A timely reminder of why we left Dublin in the first place

Letter from Sydney: Almost a year ago an article I wrote about why I moved to Sydney from Dublin caused a bit of a stir. A year away gives you a lot of perspective, particularly when we've just got back from a trip home, writes Padraig Collins.

We did not go back just to put a three-week west Limerick dent in our 22-month-old daughter's nascent Aussie twang (that did happen, though, and even if the benefits are short-lived, a Sydney accent is infinitely preferable to her growing up surrounded by people who have that hideous "rindabite" AA Roadwatch-speak Dublin accent).

I wanted to see if Ireland had changed or, more accurately, if my attitude to Ireland had changed. In order to vastly improve the chances of a good time, we made two decisions, one to spend no more than two nights in Dublin and the other to ignore the prices of things as best we could.

Last December I desperately wanted to be in Ireland (there's just something very wrong about Christmas in 40-degree heat), but mostly homesickness did not affect me that much.

I missed the pubs, for the conversations and proper Guinness. I missed going to see Shelbourne play (in case you're wondering how a Limerick man comes to support a Dublin soccer team, it's because my college years were spent living in Drumcondra).

I missed RTÉ - the Australian Broadcasting Corporation is very good, but the commercial stations make TV3 seem like an intellectual colossus.

What I missed most about RTÉ was the Aertel text service. Teletext does not exist on Australian TV, and you've never seen a blank look until you've seen the one when you're trying to explain to someone here what it is: "You press a button on the remote, and the picture disappears and is replaced by hundreds of pages of text . . ."

I missed the early promise that Limerick's senior hurling team always show. Less so the disappointment that almost always follows in mid-July.

I missed curry chips. Never let anyone kid you that Ireland is still monocultural. We embraced multiculturalism a long time ago by adding curry sauce to chips. I missed that other great potato staple, Tayto, and was very saddened to see both them and Guinness laying off hundreds of workers when we were at home.

Pubs, Guinness, conversation and potato products were consumed in large quantities while at home. I did not see a Shelbourne match, but did see Limerick play in the Munster football final against Kerry.

I'm not a Gaelic football fan - too many teenage memories of warming the subs' bench and only getting a late-game run when Adare were so far ahead or behind that my presence wasn't going to make a difference - but went down to Killarney for the final after my grand-uncle, who played for Kerry in the 1950s, assured me that Limerick were favourites. Who knew a retired priest would have such a cruel sense of humour?

Though we only spent 48 hours in Dublin, it was enough to provide a forceful reminder of why we left in the first place. It's even worse now, with a lot of the city centre dug up for the Luas. I just hope it does not prove to be the white elephant that has been widely predicted. Maybe Dublin will be a commuter's dream in a few years' time . . .

We did, mostly, manage to ignore the prices of things, but one example stuck in my mind and craw. Five of us had lunch in a city-centre noodle restaurant. We had five main courses, one starter, one beer, one glass of wine and three minerals. The bill came to around €90.

Not too bad, I thought. But then I translated that into Australian dollars and thought about the banquet we could have had for that price in Sydney.

The euro currency took a while to get used to again, particularly the one- and two-cent coins, both of which were done away with in Australia when I first lived here in 1992.

The system works perfectly well without them. If your bill ends in one, two six or seven cents, it is rounded down. If it ends in three, four, eight or nine cents it is rounded up. What you lose on the swings you gain on the roundabouts. Simple. How about a campaign to rid the euro-zone of one- and two-cent pieces?

Some of the things I miss most about Ireland are actually English. Picking up copies of the Guardian and Observer, watching Eastenders, listening to Radio Five Live, occasionally seeing Liverpool play in the flesh rather than on TV - these are all things it's not possible to do in Sydney.

At home in Adare we visited a little-known place of beauty called The Rockery. It's on private land, but the owner let us in. I had not been there since I was a child and had forgotten about it until we came across the entrance while wandering aimlessly round the village.

I remembered it as being a very spiritual place and it still has that powerful feeling, its circular and rectangular cut-stones still in place. It struck me that I did not know anything about The Rockery other than its very existence. We found out that night that it was both a Mass rock and hedge school during the Penal times.

Another highlight of being at home was visiting my old primary school. With its murals about world peace and landmarks of the village, and its playground with slides and tunnels, the school now looks like a place for children to enjoy themselves, rather than for the Christian Brothers to instil discipline.

It was wonderful to be back, to take a three-week break from Sydney's often-cold winter for Ireland's surprisingly warm summer. But no regrets.

I cross Sydney's magnificent Harbour Bridge every day. As the bus is going over the bridge, I lift my head from the paper and look left to the Opera House, truly one of the wonders of the modern world. And then I think how glad I am to live in such a beautiful city.