What’s so remarkable about Ireland, particularly in the summer, is the complete contrast between one place and another, on such a small island. Last weekend, I found myself in the east Cork town of Youghal. It’s one of those jewels in our crown that has been neglected by officialdom for some inexplicable reason. If it was in Italy, it would be venerated and protected for its heritage, and the site of much lucrative tourism.
It’s true that the weather, and price-gouging, drive Irish people abroad for holidays. It’s also fair to say that at times our national pride can be inflated tediously when we bang on with the best little country in the world schtick. But maybe in other fundamental ways, we don’t value our heritage enough. Both things can be true at the same time and are perhaps part of particularly distinctive Irish schizophrenia. We trip off to Tuscan towns and return waxing lyrical, but neglect what is under our noses.
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