Saturday 23 August 2014

Rose coloured glasses in a parallel universe

We've been here about three weeks now, and between a lifetime of painting and decorating, we have managed to get out and enjoy our new surroundings just a little.

In the first two weeks we were here, every time I opened my mouth and people heard my Australian accent, they would say 'oh, so are you here for the Fleadh?'  (for the uninitiated, this is pronounced 'Fla').  However, I did not hear another Australian accent among the 350 000 people who reportedly showed up to Sligo for the week long traditional music festival.  My mother visited for a week early in the piece, and hers is the last Australian accent I have heard (and, to be fair to her, she's never really been that ocker anyway).  If I was feeling homesick, I guess we could visit someone with a television around Home and Away time, but to tell you the truth, I quite like being different here.  

Back to the Fleadh.  One afternoon we ventured down to one of the pubs, where two girls from Connemara, aged about 10 and 12 were playing traditional Irish music together, on the violin, flute, concertina and tin whistle, while their parents sat way in the background, drinking Guinness and allowing their daughters to flourish.  A couple of English girls arrived with their parents, and asked if they could join them.  One of the English girls said 'do you know this one' and played an opening bar of a jig for the others. The Irish girls said no.  She played another bar of something else.  Nope.  Then a bar of a third tune; still no. I have to admit they all sounded absolutely identical to me, but on the fourth attempt, the Irish girls joined in and off they went with their merry tune, playing by ear for many minutes.  The skill of these young girls was amazing, and it turns out they were pitted up against each other in one of the official competitions the next day.  I not so secretly hoped that the Irish girls beat the English girls, if for no other reason than the English parents were smothering their daughters, sitting almost on top of them and interrupting the young girls' conversations.  They could have learned a lot from the Irish parents' relaxed and easy going manner.

Irish kids are really well behaved.  Let me back up that gross generalisation with a specific observation. In the last three weeks, including our time at the Fleadh, I have not seen one badly behaved kid anywhere (and we've even had occasion to be in a fast food outlet I won't name, but it rhymes with McShonalds).  The kids there were softly spoken, well mannered and walked quietly behind each other to the play equipment and the toilets.  Mind you, the staff there brought us our 'food' and thanked us for our custom and service while they held the door for us on the way out, so maybe we had just stepped into a parallel universe for the afternoon.

No doubt we will continue to wear our rose coloured glasses in this universe for a bit longer, but while it lasts, what a great way it is to live. 

Sunday 3 August 2014

'Getting our Sligo On'

When you grow up in a city with the government as the main employer, you get used to a level of service that is neither outright rude nor genuinely friendly. There is a firm, stilted politeness to it that, after a while feels normal.  And yet you sense there might be another way of doing and saying things.

In my first trip to Ireland in 1991, my Canadian travelling companion, Carol and I went into a pub to ask for directions to the Youth Hostel.  The woman behind the bar said 'oh sure, it's just down the road and to the left, you can't miss it.'  We walked out of the pub, muttering 'what a rude bitch.'  And then we realised that we had been spoilt over the previous weeks' travels, with conversations such as  'where are you from then.... this one's on the house...I have a son about your age, I am sure he'd love to meet you, sure, you must come to dinner and stay the night.'  We even had an old lady in an orange plastic raincoat with wild woolly hair give us £50 on a bus because 'we have so much in common..all three countries are trying to get away from the Queen.'

While the offers to stay the night with young men may have dried up, I am pleased to say that I still believe Ireland deserves its reputation as one of the friendliest places on earth.    The reception we have received this time around has been out of this world.

It started with this blog.  A friend of mine in Ireland liked it on facebook, and that same day, a friend of hers sent me a message saying that she didn't know me, but she lived in Sligo, and if I wanted to go out for a coffee some time, she would be pleased to meet me and show me around.  I haven't managed to fit it in yet, but Marie, thank you so much for the hospitality you extended before we even left Australia.  

Next came the immigration officers at Dublin airport, who treated us like royalty when they realised we were moving to Ireland from Australia and not vice versa. We were ushered to the front of the queue and the officer took his time chatting to us even though there was a line of very tired passengers building up behind us (sorry folks).

Then there was the receptionist at my new optometrist, who texted us details of lawn mowing services as soon as we left the shop.  And the cashier at the hardware store who put our items through as three separate purchases, just so that we could get the greatest price reductions (well, we were buying half the store).  Last but not least, there was the immigration officer at the Sligo police station who made the process of living and working in Ireland an absolute breeze in a ten minute process, and ended with a hand shake and a 'welcome neighbour'  (turns out he lives a few doors down from us).

And all of them say something similar;  'why the feck would you want to move here for?' (Well, the immigration officer didn't quite say it like that, but he wasn't far off).

I respond by mentioning our fabulous new house nestled into Benbulben/King's mountain, the sheer size and scale of which makes me cry out in amazement every time I see it (more on that in a later blog). I also refer to our new business enterprise, which has been very enthusiastically received so far (also more on that some other time).

But the real reason is because of you, the people of Sligo.  In all sincerity, you rock.

  

Sunday 20 July 2014

One Part Excitement to Four Parts Anxiety

It usually starts in the shower.  A slow build up of tension in my chest until I almost can't breathe.  I am at a loss as to what is causing these panic attacks.  Despite previous life stresses, I've never suffered from them before.

And then I remember the cause:  in four nights time I leave the city I have lived in for the 43 years of my life to date.  I leave the safety and security of my friends and family and streets I can navigate like the increasing lines on my face.  In four nights time, my husband Brendan and I leave Canberra, Australia, for Sligo, Ireland and a completely different life.  To a house we bought over the internet, which we are yet to see in person.

Why?  Why would we take such a step at our age and at this time in our lives.  Well, it's quite simple really.  It's time to live and to take a risk.

All my life I have taken the safe option - I studied law and got a job in private practice because that is what I thought I wanted.  After ten years I left that behind to  join the Australian Public Service.  If I thought that would provide me with an easier life with less hassles, I was sorely mistaken.

So when the planets aligned, and the opportunity presented itself to do something totally different with our lives, in a part of the world whose natural beauty needs to be seen to be believed, we both came to the conclusion we had very little to lose.

Life is too short to spend any part of it doing what makes you miserably unhappy.

It all feels a bit like jumping off a very large cliff.  And while the leap may continue to take my breath away, I'm confident the water will be deep enough to break the fall, and that we will dogpaddle our way to safety.

I hope you will come along for the ride.