Mar

Memories of St Patrick’s Day In and Out of Ireland

by Joyce McGreevy on March 15, 2021

Ireland’s blue sky and green meadow in March evoke memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Before the pandemic, March was a popular time for travel to Ireland . . .
© Joyce McGreevy

How Real Was My Cultural Authenticity?

What could be more Irish than memories of St Patrick’s Day in Ireland? Picture it: County Limerick, March 17. Sunlight illuminates my boarding school overlooking the banks of the River Shannon. Such cultural authenticity! We’ve the day off from classes. Cue the festivities!

The Dripping of the Green

Ah, but this is 1970s Ireland. St Patrick’s Day is a holy day, not yet a holiday. To “celebrate,” we each pin a clump of sodden shamrocks to the front of our school uniform. At Mass, I watch in dismal fascination as brackish liquid oozes along the wool grain of my personal upholstery.

Not how I’d imagined “the wearing of the green.”

My classmate Eileen sighs, “If only we were in Dublin gawking at the Americans.”

“Why Americans?” I ask.

“Ah sure, nobody celebrates St Patrick’s Day like the Yanks. They do go mad for it.”

Ireland’s Lismore Castle with spring flowers evokes memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

. . . but late spring in Ireland is lovely, too.
© Joyce McGreevy

The Wearing of . . . Whatever

Picture it: St Patrick’s Day, 1980-something, California. As I enter the office, our receptionist looks up. An expectant smile lights up Barb’s face. It dims when I remove my coat to reveal a black ensemble.

“Shoot,” says Barb. “I thought you’d be wearing your national costume.”

Gently, I break it to Barb that people in Ireland do not wear national costumes.

“What do they wear?” says Barb, aggrieved.

“Um, just . . . clothing. Like anybody else.”

“Oh.” She looks crushed.

“Also, Barb? I was born in Phoenix, Arizona.”

Crane Bar in Galway evokes memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Then again, Irish summers delight locals and visitors alike . . .
© Joyce McGreevy

Festivity to “Dye” For

Until recently, the way Ireland and the U.S. celebrated St Patrick’s Day was markedly different.

St Patrick’s Day American-style was an all-day Lucky Charms commercial. Suddenly the air was thick with “Sure ‘n begorrah!” and “Erin go bragh!”—words never uttered in Ireland.

Nationwide, green snack foods proliferated in breakrooms. Green bagels, green cupcakes, green cookies. If you didn’t wear green, people would pinch you. Green socks, green sunglasses, green badges emblazoned “Kiss me! I’m Irish!”

Oh, the indignity to a sensitive soul such as I.

An outdoor table set for dinner in County Cork evokes memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

. . . and by late summer, life in Ireland moves outdoors.
© Joyce McGreevy

Joyce McGreevy, Cultural Policewoman

Raised in two cultures and the mother of an Irish-born son, you’d think I’d have relished any chance to celebrate my heritage.

Hah!

In those days, the most Irish thing about me was my curmudgeonly attitude, my utter refusal to abide “such nonsensical carry-on.” No, I would NOT like a Shamrock Shake. No, I would NOT like to put on a plastic green leprechaun hat. No, I would NOT care for corned beef and cabbage. None of these things pertained to the Real Ireland.

So fierce was my commitment to cultural authenticity, that in contrast to all the green, my St Patrick’s Day face was forty shades of red.

As self-appointed cultural firebrand, I made it my mission to douse any outbreaks of fun with the cold water of clarity. Did people not know that St Patrick was born in France? That he came to Ireland because he was kidnapped by pirates?

A sunset in County Cork evokes memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Mind you, Ireland’s autumn has a poetry all its own . . .
© Joyce McGreevy

Snakes on a Plain

As for Himself “drrriving the snakes out of Oyrland,” honestly! Beautiful as Ireland is, would any self-respecting reptile choose to live in a cool, rainy climate? Those “snakes” were actually eels found in pre-Christian sacred wells. Patrick didn’t drive them anywhere. He simply blessed the wells while doing his bit to spread European culture.

