The Lowell Courtney Travel Blog

America The Resilient

Good day, my people. 

Once again, I apologise de profundis for my absence but, having retired from my office careers after 32 stress-filled years on Jan 31, I bethought me that there was more than a little travelling to do, so I have begun.

Many of my American friends will know that I have been criss-crossing the USA recently.  And I want to write and tell you - for this blog is not, and will never be either a "look at me and Mickey in Florida" self-promotional or a "rent a rant" - that I have been greatly impressed by the self-doubt which was expressed to me throughout.

Many people in the US are very concerned that the rise of China and the other "consumption is grand but greed is good" countries will eclipse not only the economy but also the "core values" which have stood you in good stead for many years.  I disagree, for the following reasons:

1. It is true that the People's Republic (now there's a fine misnomer) has made great economic advances in the past 20 years.  Whose lifestyle are they seeking to emulate? Mozambique's? And what has driven them onwards and upwards in economic terms? It is the desire of many ambitious individuals to do well for themselves and their families without so much as a backward glance at state planning pronouncements.  Do I hear echoes of "life, liberty and the pursuit of a one bedroom des res in an attractive suburb of Shanghai?"
2. Where does the bulk of the technology come from which has enabled this Great Leap Forward? California and points east, people.  And this in turn derives in part from the power of the American education system which, at the very highest level, is still awesome i.e. where it really counts in the correctly named inter-national struggle for supremacy.  Make no mistake, brethren, a race to the top it is and to deny same is to run sluggishly and unproductively against the very nature and neocortex which has enabled man to move on up. 
3. As was pointed out to me in Chicago, America is unrivalled in its ability to respond to - and yes, to mould client demand. Call it innovation or flim-flam, the business of America is still business, par excellence. In the words of the song: "Ain't nobody does it better", if you'll pardon the punctuation.  I had occasion recently to try and make a US airline understand that I was trying to feed them business not for pecuniary but for relationship gain. After several head against wall sessions, I put it this way: If relationship building was an Olympic sport, Ireland would be on the podium each time.  Success.
4. And there is a morality in the US which should dazzle the rest of the world - and we nasty, cynical Europeans might want to re-think our regular condemnations.  It's an oft-quoted statistic that over 70% of Americans (versus 12% in England) are regular churchgoers. Now my enemies will jump on this and say that much so-called religion in USA is either pure hypocrisy or the money collectors in the Temple. Undoubtedly so, but hearken unto me: I was in an - admittedly large - church in Tennessee which decided 30 years ago to take mission work seriously and now raises $1.3 million per annum to support over 140 people, many of whom are merely doing their day job in conditions and under threats which would give most of us the vapours. As our (David and myself) favourite wayside pulpit puts it: Be careful how you live your life: it may be the only bible which some people ever read.
5. This desire to help shows me how much the basic values of America are alive and well: self-help; hard work; indivdual giving and rallying to neighbours in distress. And yes, I do enjoy the parodies in "Desperate Housewives", thank you. But the core moral firmness of America (sorry, Canada and Mexico) stands as solidly as the massed ranks of Munstermen at a rugby match.  Of course, like any government in a similar position, the White House and State and the Pentagon are not averse to strong-arming in US interests. What do you think they're paid for? And wouldn't you like to be able to do the same or are you so pure that you wouldn't give it a thought? But - and here's the rub - if you disagree with what the government - your government - is doing - you say so and try and change it, using the power of the townhall meeting and the net. Try that one in Zimbabwe, Sudan, Libya etc etc.  Many Americans despair of the present run up to the election - just remember that you are free to not only dissent but to express your dissent. Which you do - regularly and vociferously.
6. And finally, the dollar. Swings and roundabouts. I well remember when the pound sterling bought only $1.05. And so what if the Chinese are hollding trillions of T-bills? What are they going to buy with them (apart from your ports etc)? From whom are they going to purchase and where are they going to cash them in? And now they are learning that power brings responsibilty - and that staging the Olympics brings with it some form of accountability to the rest of the world, none of whom are going to be silenced by torch-bearing paramilitaries.

