Some things never change …

Travelling has always been something the Irish have done.  Back in the days of the famine we left on ships in our droves, destine for other shores, determined to make our fortunes.  When the recession hit in the eighties, be it America, England or further ashore, we hit the high seas or at least the great highways in the sky, determined that the then poor “current economic climate” (dontcha just hate that phrase?) wouldn’t hamper our grand plans for a prosperous life.  Nowadays, we’re still travelling, but its the celtic tiger generation, like me who are doing it.  Not content with the fact that we grew up in, without a doubt the most prosperous times our nation has ever experienced, we yearn to see more!  Not that this is a bad thing.  We’ve lived privileged lives, we might just learn a few lessons as we travel!

Being of this privileged generation of Irish travellers, I’ve had the chance over the past few months the visit some of the most beautiful, but also most impoverished countries in the world.  Travel in them is incredible – breathtaking scenery, taste bud tantalising cuisine at every street corner (literally) – but its also challenging.  So, much as I am ashamed of myself at admitting it, it was going to be nice to arrive in Australia.  Ok, so its the opposite side of the world, almost as far away as you can get from home, but it was definitely going to afford some of the creature comforts I’d been missing. 

Generations before me arrived here, eager to make a new life, prepared to work their fingers to the bone to do just that – scrubbing floors, cleaning streets, working the land, building the country I was now exploring.  Not me, I was here to enjoy the great barrier reef, the sun, sea and surf, the infamous aussie beach lifestyle.  Imagine my surprise though, when history deigned to repeat itself.

I’ve seen those TV documentary shows in Sydney airport.  I know its worse to lie on your customs forms, no matter how trivial the lie might seem.  I checked down through the form – No, I have no illegal drugs – No, I’m not carrying in excess of $10,000 AUS (I wish), No – I’m pretty sure I am not carrying any weapons or explosives, No – I have no fruit or nuts (proud of that one, that’s what they always catch the backpackers on).  Next ..! Mud soiled footwear? Ah, that’ll be a yes then – muddy boots from trekking in Nepal and Laos, muddy runners from running in Singapore.  But sure, I’ve declared it, I’m sorted!  Its been a long overnight flight – welcoming as Cairns airport is, I just want to get out of it and to the hospital.

Unfortunately, Cairns customs officials and the ghosts of Irish travellers past had other plans.   We were informed our shoes, the mud soiled ones, would need to be cleaned and were pointed to the cleaning station.  Maybe its the celtic tiger cub in me, but I honestly expected I would hand over the shoes and receive back a spanking new pair of runners and a gleaming pair of trekking boots.  Not so. 

At 6.30am, after a two-legged eight-hour flight, I was handed a bottle of hardcore disinfectant (this stuff kills ANYTHING) and a scrubbing brush pointed towards the sink and told by the customs officer he’d be back shortly to check on me. 

All the way to Australia to scrub some spoiled brat’s boots eh?  Some things never change!!!!