Ireland from the other side of the fence
Columnist continues his journeys on the Emerald Isle
It’s not lost on me the irony of this amateur writer from Peterborough penning words from the land of Oscar Wilde, James Joyce and Maeve Binchy, plus 100 others that truly were the Emerald Isle’s gifts to the world.
I’m not even mentioning such sporting world gems as Ballybunion, Royal Portrush and hurling.
It was on a morning stroll along the boardwalk of the beach at Lahinch, some 10 metres below the magnificent dunes of the Lahinch championship links, that I was starting to peel away my touristy nature and become a native.
A big, imposing fence the entire length of the beach separated the public land being enjoyed by mostly locals, from the much-treasured and tough-to-set-foot-on links land above. And I was on the other side of it for a change.
Ireland without golf has opened my eyes, most markedly to the culture and ways of these beautiful people who live and work outside the gates of the famous golf links.
Links golf in imperfect weather is tiring, especially for us coddled Canadians.
Fit in a couple of meals and there’s usually no time nor energy to experience anything beyond the course’s grill room or a neighbouring pub.
You need to invest full days, entire weeks in a place like this to catch on to the rhythm of the people. Which is why we are here.
It felt strangely good to be in these same towns for a second or third time, this time without golf, packing in days full of exploration, conversation and lots of giggles.
It was on a visit to the smallest of the Aran Islands, Inisheer, where a chance encounter with a craftsman named Paul left me rather speechless, in the best way imaginable.
When we offered a 50 euros (about $73) note for a pair of handcarved Celtic necklaces that he said were 40 euros (about $58), he looked at us in a way I will never forget.
He was justifiably proud of his creations, and objected politely to the idea of a tip in a way that reminded me of how a monk might explain his vow of silence.
When we seemed confused, he explained graciously that his price was his price, and he didn’t want more.
It led to this interesting conversation on the ferry back to Doolin. The North American way is to think and act like all things can be solved with more money.
That the spirit of capitalism should bully its way into all aspects of life, in a way that makes us lose touch with what really matters.
Our interactions with Paul and many others here reminded us that less is often more. That there is value and purpose in showing interest in someone else’s livelihood and expertise, and that was worth way more to someone than an extra 10 euros ($14.50).
The Irish will shyly mention that they relish taking someone down a peg if they are getting too big for their britches. I happen to like that.
We spend our whole lives searching for and wanting more.
A better job. A fancier title. A bigger house.
I love that my native land has an opinion on that, and that opinion finds its way into many aspects of life here.
As much as I was taken aback by Paul’s gesture, I loved how he taught me a lesson, and took me down a notch in the most gentle of ways. I used to be critical of the Irish custom of not expecting tips in restaurants or hotels but am starting to get wiser.
Like most things in life, it’s just not as simple as it first seems.