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.
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