Indeed, Palladius of Anatolia likely arrived before Patrick, having been sent by Pope Celestine in 432. Yes, the first bishop of Ireland was Turkish, yet does anyone throw poor old Palladius a parade?

My smoldering umbrage was not without fuel. Back then, we were all less savvy about each other’s cultures. As late as the 1990s, I was still fielding such questions as: “Does Ireland have electricity?” “Do people there just eat potatoes?” And my personal favorite: “Do people talk normal there—you know, do they say stuff like awesome and cowabunga”?

Totally, dude.

By the 2000s, the Internet and affordable travel were replacing stereotypes with cultural authenticity. We could see more clearly a culture’s everyday realities and thus appreciate it more.

Hunter’s Hotel, Enniskerry in winter evokes memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

. . . and Irish winters are festive.
© Joyce McGreevy

Real Ireland, Revisited

Picture it: Galway, Ireland 2013. My college friend Brendan invites me to the St Patrick’s Day parade. This, I trust, will reflect the Real Ireland.

And it does. Just not as I’d expected.

Yes, there are traditional Irish dancers and musicians. And floats commemorating Irish history. But there is also a diversity of cultures, immigrants from all over the world who have made their home in this “Ireland of the Welcomes.” As parade groups are announced, they present performances that artfully combine Irish elements with elements of their origin cultures.

In movement, music, costumes, colors, voices, and vibe, a magnificent chorus of cultures creates a mood that ripples through the crowd.

It is joy. The joy unique to something we all deeply miss these days: community. Not as a concept, but felt, lived, shared.

And the parade watchers? A sea of goofy green accessories. Neon as all get-out.

Oh, I see: In 21st century Ireland, there’s room for silliness along with solemnity. For pride with a dash of self-parody. For transcending stereotypes by sharing a laugh at them.

So, here’s to new memories. Picture it: St Patrick’s Day 2021, everywhere if not in Ireland. Instead, on Zoom with family, friends, and neighbors around the world. Ditching my narrow notion of cultural authenticity as we celebrate the many meanings of “Real Ireland.”

Now pass me that green bagel.

An Irish road in March evokes memories celebrated with cultural authenticity on St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Meet you in Ireland in March 2022?
© Joyce McGreevy

Tourism Ireland invites you to virtually visit Ireland this Wednesday, March 17. Join #StPatricksDayAtHome, here.

Comment on the post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

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Cultural Heritage & Traditions/Ireland/Travels to the Past

Jun

On a Wing and a Dare

by Joyce McGreevy on June 15, 2020

A flight attendant and a passenger keeping an air travel diary during the pandemic wear face masks to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Planes are flying again, but are passengers?
© Joyce McGreevy

An Air Traveler’s Diary in the Pandemic

I love flying. As a pilot’s daughter, I’ve always felt at home in the sky. But airline travel in a pandemic? Opening my travel diary, I scrawl something I’ve never felt before: I dread the airport.

Ballyshane, Ireland

When the world went into lockdown, I was pet-sitting in Ireland. I had a guest cottage, the solitude writers crave, and nature’s beauty. Who’d leave that to fly on a wing and a dare?

But I missed my family, which had grown by three since I’d left the U.S.

It was time to return.

Before COVID-19, planning travel between countries was as easy as when Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz clicked her ruby-shod heels together. A few taps on an app and you were good to go.

But as travel restrictions spread globally, the number of flights per day plummeted—an 84% decrease in Europe alone. In North America, falloff was even greater. By April, some airlines were flying 97% fewer passengers than usual.

A lone airline passenger waits in the boarding area of an international airport during the pandemic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

By April, Irish air travel had collapsed 90 percent due to COVID-19 restrictions.
© Joyce McGreevy

Ready for Takeoff?

Hey, that was easy, I think after booking two nonstop flights from Ireland to Oregon. Two cancellations and several phone calls later, I face four flights, five airports, four bus rides, and two hotel stays.

Cork, Hour 1

Ireland’s national bus system leaves nothing to chance. The 60-seat bus to Dublin Airport has room for just 14. All other seats have been blocked off.

