Ode to Ireland

So I’m finally in Canadia, it’s cold & I’m sick of job hunting…so I thought I’d stretch my literary mussel by properly signing off on the great year I’ve just had in Ireland…or did the title give away my subject?

Looking at the main topics I’m about to write about, it would be easy to think I didn’t enjoy my time in Ireland, that would be a HUGE mistake. I loved my time on the Emerald Isle, the people (Who would have thought I mostly meet Europeans in Ireland), country and the work I was doing was absolutely brilliant but unfortunately Ireland is too like New Zealand for its own good, also the summer was nonexistent plus my itchy feet are not yet ready for me to settle.

Obviously since my job for the last year has involved a lot of driving (I worked out I drove roughly 55,000 Km last year) a lot of my observations were about road usage. Again this is an area where Ireland is too similar to NZ (or maybe since they are the older country, we are like them.) I think the term that sums up Kiwi & Paddy alike is “Friendly with an undercurrent of hostility” When I talk to other travellers (Yes I did pop that term in for my Irish crew (Traveller = Gypsy) who has been to either NZ or Ireland they normally start off with a phrase similar to “Oh my God the countryside is so green & the people are so friendly/open/giving”, then as you listen to their adventures throughout the land you will nearly always hear a story involving some guy that has had 12 pints too many that decided that they were looking at his GF the wrong way(even if she was sitting in front of the big screen TV when the match was on) or that what they just said to their mate they actually said to him or just that he has decided that the new person at the bar has put their face exactly where he was planning on leaving his fist for the remainder of the night. Luckily these people are normally chaperoned by a slightly less intoxicated fellow who will endeavour to restrain their friend by buying him another pint.

The above becomes even more evident where you pop us behind a wheel. A happy go lucky, buy a stranger a pint type person suddenly becomes a frothing as the mouth lunatic, who would never dream of letting anyone out of a side road & will drive at 90Km in the fast lane while wondering why there are 12 cars behind him. Strangely the opposite is true of the English who will quite happily stab you for ½ a packet of cigarettes but who are some of the most polite road users I’ve ever met.

Then there are roundabouts, maybe it’s due to my formative driving years being spent driving through the land of roundabouts that is Hamilton, but I’ve always had a soft spot for them. If used properly they can keep traffic moving smoothly without the need for lights everywhere. Unfortunately the average Irish driver when confronted with a roundabout suddenly thinks his or her little VW Golf GTI is actually a 16 wheeler G-Wiz electric car and therefore waits ½ an hour for the appropriate gap to open up. Not that traffic lights seem to be the answer in Cork either. As it seems the Cork City Council has never heard the term phasing and therefore unlike other cities where you can travel the length of a main thoroughfare stopping only once, in Cork you will more than likely stop at every intersection along the route.

My final road rage inducing observation is both the most annoying & the easiest to solve. It involves people queuing through an intersection and blocking all traffic, normally for a complete light cycle. The most irritating thing about these “people” is the look of complete bafflement give you while blocking your path as they try to work out why the 6 cars queued in front of them haven’t miraculously turned into 1. The solution for this boil on the butt of Irish road users I place firmly in the hands of the Gardi. Place officers at random intersections throughout the country and if any Muppet parks in the middle of an intersection…Shoot them. I guarantee the issue would be resolved in one afternoon. OK enough bleating about Irish (and New Zealand) roads.

One of the coolest and funniest things about Ireland is how the banks all receive their money. Once a week in even the tiniest of towns all over Ireland, wages are paid & tourists are first shocked & them amused, all with ruthless military efficiency. It is beautiful to watch as 1 armoured van and 3 Range Rovers dance their way through town handing out money, but a word to the wise don’t take photos, it cost me 2 hours of intense interrogation & the loss of my photos among other things.

Then there is the shopping hours of Ireland which are slightly annoying to begin with but kind of nice once you get used to them, all but the law about off licences closing at 9pm…that’s just silly! Lunch hour in Ireland is 1pm to 2pm which is cool as I’ve always preferred this timeslot (It makes the afternoon go much faster) but what isn’t quite so cool is that almost everyone goes on lunch at this time with most banks & stores reduced to 1 junior assistant if not closed for this hour. Similarly I wouldn’t bother with planning of going shopping on Sunday in Ireland, half the stores are closed and you will be lucky if the ones that do open do so for more than 4 hours. Which is a great excuse for sleeping in on Sunday (Like I ever need one but it’s nice to have all the same).

My next point is to the ladies. Now I have to be careful here not to sound like an arrogant prick who expects all women to be skinnier than Kate Moss but I think people who know me will pick up on what I’m putting down. All I’m saying is that people need to dress to their shape. A size 12 or 14 girl (Or boy for that matter) can look cute (Did I just call boys cute?) if they dress correctly. Unfortunately what seems to happen in Cork (and a fair bit in the UK as well) are size 12 girls wearing size 8 jeans resulting in what I like to refer to as Muffin Tops. The same can happen up top but I’m not going to tell you what people refer to that as.

My final whine is concerning bouncers, and again a direct line of comparison can be drawn between Ireland & New Zealand, maybe it’s a population thing. After both Australia & the UK I had come to expect professional bouncers that as long as you aren’t monkeyed & fitted in with the clubs image then it will be a case of ‘Marry Xmas enjoy your night”, not steroided freaks on a power trip. The funniest altercation I had was after having a pint with a mate we went to get into a club on Washington Street. I got stopped going in & asked in a thick Irish accent (Think Brad Pitt out of Snatch)

“howmanyyahadtonightson”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Isaid...howmanyyahadtonight”

“I really am very sorry, but I’m not picking up what you’re saying”

At this point I think he decided I was English so just said

“Feckityournotcominginherebuddy”

This is where I pulled out the old chestnut that all Kiwi travellers must learn

“I’m sorry bud I’m a kiwi & I don’t understand”

At that he cheered up considerably, had a chat to me & then let me in with no door charge…Man I love being a Kiwi.

In signing off I would like to reinstate that although a lot of the above seems to be negative that is not the feeling I am taking away from Ireland. It’s just that like if your mate’s aren’t taking the piss out of you it means that girl you never called back was their sister … or in other words we tease the people we love the most the worst.