To restake our claim as a nation of welcomes, we are being urged to be all-round good guys pumped up with positivity, writes ORNA MULCAHY
START PRACTISING in the mirror.
Head to one side, relax that rictus of worry about what An Bord Snip Nua has in store for you. Forget the fact that you could soon be, or already are, out of a job. Park that row you’re having with the bank manager who’s treating you like a dose of swine flu. That’s it, breathe deeply and let your anger go. Now, gently does it, try putting on a nice friendly, open face. No, not the oily ingratiating one you use when trying to get an extra 20 per cent off, or the craven face you put on when trying to catch the waiter’s attention to say that your food is, er, cold and actually not very nice. Try harder, remember that time when Ireland beat England one-nil . . . and muster up a genuine, eye-crinkling smile and then don’t let it slip away . . . hold it. Get used to it. Wear it when out and about, particularly where you see a group of people walking towards you wearing colourful rain gear and fanny packs and carrying a guide book. Beam at them as they go by and, if by chance they stop to ask you the way, stand and chat. Smile and Be Friendly. You will be doing your bit.
Misery is bad for business. It’s in our national interest to buck up and be happy – according to tourism chiefs who yesterday warned that Ireland of the Welcomes is slipping down the league table of friendly places to visit. Prices may be coming down across the country, but so is the national mood. That warm Irish welcome promised in every hotel and BB across the country is no longer guaranteed, they say. Our unique selling point, says Tourism Ireland and Fáilte Ireland, is on the wane. In 2002, they say, 45 per cent of tourists surveyed said the people were Ireland’s number one advantage. By last year, that had fallen to 39 per cent.
Now, with a new campaign called Shine, they’re urging all of us, not just redheads, to turn on the charm. We’re being urged to talk to tourists, tell them about our place and send them home with good memories. The message is aimed at hotel and bar staff, restaurateurs and other tourism workers as the summer season gets under way. Which will be a bit confusing for them. For tourists, the warm Irish welcome will often turn out to be a brisk and efficient Polish, Chinese, Brazilian or Lithuanian welcome.
That puts the onus on the rest of us to be welcoming. Lord knows I do my bit. Passing each day to work through the tourists’ “Bermuda Triangle” between College Green and Pearse Street, I’m ready to give directions. The pavements are generally cluttered with visitors standing around looking bemused. They squint up at street signs and down again at billowing maps, or confer sulkily among themselves. One direction will take them back towards the haven that is Trinity College. The other will lead them past the local methadone clinic. There’s little in the way of signposting. A bit of brass in the pavement announcing that they’re on the Joyce Trail – but to where? Where in tarnation do the tourists find themselves?
It’s always a bit of a gamble to accost these sensibly-shod folk. They might be enjoying the sensation of being lost in a new city, even if they are headed for a particularly filthy alleyway. Some are suspicious, others hostile. Women sometimes rear back, thinking their bag is going to be snatched. Men, as a rule, don’t like it when you ask if they need directions, since they generally consider themselves excellent navigators. I’m sure they are, but it’s not their fault freebie maps are so confusing – and anyway, which way is up? Mostly, they just want to know the way to the Book of Kells or the Guinness Hop Store.
Let’s have some temporary tourist information booths around the city. They could occupy some of the empty shops. Or we could have pretty, inexpensive wooden booths, maybe with a thatched roof and a half-door, where visitors could drop by to ask the way to Grafton Street, or where’s a good place around here to get lunch. These booths could be manned by the country’s out-of-work teenagers and recent graduates who need the money and who are naturally good-natured – and not yet bowed down by the state we’re in.
Talking of tourism projects, let’s not have the abuse museum suggested this week by Ruairí Quinn. The Jeanie Johnston famine ship is grounded because it costs too much to man. A museum filled with the “shameful memories of our past” might have a similar fate. These worthy projects cost a fortune to run, and sometimes the public just isn’t interested enough. Would people pay to visit and maintain an abuse museum? If there is money available, why not have a beautiful garden with a tree or a flower planted for every victim. Such a place might soothe the soul, but a room of shame, ignorance and pain would wipe the smile off anyone’s face.