So be of good cheer. Continue to debate and protest and buy and sell and raise your children and teach them well and do your damndest for your friends and family and pray and give of your time and money - for there's no pockets in a shroud and no luggage racks on a hearse. Up and at'em; up and at'em.

Long may you live to do so.

The Nomenklatura

Today's post comes courtesy of a good friend in South Africa, Mr Mike Madin, secretary of the Cullinan Golf Club.  Mike and his pals have been very courteous in their appreciation of these politically incorrect and anarchic ramblings and, as always, have sent me off on an unexpected tangent.

Mike hails from St Helens in Lancashire, a county occasionally attached to the rest of England - but not as semi-detached as its neighbour Yorkshire - and for those of you who have not yet lived life to its fullest, it is one of the great spiritual homes of rugby league, the ancestor of what our transatlantic friends call "football" - minus the Kevlar.  The "nomenklatura" - the select "named ones" - was the underground press name for the top officials in the old Soviet Union.  You know the type: the sort of people who think that failure to deliver their weekly pound of best baluga is the end of civilisation as we know it.

And whilst thinking of names, an odd thought occurred to me.  Whilst we rugby union types know the South Africans as Springboks, the New Zealanders as the All Blacks and the Australians as Whingeing Bums (sorry chaps, that's your cricket team), it has lately become the fashion to apply ferocious sounding names to rugby league and union teams, both in GB and in South Africa, all modelled on the NFL teams.  So the New York Giants and the Denver Broncos and their ilk have produced the Sale Sharks (union), the Wigan Warriors (league) and their South African equivalents: Blue Bulls, Golden Lions and Free State Cheetahs.

Now -and you can see where this is going, can't you - let us translate this slavering gladiatorial ambition to the more gentlemanly Elysian fields which we call golf courses. And this being Ryder Cup year - ach, you're way ahead of me, dear readers, miles ahead - what shall we call our teams?  I can sense my invitiation to both the Open and the US PGA slipping away in the post at this stage, but let us adventure into this savage undergrowth.

Depending on the outcome, America could be Zinger's Winners and the Europeans could be Faldo's Folders. Conversely, we could produce the Yankee Yippers (shades of Baltusrol) and the Eurofighters. Any printable suggestions welcome, especially when we come to the World Cup, currently held by the Scottish Sabres.  However, gentlemen, perhaps you might want to think long and hard before you come to the Solheim Cup teams. I smell trouble on the horizon and I suspect that Morgan's Marauders versus Annika's Angels could land us all in DS faster than you can say "Rolex."

Whatever your thoughts, any humour would be most welcome in the bleak midwinter, when 80 mph winds are doing their best to remove my roof and my internet connection.  If you're based in the southern hemisphere - could you please send some sunshine? Express delivery.  Thanks.

Two way traffic

Greetings and HNY (nothing to do with the fine city of Noo Yawk) to all of you. Now that we have survived XMS - which sounds like a rude verson of Vista - we can get on with the business of 2008 which is, glory be, an election year in your fine domain.

Now I know that many of you will groan and weep at the thought of ten months' electioneering but it keeps the rest of us well diverted and entertained and takes our minds off the credit crunch, the sub prime crisis and the general "end of the world as we know it" rubbish which is being peddled daily.  As Tom Lehrer once said: What we need is not a revivalist hymn but a survivalist one.

But today's blog is not about the New Hampshire primary, which sounds as if urgent treatment is needed after such a fearful diagnosis.  No, it's about a letter allegedly written by one James Murray from his new place of residence in New York to a minister in County Tyrone in Ireland.  What is unique about this letter is that it is the best known one written in Ulster Scots, encouraging emigration from the north of Ireland to 'Amerikay'.

