The honeymoon days in any new place are often an exciting blur. Sometimes, that sense of wonder gets marred by the shame of making a cultural faux pas. As Vincent Vega said in “Pulp Fiction,” “It’s the little differences.” Just as with Irish-English, there are a few cultural twists here in Ireland that have embarrassed me in the company of my new peers. Fool me once, Ireland.
Paper or Plastic … or Nothing?
In America, supermarkets give shoppers their choice of free paper or plastic grocery bags. Irish supermarkets are a bit more eco-conscious so to minimize waste, they give away … nothing. Until you catch on you’ll stand there, dumb as a stone, faced with the prospect of juggling loose cartons of orange juice and cereal boxes all the way home. Chains like TESCO sell reusable bags, which are grand. Unless you forget yours.
All Hail the Bus
Back home, we hail cabs and The Chief. Here in Dublin, they hail cabs and public buses. Buses only stop when passengers press the “stopping” button or flag them down in the street. Forget to wave and you’ll have to wait for another. Keep in mind that a bus will not stop if you hail it one second too late and chase after it while frantically waving your arms like air traffic batons. Not that I’d know.
Tipping
In America, we tip anyone who breathes. In Ireland, they tip only … well, I’m still figuring it out so please lend me some advice lest I get chased down by a disgruntled florist. In Ireland, you tip the barber and maybe leave a couple Euro for the cab driver or the waitress if – and only if - they ‘re good. But what about the pub?
An Irishman and a girl from New York walk into a bar. The New Yorker orders a bottle of Bulmer’s. When the bottle arrives, the New Yorker tips a Euro. The Irishman shouts, “What are you doing? You don’t tip the barman!” He grabs the coin away. Then he tells his friends and they tease the New Yorker for the rest of her life. “Ha ha!” they sneer. “You never tip the barman! Only if he’s the best barman in the entire world and if – if! – you’re feeling generous. Ha ha! Americans.”
No, there’s no punchline. I wish it were really a joke.
To the Left, To the Left
Two years in Japan and I never got used to the idea of driving on the left side of the road. A couple days after arriving in Dublin, my boyfriend’s uncle offered to drive us down to Cork. Ready to go, I tossed my things in the passenger seat.
“You’re driving?” he asked.
In countries that drive on the left, the steering wheel is on the right side of the car. I’d accidentally thrown my purse in the driver seat.
Don’t get me started on crossing the road.
So I can get used to calling a cookies “biscuits” and a line a “queue” … but dealing with left hand traffic? Please help, or my next tripwolf post will be written from a hospital bed.
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2 Comments
Never, ever, ever call your rear end your fannie (it means something specific to female anatomy in Ireland-speak). And if your friends ask you if you’d like to go have some crack, 99% of the time they’re actually asking if you’d like to go have fun. (They actually spell it craic). And don’t ever count on a bus actually showing up in Cork city… they might speed by two at a time and be completely full after you’ve waited an hour fifteen instead of the 30 min that the buses are supposed to take.
Honestly, you Yanks are such wimps about driving on the left hand side of the road.
Brits & Aussies routinely drive in Europe & the US on the right hand side without any discernible problems or need for advice.
(I’ve also met heaps of Europeans driving in the UK & Australia.)
Please, just get on with it and stop complaining! You’re really not so special.
And, yes, they also master crossing the street with the traffic coming from the opposite direction from what they expect.