Seats on a bus in Ireland are blocked off during the pandemic to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Bus passengers are seated one per row, every other row.
© Joyce McGreevy

Meanwhile, there’s bad news for riders collecting loved ones at the airport. Air travelers arriving from other countries, citizens or not, are prohibited from taking the bus until they’ve self-quarantined.

“They must go straight home and stay home for 14 days,” stresses the driver.

“But how will they get there?” asks a passenger.

Good question.

Dublin, Hour 8

Reduced schedules necessitate arriving the day before my flight. At Dublin Airport there are no people, no shuttles. To access the hotel, I walk across six lanes of highway. There are no cars.

But all is not post-apocalyptic.

Amid the industrial landscape, a meadow blooms and so does an “Oh, I see” moment: Even when the destination is what drives you, there will be moments to appreciate along the way.

A meadow at Dublin Airport during the pandemic offers a moment of respite worth noting in on air traveler’s diary. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Flowers outnumber flyers at the once-busy airport.
© Joyce McGreevy

From habit, I check in three hours early. After clearing multiple security checkpoints, this leaves . . . about three hours to wait.

Airline check-in kiosks at Dublin International Airport during the pandemic stand idle, as the author contemplates flying “on a wing and dare.” (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

At Dublin Airport, kiosks stand idle.
© Joyce McGreevy

How strange to board a spacious airbus with only a few others. My nearest fellow passenger is seven rows and two aisles away. Stranger still not to hear the multilingual murmur of global travelers.

I assume the Aer Lingus crew will treat us warily, but they’re cordial as always.

“We’re thrilled to be working again,” says the flight supervisor.

Between Irish hospitality and the blue horizon, eight hours in the air pass quickly.

Chicago, Hour 33

At O’Hare a customs officer questions me about a list of “forbidden” countries. Have I visited Iran? Iraq? What about China?

“No, but I’d like to someday” turns out not to be the correct answer.

“Ma’am, just say yes or no.”

People with the Center for Disease Control ask me similar questions, take my temperature, and send me on my way.

“That’s it?” I ask, relieved and alarmed all at once.

“That’s it.”

In Chicago, where I once lived, I call a friend and we muse about the strangeness of not meeting up.

“How many flights do you have left?”

“One more—”

“That’s good.”

“—today, that is. Two more tomorrow.”

“Yikes. Thank goodness they’re practically empty.”

“Yes, United’s blocking seats.”

“All the middle seats, right?”

On the flight to Los Angeles, United blocks a total of two seats. The crew passes out boxes of snacks “pre-wrapped for safety.” Many passengers then spend the flight with masks dangling under chins, chomping vigorously.

With gratitude for inflight HEPA filters, I add layers of protective gear: goggles, mask, latex gloves, headphones, voluminous shawl. By the time the packed flight lumbers into the air, I look like a mannequin that has been fabric-wrapped by Christo and Jeanne-Claude.

Normally, my cure for anxiety is deep breathing. Under the circumstances, I opt for non-respiratory therapy—gazing at calming images on my phone:

Photos of Irish terriers have a calming effect on an anxious air traveler who’s flying “on a wing and prayer” during the pandemic, as noted in her travel diary. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Keep calm and carry on photos: focusing on Irish pet-sit pals, Molly and Rosie.
© Joyce McGreevy

This works until the captain mentions that our plane has 367,000 working parts, which he plans to “drive like a rental car.”

I land at LAX one hour early and many decades older.

Los Angeles, Hour 42

That night I fill my travel diary with reasons to be grateful:

My suitcase is still with me.
I know the friendly hotel staff from previous stays.
The takeout food actually tastes like food.

But that isn’t all.

Everywhere I’ve been—from bus seat to airplane cabin, from hotel bedrooms, with their countless contact points, to airport restrooms with innumerable surfaces—everything has been thoroughly disinfected.

That cleanliness hasn’t happened by magic.

Every day despite the pandemic, someone’s mother or father wakes in the dark, commutes long distances, and works hard to keep public spaces safe.

Then it hits me, in a blinding flash of the obvious: A smile, a thank you, a tip is not enough. To live a healthy life while maintaining the health of others, essential workers need living wages.