There are two versions: 1737 and 1767 and, truth told, no -one can say  whether it is bona fide or a pamphleteer's best effort to pay off a drink debt to a shipping agent. Who knows - who cares? Either way, it is a fascinating insight into the sort of propaganda which drew over 100,000 presbyterians to abandon life under the crown in Ireland for a chance to be rid of the crown in the Thirteen Colonies. (By the way, we have a delightful college group from Spring Arbor University, Michigan here on winter break at the moment and they challenged me to name the Thirteen. I reckon 12/13 wasn't bad - I blew it on Vermont.) Let me give you some examples:

"Reverend Baptist Boyd, Read this letter, and look, and tell aw the poor Folk of your Place, that God has open'd a door for their Deliverance; for here is ne scant of Breed here, and if your Sons Samuel and James Boyd wad but come here, they wad get mere money in ane Year for teechin a Letin Skulle, nor ye yer sell wad get for Three Years Preeching whar ye are.

There is a great wheen of the Native Folks of this Country turn'd Christians, and will sing the Psalms bonily, and appear to be religious, that gee Ministers plenty of Skins for his Steepend, and he gets Siller plenty for the Skins again......Ye may get Lan here for 10L a Hundred Acres for ever.

There is Servants come here out of Ereland, and have serv'd their Time here, wha are now Justices of the Piece.  Now I have geen you a true description of this York, luke the 8th chapter of Deueteronomy, and what it saith of the Lan there, this is far better."

Suffice to say that the writer paints the picture of a demi-paradise but your man is canny enough to ask his 'kinfolk' to bring all sorts of tools (iron must have been in short supply) wherewith to work the aforesaid land. As a travel ad, it bears comparison with some of National Geographic's more bucolic pieces; as a sales pitch it is a winner, holding out just enough detail and promise to be convincing to people who were fed up with being second class citizens.

Academics can debate its authenticity til' the kine come hame.  As a linguist - I do love the upper case for the substantives, as per modern German - and as a travel writer, I'll happily bet you a twenty that it's nothing but ad copy.  I hear Ulster Scots every day - and this letter is an adman's attempt to re-create the speech patterns of the north of Ireland.  Fake or no, it did its job - which is why 11 of the first 16 presidents  were of Ulster Scots stock. (You call them Scotch-Irish, but those, ladies and gentlemen, are actually two types of whiskey.)

Now then, any one for President O'Bama?

Cheers.

Reader's Christmas questions.

Hello - and I hope you are surviving the Everest-like approach to Christmas.  A well-read client has asked the very reasonable question: So, how do the Irish celebrate Christmas?

Well, it's a long story.....but since you asked:

It all kicks off tomorrow night when the only honest people on the island - the pagans - celebrate the longest night of the year.  I say "only honest people" 'cos most of the rest are dishonest pagans, having abandoned their respective churches and chapel and the love of God for the love of mammon years ago.  The excuse for the big cars, houses, overseas apartments and overdoses of drugs is that Ireland is on the bounce from years of being "oppressed" by the bogeyman next door.  That excuse went out the window about 1960, Ireland having been run for years by an old fool still fighting the wars of the nineteenth century - and employing the economics of an alchemy set to boot.

A very long-standing (20 years) and long-suffering friend of mine (she lost the love of her life and nearly her own life while staying in a hotel near Derry over 10 years ago and has never regained her health nor one penny of compensation) is a pagan. Delightful lady.

The police will be breath-testing old fools like me who have had two glasses of wine and who can find their way home at 35 mph, blindfold.  They will ignore the coked-up youngsters who do over 100 mph on country roads at 2 am, kill all their friends - and are then given eulogies by various ministers of religion who will portray them as near saints, full of promise and love of life - for which, read "tearaway."

The retailers will rub their hands like Ebeneezer Scrooge and count their euros, right up to the last minute  especially the large supermarkets who sell beer at about 10 cents a can as a loss leader and who then, along with all the brewers and distillers piously wash their hands while urging everyone to "Enjoy (insert brand here) responsibly."  Britain's largest supermarket chain - coming your way soon as a revenge for Walmart buying the No 2 operation - is opening its stores at one minute past midnight on Monday - "so that you get 5% extra shopping free."

The churches will conduct candlelit services, just as long as they have carried out full and comprehensive risk assesment strategies and can produce documentary evidence that they are fully health and safety compliant and that all Christmas services are being conducted in line with current best practice.  (Eastern potentates are particulary asked to note that sword-sharpening may only be carried out before soldiers are dispatched to search out newborn children and that any soldier who is accidentally scratched must, within 30 days or sooner, produce a certificate of innoculation against tetanus.)

