It’s St. Patrick’s Day, the day to celebrate being Irish and yet today I’m daydreaming about living in warmer climes. I had plans to go to the parade today, I was going to bring my camera and shoot wonderful shots of young children with painted faces and of giant papier maché heads. Then came the rain and the hailstones and the arctic cold wind and I said “sod it” I’d rather work. Now I’m sitting in my office, my hands frozen into claws, trying to animate and failing miserably. The view out of the window is grey, Eve is cranky and I can hear her wandering around downstairs whining because she’s sick of being stuck inside. I put my headphones on, fire up iTunes and Madonna is singing “I Love New York.” I guess I just can’t help it, I’m wondering what it would be like to live in Southern California, or Italy, or France. I even went so far as to look up house prices in San Francisco after seeing this photo on Flickr (pretty bloody expensive just in case you’re wondering).
One of my most vivid memories of my childhood is of when I was about seven years old (I think) and my parents decided we were all going to emigrate to Australia. It was the seventies and my parents were sick of the struggle of living in Ireland. There were petrol strikes and electricity strikes, unemployment was through the roof and things were bleak. My Dad had a job but money was always tight and, although I don’t have any memory of this because my childhood was nicely shielded, I see now that the Ireland of the seventies and eighties was a distant cry from Starbucks coffee shops and spa weekends.
I spent a lot of time trying to get my head around just how far away Australia was and I was sure it meant we were never going to come back and we were never going to see anyone we knew ever again. I remember when we went into the Australian embassy for a family interview at some point in the process. I don’t have a good memory of what we were asked, I just have a picture of us all sitting in a circle in a beige room on uncomfortable chairs. That was when it struck me that I was going to get an Australian accent and that would mean I wasn’t Irish anymore. In the end we were rejected. The Maguire family was deemed unsuitable for Australia for some reason. Although I was relieved I was also disappointed. There was something so exciting about the thought of living in a completely different country. That was the start of my hankering for other places.
I recognise this feeling, I get it every few years. It’s the wanderlust and I’ve acted on it enough to know the grass isn’t greener it’s just yellow in different places. Still, I wonder what the weather is like in New England, Vancouver or New Zealand.
10 replies on “Wanderlust”
And here I am feeling the same about your home and longing for anything European! Beautiful post, Claire… almost dream-like to read it.
Happy St. Patrick’s day, sweetie! Much love to you and all of yours…
New England is much, much colder than Ireland, so you probably wouldn’t like it there. As far as today goes, I was complaining about the weather here in DC being just under 50 (10 C?) Now I am happy since there is no hail or snow. Cheers.
Have fun today!
Seattle is awesome…come to Seattle…Vancouver would be OK too
It rains alot in Vancouver. A slightly warmer Dublin. Just newer.
I can add to daedaulus’ summary of New England weather – yes the winters are very cold, but don’t think they make up for it with warm summers! The humidity is unbearable, and although air conditioning is everywhere, I doubt you would consider moving somewhere you had to stay indoors all the time, it kind of defeats the purpose, right?
All I can say is that at least you can go outdoors in Ireland any time – might need warm coat at worst. The weather will never kill us here. I was in Turkey in 2001 when it hit 46C and I melted, even too warm at night. Local old folk were even dying. Too much sun can be annoying, even in the 30C range. I kissed the ground when I came back to Ireland. At least you never get too exhaused by heat here, nor does it get too crazy the other way in winter. And when it’s sunny it is so green and beautiful.
But it would be wise to move St. Patricks Day to July maybe!
Wunderlust: what a wonderful wor(l)d. You are right the 1970s were tough in Ireland. The country was riddled with roman catholic social teaching and teachers. Everywhere you went you were surrounded by catholic nationalists, republicans (constitutional and militaristic). There were precious few people from other countries; everyone looked like everyone else’s brother or sister. The clothes were drab. The food was crap. They smoked in the pubs.
They were all friendly so long as you agreed with them and didn’t question their values. The priests were abusing the children, sometimes illegally, sometimes legally. The parents were conspiring with their clergy, believing them to be honourable people.
The people were being promised a “united Ireland” if only the Council of Ireland could be manipulated properly.
The weather hasn’t got any better or worse.
Have you always lived in Ireland?
John of Dublin: How about changing 17th March to 12 July?
I was born and raised in Dublin, I spent a lot of time travelling after college but I was here for the 70’s and 80’s. I was only a kid in the 70’s and my memories are all good…clichéd halcyon days and all that. I guess I have my parents to thank for shielding me from all the hard stuff.
Two things you said do ring true to me though…everyone looking alike and clothes being drab. When I came home after the first time I went to the States I remember being struck by how everyone looked alike in the airport and I could spot the Irish because everyone looked like an uncle or a friend’s dad. As for the clothes, I remember when the only colours anyone seemed to wear were brown or navy blue.
Everything that happened in those days was good. Just some of it f**ked some of us up. Provided your parents had a job in those days, life in Dublin for a child couldn’t have been all that bad.