Seattle, Hour 54

Next morning I fly north, then backtrack south. Despite fewer flights, LAX and SEA-TAC look surprisingly busy.

Alaska Airlines sets a high standard for safety, limiting ticket sales and spacing passengers apart. Their terminal alone provides ample visual and verbal reminders to maintain social distance.

A floor marker at Alaska Airlines terminal in Los Angeles, as noted in an air traveler’s diary, reminds passengers to practice social distancing during the pandemic. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Floor markers prevent packed lines.
© Joyce McGreevy

This is no small thing. In all four U.S airports, wherever cues are lacking, travelers fall back into old habits.

In Seattle, for instance, food stands have been painstakingly modified for safety, but not communal tables. So while a few diners seek out isolated areas, most cluster together. When you’re tired or distracted, it’s easy to forget.

Enjoying the view of Oregon’s Cascade Mountain Range.
© Joyce McGreevy

Bend, Oregon

Three weeks later, my sister Erin and I hike forested trails in brisk mountain air. After months of living on the Irish coast, I’m acclimating to high-altitude breathing.

Will I travel by air again? Absolutely . . . someday. For now, moving into an apartment near family—after five years of living out of a suitcase—is all the travel adventure I need.

If you’re flying soon, try these tips:

Be flexible. With passenger numbers low, itinerary changes are more common. Example: You book a 2pm nonstop, which gets cancelled, and the airline re-books you on connecting flights with a 7am departure. Request more options or a refund, but know that all airlines’ schedules are in flux.
Stay current. The TSA allows up to 12 ounces of liquid hand sanitizer per passenger in carry-on bags.
Be self-regulating. Only one stop on my itinerary modified the use of elevators for social distancing. Elsewhere, customers crammed into elevators, onto escalators, and other areas without signage. Be attentive and take your time.
Seat yourself. With fewer flights, some airlines are packing, not blocking, seats. Most economy sections feature a few rows with two seats only, including the roomier bulkhead. Some carriers offer single-seat rows. For more space, make a modest bid to upgrade. With fewer passengers competing, your chances of success are good.
Keep a travel diary. At a minimum, use your phone or tablet to organize a digital file of important information on flights, insurance, hotel, and ground transportation.
Notice positives. The best stress reducer is acknowledging the essential workers who are doing their best to ensure your travel goes smoothly—even as they are impacted by the weaker economy and pandemic-related changes to airport procedures. They, too, are traveling on a wing and a dare.
© Joyce McGreevy

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Joyce McGreevy 16 Comments

Ireland/Life Lessons/Rides (Land, Sea, Air)/USA

May

Recovering Our Awe of Nature

by Joyce McGreevy on May 11, 2020

A sunrise in Ireland is awe-inspiring, a reminder that noticing nature every day reflects a cultural attitude of valuing the environment. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

What Does Nature Need Us to Notice?

Have you noticed it? While life in self-quarantine has restricted our movements, it has also unleashed our senses. As the range of our territory has contracted, our attention to the environment has enlarged.

We’ve had to slow down to the speed at which a flower grows, and now, something has begun to blossom. In moment by “oh, I see” moment: we’re regaining our instinct for the awe of nature.

A sapling in blossom in Ireland is an awe-inspiring sign of spring. a reminder of our instinctive need to notice the beauty of nature. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Who We Were

How dramatically can cultural attitudes toward nature shift? Consider this. Shortly before lockdown went global, researchers published a report that highlighted an overwhelming lack of connection between people and the natural world.

The report is British, but surely reflects many of us circa 2020 “BC”—Before COVID-19. For example, of the children questioned:

A doorframe beside a shed in rural Ireland offers a different perspective for noticing the awe-inspiring beauty of nature. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

• 90% rarely or never watched sunrises.

• 83% rarely or never smelled wildflowers.

• 77% rarely or never listened to birdsong.

Findings among adults weren’t much better:

• Around 57–79% rarely or never noticed sunrises, wildflowers, or birdsong.