Taxi drivers will be dreading tomorrow, known colloquially as Black Eye Friday.  This is to mark it out in contrast to Bloody Sunday, Bloody Friday and every other bloody day on which two tribes have been at war, either personally or by proxy.  Tomorrow is the day on which  the building trade downs tools for 10 days at lunchtime; everyone repairs to the pub and by 3 pm all bonhomie has gone the way of all flesh and carefully nurtured revenges for grievances will be produced, exhibited and extracted, like marrows at an agricultural show, with an equal amount of competitive jealousy and ensuing violence.  An acquaintance of mine who owns a hotel on the border has spent 2007 recovering from the application of a club hammer to his skull by one of his bricklayers one year ago to the day.  It is rumoured that he can once again spell "cat".

The broadcasters will be unveiling exactly the same new, dynamic programming as they unveiled last year - hence The Prance of the Seven Veils.  Sentimentalists (no, not you, dearest)  will be scanning the listings for "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Miracle on 34th Street" whilst dreaming up new and fiendish ways of adding Cialis and/or Exlax to the Christmas stuffing being lovingly prepared for the visit of the in-laws.  Golfers will be wondering what the long, thin, club-headed and carefully wrapped parcel under the tree might be - the garden rake will come as a terrible disappointment - and the doctors and nurses in A&E will be preparing good-one liners for their colleagues in theatre, such as "Merry Christmas from the Staph."

But apart from that, we'll all be doing the same as you - a petite glass of sherry, a little nut roast with one veg and plenty of good bracing walks in the glorious sunshine.

I don't think.

Merry Christmas - and thank God we'll be spared Bing for another 11 months!

Putting the CO into coach

I never was strong on geology.  Even training as a tour guide, I had difficulty with pre-Cambrian cretaceous depoits and the like.  Mind you, having taught for 18 odd years, I am very familiar with the cretinaceous period, but that's another story.  To me, rock is Led Zeppelin; shale is a petrol (gas) station, gneiss is how you're supposed to treat people and as for schists - well, let's not go there.

Now you're wondering what the blazes this has to do with CO -or Continental Airlines, to give them their title.  Well, since the rocks in Wales (pre, post or rugby-playing Cambrian - I don't care) are the same as the rocks in Newfoundland, the tectonics gurus have decided that what is now western Europe was once joined to what is now North America. 

Unforutnately, since the two bits began to drift apart, quite a body of water now intervenes - about 2,000 miles at its narrowest. This poses a wee bit of a problem for us who want to visit with you - and vice-versa.  So God gave us Red Bull. Or rather, wings. Or more precisely, Wilbur, Orville and the rest of the lads and lassies who get us backwards and forwards. God bless 'em - t'aint no glamour no more.

All of which brings us to transatlantic carriers, of which there have been a fair range over the years.  Politics, finance and Open Skies being what they are, we are now in the happy position of having several airlines operating between Ireland and USA, with numerous alternatives via London. And it is only in the past year that we in Northern Ireland have had our first direct service from our shores to yours.

Now I don't know what induced - or even how much induced - Continental to add Belfast to its British and Irish destinations -and legion they are, including Glasgow, Edinburgh and Bristol - but I and many another weary traveller are very glad that they have done so.  For years we have had to rise at dawn to catch the first flight to Heathrow (sometimes at over half the transatlantic fare) to connect to one of the Big Four or we have had an equally ungodly start to join the happy throng at Dublin, an airport built to serve 11 million per annum and now handling 17.2 million, Gawd 'elp us.

But now we just dawdle along to Belfast International (aka Aldergrove) and quietly get on a nice wee 757 which takes us to Newark between 2 and 3 pm, leaving plenty of time to wander over to the main east coast line for trains north to Noo Yawk or south to Baltimore etc etc - in fact all the way to Atlanta and N'awleans. And the return trip (jetstream assisted) took all of 5 hours 20 mins, which is on a par with the flight to the Canaries for the winter sun holiday.

