When I think about the things that make me stand out from the locals here, it is not just my jarring accent and my (relatively) large stature. When I really think about it, there are three things that I will need to learn to do before I am accepted as a Sligonian, or at least a respectable ring in.
1. Learn to talk about the weather
Unlike Australians, the Irish don't post on Facebook about how hot it is (ha!) or how cold it is, or about the thunderstorm that is about to/is/has just rolled through town. No, the weather is a subject still best discussed face to face.
When an Australian friend was in town in October, she and I were walking around town in 15 degree temperatures. The wind picked up a bit and she mentioned she was cold. I said 'You watch, the next place we go into will mention how great the weather is.' Sure enough, like clockwork, each shop assistant we saw that afternoon greated us with a version of the following 'It's great weather we've been having at the moment don'tcha think?...It's a lovely day out there today is it not?....You've been lucky with the weather, so you have...its been at least a week since we've seen any real rain.'
And it is not just a one liner to get the conversation started either. There are some shopkeepers who could win an Olympic Medal for discussing the weather (yes, I know that would be an obscure and very dull sport, but so is synchronised swimming and curling).
We were in Ireland in July 2013, when temperatures reached a scorching 27 degrees for a record 5 days in a row and drought conditions were declared in parts of the country. I did not come prepared for such balmy weather and had to go shopping for lighter clothes that didn't cover my whole body in wool. All the occupants in the cubicles of one changing area started spontaneously talking through the walls about the highest temperatures they had ever experienced. These people didn't even need to see each others faces to join in (a bit like Facebook Live I guess).
For some occupants of the change rooms, that day's weather was close to the maximum they had ever experienced. So, when I piped up with my own '47.5 degrees' the room of strangers stopped talking to each other altogether. There was just dead silence. It was like I had tried to break some secret code about the weather that only the Irish were allowed in on. The tension was only broken as the sales assistant said 'sure enough, wouldn't it be nice if we just had a little bit'o rain?'
2. Share intimate personal details in public settings
As a lifetime over-sharer, this one is a bit like the pot telling the kettle to lighten up a bit, but alongside their wonderful gift of the gab comes the Irish propensity to share their soul with every passing stranger.
I think Australians have become more uptight with every passing generation. Most would rather bite off their own lip than make so much as eye contact with the person sitting next to them on the boat, train, ferry, bus or tram. And if those of you in Australia reading this are thinking 'yep, that's just the way we like it' then you may not be destined to move to Ireland. On Irish transport, I have been shown appendix scars, tattoos not usually visible under an ordinary amount of Irish clothing, and not one, not two, but three sets of molars (what is with the obsession for good oral hygeine?). I have received the medical histories of every member of one woman's family since the Spanish Armada and have heard what it is like to be imprisoned as a result of being set up by the Gardai for drug dealing (in case you were wondering, it 'ain't no Disneyland').
Only at an Irish wedding would the Father of the Bride tell an amusing anecdote about the time the bride almost drowned as a child, and would the Father of the Groom thank his son profusely for only ever breaking one tooth on the hay baler. I am pretty sure that last one was an Irish farmer's joke, but with so much sharing, it is hard for me to gauge sometimes.
If you think I am annoyed by these interactions, you couldn't be more wrong. That wedding was one of the nicest Ive been to in a long time, filled to the brim with people who shared a mutual love and affection for the happiest of couples. And some of my best conversations ever have been with total strangers on Irish transport (the aint-no-Disneyland drug dealer a notable exception).
3. Don't hang up until you've said a proper goodbye.
When I first heard the way people in the North West end a phone call, I presumed it was a joke. You see, you can never hang up just with one goodbye. You need to continually repeat the words 'bye, bye, ba-ba bye bye bye ba-ba by-eeee' until the other person has hung up at their end or the phone is at the end of your own very well stretched arm, and they can't hear you anymore.
The problem for us non-locals is that to repeat this pattern of stuttering farewells in even a semi-convincing manner sounds like the worst form of mockery. The couple of times I've tried it, I am sure the person on the other end of the phone heard the mirth in my voice and muttered 'feckin' gobshite' before hanging up. But, to not at least add one extra goodbye makes me feel almost as bad as if I'd just flat out hung up on the person, without any effort at closure at all. My 'okay goodbye then' just hangs in the air like a single pathetic sock on a washing line, while the other person continues to make so much effort to let me know just how much they want to end the phone call.
So, until I am accepted or can better camouflage myself as a local, I will continue to poorly join in on the fine art of weather-talking, listen to an assortment of woes and wonders on public transport and end each telephone conversation with a mash up of words vaguely resembling a goodbye.
Until next time.....bye ba bye..see ya...bless.
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