into the city centre from the south side averaged 6:41, though there were hardly enough trials here to be statistically significant.

In sum however, we’d probably be advised to give the software some credit. For all I know, it may well have a conception of time divorced entirely from our idea of reality – but for the most part, when RTPI tells you your bus is 5 minutes away, it’s not exactly lying to you.

 
 
 
 

In New Zealand, climate change is driving an eco-nationalist revival

The green and pleasant land of the South Island. Image: Getty.

“Ten years ago I would have called them settler f*****g land squatters,” Mike Smith, Maori-dom’s most tenacious activist, said last November as he reflected on the agriculture industry’s central role in driving climate change. “Now I have to try and get these people on board.”

Smith is infamous for taking a chainsaw to Auckland’s most prominent tree on a damp October night in 1994 in protest of the “Pākehā” – or white European –dominated government’s fiscal envelope restraining treaty settlements. Now he’s turned his hand to another cause close-to-home for the Maori, New Zealand’s indigenous population: the environment.

“We’re super vulnerable, like we are to anything,” Smith says. “When it comes to climate change it’s like the poorest people in the world are going to be hit the hardest first, and that’s a lot of us.”

Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern appears, at least rhetorically, the most sympathetic leader to his cause in a decade. In her campaign launch speech late last year, she made the future government’s position clear: “Climate change is my generation’s nuclear free moment.”

This message should resonate with followers of her Labour party: the NZ left has long nurtured an environment-orientated “culture-of-protest”. So Ardern’s call to arms was bound to gain her loyal support among children of the 1960s and ‘70s, who led the march against nuclear ship visits, spurring on the government of the time to wriggle out from the US nuclear umbrella, and place a ban on foreign nuclear ship visits.

Now, it is to the tycoons of deep sea oil exploration they aim to close NZ’s ports.

In this, Smith is not short of support locally, with marches run by grassroots organisations and international animal welfare funds beginning to gain traction with every day New Zealanders. In this, Ardern’s prediction is correct: the Coal Action Network Aotearoa (CANA), is reminiscent of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), an earlier cluster of left-wing pacifists and nature lovers who drove the creation of the nuclear free zone.  

In December, 15,000 passionate protesters marched through the capital. And with the government’s recent ban of offshore oil exploration projects, Jeanette Fitzsimons, former Green party co-leader and the head of CANA, is optimistic about similar change to the energy and farming sectors.

The Labour-NZ First-Green party coalition seems focused on setting a new global precedent, weaning NZ away from a United States which has jettisoned the Paris Agreement. The move replicates another 20 years ago, when New Zealand’s anti-nuclear movement was central to an upsurge in New Zealand nationalism. Now, the same sense of going it alone on foreign policy is apparent both locally and in Parliament.

Dr. Gradon Diprose, a senior lecturer at Massey University, argues that this echoes an older expression of colonial nationalism, that saw “New Zealand as a land of natural abundance”. This: “eco-nationalism” is centered on “protecting certain visions of picturesque landscapes and unspoiled natural beauty”. The slogan “Clean, green New Zealand” is prevalent in popular culture and tourism marketing. The public seems to have latched onto it too, and ranked keeping NZ’s waterways “clean and green” top of a recent survey of of kiwis’ top concerns.

Three decades ago, it was the 10 July 1985 sinking of the Greenpeace flagship Rainbow Warrior that thrust local activists’ fears into the public eye, resulting in an almost nation-wide expression of climate-protectionism.


The bombing, a French intelligence operation sparked by Greenpeace’s calls for an end to foreign nuclear testing in the Pacific, galvanised a great deal of change to New Zealand’s overseas defence policies. A lack of censure from New Zealand’s Western allies drove Wellington to distance itself from the United States, while the shock of seeing a friendly nation violate NZ’s sovereignty left many at home seething.

Thirty years on, the foreign policy split throughout the Anglosphere, regarding Russian-Western relations, globalism, and the old international rules-based order, is becoming wider. Climate change is just the tip of the iceberg.

Most Kiwis you talk to will shake their heads in disapproval at US president Donald Trump’s scandalous outing last year in Helsinki. But US defiance of internationally brokered climate resolutions is something they can see clearly reflected in rural communities across the country.

The country saw records broken at both ends of the extreme weather spectrum last year. As 2018 kicked off, Kiwis sweltered through the hottest summer on record, while in Golden Bay, a small inlet near the northern tip of the South Island, residents endured the largest flood in 150 years. So, when President Trump tweets “So much for Global Warming”, the majority of New Zealanders look back fondly on NZ’s 1985 decision to boycott the “ANZUS” treaty, putting New Zealand at odds with its war-time ally America on defence legislation.

Public calls to take the same track on environmental regulation have become louder in the wake of Donald Trump’s election. The former US Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson, received a frosty “unwelcome” while on a flyby to the capital in 2017, with the New York Times’ Washington correspondent, Gardiner Harris remarking: “I’ve never seen so many people flip the bird at an American motorcade as I saw today”. Protests against President Trump’s stance on climate change are beginning to gain greater traction further still, with the hundred-strong “march for science” setting the tone for the new government later that year.

New Zealand certainly isn’t afraid of radicalism, and its activists are persistent. It’s already banned single use plastics in supermarkets. Plenty more is to come, Smith says.

And yes, reform is going to inhibit sometimes vital industries: “It doesn’t matter which way you spin the dice on this, whatever’s being done is going to hurt. People who are looking for a painless way of mitigating climate change, [but] I don’t think there is one.”

But among Smith’s troupe of climate agitators, the feeling is that, without drastic change, “the land”, the heart of the Maori ethos, is going to be hurt far more.

Back in Auckland, NZ’s financial hub, an electric scooter craze is gripping the city. This, too, has gained the support of local environmentalists. In New Zealand, a national sense of pride is always coupled with a certain eccentricity. In a country this size, change always starts small.