• Likewise, few adults or children celebrated natural events, such as the longest day of the year, autumn harvest, and so on.

• Only 25–33% watched clouds, or stopped to appreciate the stars or the moon in the sky.

How We Were Changed

Nature certainly has our attention now. For evidence of this, look no further than our recent personal communications.

Social media pages once dominated by selfies and humblebrags are blooming with hollyhocks and supermoons. Brash videos give way to whispered narratives as wild creatures amble down driverless roads at rush hour. Snarky memes yield to quotes from nature poets.

Wherever we call home—urban, suburban, or rural—our online connections are trending toward awe in nature.

A postbox overgrown with native plants in Ireland is an awe-inspiring reminder that as the world went into lockdown during the pandemic, nature reasserted its power. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

One day I receive a text message from a relative who lives in a California suburb. Usually we’re rushed. Tapping out terse logistics even as we plan family gatherings. Ending messages with “xo” to cover all that we never say. But today, he observes:

“. . . Just by being home most of the time I have seen things I probably wouldn’t have otherwise. A bright yellow bird. A field mouse that I only noticed because I could see the flowers move . . . a lizard with feet like no other lizard in this environment . . . Silver linings, indeed. What would I notice if I wasn’t constantly doing so much?”

Sea stones and kelp on a beach in County Cork, Ireland evokes the idea that the smallest details in the environment can inspire us with awe and strengthen our connectedness to nature. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

What Difference Does Noticing Make?

Research shows that “noticing nature” and “nature connectedness” are strongly linked to practicing conservation. According to the British study, conducted by the University of Derby and the National Trust, the influence of these two factors is far greater than even the influence of time spent outdoors or knowledge and study of the environment.

As for one’s level of nature connectedness, a study at Ohio’s Oberlin College says it depends on three elements:

How we think about nature. Do we see ourselves as sharing the great tree of life, or as positioned separately atop a pyramid of life?
How we relate to nature. Do we consider nature as part of us, or as apart from us?
How we feel about nature. Do we experience a sense of wonder, concern, calm, curiosity, gratitude, reverence, or other such responses to nature?

A chair outdoors under the moon on the Irish coast is an invitation to notice and connect with the awe-inspiring beauty of nature, which in turn can influence our cultural attitude toward the environment, (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Noticing Details

Suddenly, we have time to ask ourselves such questions. We may even be discovering that we’ve always had time. Time to wriggle fingers in loamy soil, to take that morning walk, to notice the violet underside of a rain cloud. Time to hang laundry on a clothesline, trading the whir of machinery for the chirp of a meadowlark. Time to notice the movement of a field mouse among flowers.

A collage of Irish roadside ferns and sea shells is a reminder that noticing nature’s patterns fosters a cultural attitude of wanting to protect the environment and preserve its awe-inspiring beauty. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

We’re remembering how one living thing connects to another, and it’s prompting us to weigh costs and consequences. If I choose this instead of that, who and what are affected? What’s harmful, what’s helpful?

We’re revisiting priorities. What do I want my time to grow into? Do I really need all those items that go from store to storage?

We’re realizing we can only buy so much, wear so much, eat so much, do so much. Oh, I see: We’re re-encountering what truly sustains us.

A sign for a preserve on the gate to a field in rural Ireland evokes the importance of protecting nature, which is both awe-inspiring and fragile. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Putting Ourselves on Notice

Meanwhile, the call of our old lives is echoing. After lockdown, the moon will still be passing over us. Will we look up? After lockdown, the song of the smallest bird will still be richer than the loudest “tweet” online. Will we hear it? After lockdown, the sunrise will still illuminate Earth, revealing both what’s wonderful and what’s wounded. Will we attend to it?

How will our cultural attitudes toward nature shift? What notice will we take of our environment when the old distractions come clamoring? What, then, will we make of our rediscovered awe of nature? A pleasant but fading memory or an attentive new journey?

A sunset glimmering through a grove of sycamore trees in Ireland is awe-inspiring, a reminder to notice nature every day and night . (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

To see more of this area, visit @BallyshaneStays on Instagram.

Download “Noticing Nature,” the report, here.