And I'd like to compliment the cabin crew: civil without being unctious; attentive without being smarmy and professional to the core.  Murphy's law being what it is, no doubt the next transatlantic flights will be as smooth as Hilary's campaign; as punctual as  El Nino and as tranquil as the Superbowl but so far, so good. I shall report anon but for now, you might want to think about CO -and no, they haven't paid me a dime. Leaving my own experience aside, they do have the benefit that you can fly into one part of the British isles and out of another and whilst their fares are not cheap, I think they represent pretty good value for money.

Over to you, folks.  Your thoughts always welcome.

Putting on the greenbacks

Yes, I'm sorry that the title is another dreadful pun but it is the season of festive cheer, good spirit etc etc.  What? Someone just said: Bah, humbug! Who dat man?  Ah, 'tis a weary American golfer who has just looked at the 2008 rates on Irish golf courses.

Now you might say that it ill behoves an irish tour operator to be in any way remotely critical of the rates being charged by irish golf courses.  Accusations of "betrayal", "petty-mindedness" and "have you seen the rates charged in GB and US?" will be flying through cyberspace. With due respect, lads, I'm only trying to do what any sensible operator might do: put the customer first.

For my sins, I travel around the United States twice a year in the off-season and listen to my clients for the rest of the time.  And I get the distinct impression that €180 (Ballybunion, Tralee, Portrush, Co Down and others) is getting a tad much, no matter what the visitor figures may tell you.  Not to put too fine a point on it, "there is evidence of increasing consumer resistance".  In other words: "How much?!!"

Now of course, there's nothing we can do about the relative value of the euro and sterling versus the dollar - way beyond our control. And there is a strong argument that, were the boot on the other foot, we would have to pay up or shut up.  Anyone who has bought the full Disney World package will be nodding vigorously. But, but: whilst we are very grateful for US green fees - how much would your sub be otherwise, ladies and gents? - it might be more acceptable to the client if you were to show some hospitality to make them feel that they are getting value for their hard-earned money?

There are courses which excel at making the visitor feel welcome -and there are others where you get the distinct impression that you are only cluttering up the place. No names -and don't shoot the messenger - but it might be a good idea to stroke the hand that feeds you.

And please don't tell me that the welcome is even worse in our nearest neighbour and competitor. I know -and have been treated like a pariah in certain establishments who should know much, much better.  That's not the point.  If you are going to take the folding stuff, just please make sure that the failte is up to scratch.

In the belleek midwinter

Yes, I know it's a shocker, but you have to remember that our associates are an educated lot and therefore get the joke. A bit like the punchline to the Tom Brokaw joke: "I'm only a common tater" - and no, we have no clients that I know of in Idaho, but we're always open to offers.

Today is raw.  Not as in dubious videos or peeled onions but as in "It wud skin ye".  The wind is from a bearing somewhere between Cape Cod and the polar ice pack; the showers are vicious; the sea is heaving and a motley collection of sea foam, sticks and a startled sparrow just flew past my window.  Now you know why Dunluce and other medieval castles only had slits for light.

This is the sort of day which cleraly illustrates the metaphorical step from having the skin being peeled off your back to being "skinned" financially, a process which is known chez vous by the grand old American word of "gouging", which I detest.  However, it is also the sort of day which is a good agument for travelling off season, as I do westwards.

For the past three years, I have visited USA in either November or late February/early March and, hypothermia apart, it is an unmitigated pleasure.  People have time for you (even in Gotham), most things run on time (tho' a certain amount of manana must be allowed for) and you are not boiled to death.

Which is why I enjoin all and sundry to think likewise in t'other direction. I remember guiding a party one January along the Antrim Coast Road and being berated by the driver for not encouraging everyone to admire the 10'-12' waves which were pounding the shore. "How many people in Peoria get to see that?" said he.  Point taken.

And even Belleek, the little village with the pottery wihich straddles the border, is great at this time of year. Few tour coaches; leisurely tours, good warm Irish stew - and the opportunity to savour a spectacle to match the Superbowl in all its splendour.  I passed through Belleek last week and saw to my great sorrow that I had just missed the local Gaelic club's grand fund-raising event: Live Pig Racing.

You couldn't make it up.  You just couldn't.  Keep warm.