Rediscovering the joie de vivre

Back in late 2007, during my first full-time radio job, the general manager of the station in question, a recently-appointed Portuguese man, took to me one side and said, "Brendan, you've lost your joie de vivre."

While he mightn't have been totally correct that at 22 years of age I wasn't happy with life in general, I was certainly dissatisfied with some, largely work-related aspects, and this obviously showed in my behaviour. Like many, I wear my heart on my sleeve.

Contemplating the future. The answers lie within ...

In many ways, that period marked the beginning of a new departure. In a few months I had left that radio station to take up an ill-fated editor position at another one. Before 2008 was out, I'd my backpack in tow, embarking on a 10-month adventure that took me around South America, New Zealand, Australia and parts of South-East Asia.

A return to broadcasting and Ireland followed, before, once again, wanderlust took over. South America was calling. After an initial three-month stint in Santiago de Chile, it was Colombia that became the base in late 2011. That's pretty much how it has been since.

Of course, starting off in a new country from scratch, that is to say moving without a job already secured or any clear plan, makes things a little more difficult. It takes time to get established. 

What's more, in many developing countries such as Colombia, working freelance in an unstable sector and earning the local currency means it's not easy to get into a comfortable situation financially speaking.

Personally, the first two to three years here had enough adventure and excitement, as well as a trickle of cash flowing in, to keep me relatively content. Heck, there was even (and still is, minus the same excitement) the odd TV 'super extra' gigs. The joie de vivre was there.

However, in the last couple of years, this has been on the wane. Again, the root cause seems more job related than anything else. The accidental teacher has become tired with his lot. 

The mediocrity has gone on a few years too many truth be told. On that score, the ante has been upped of late to find something more fulfilling, whatever that may be and wherever that may take me.

It must be pointed out that it's not exactly the location that I've grown tired of; Colombia and even Bogotá itself still excite. However, once you become mired in one important element, even if it is not exactly place specific, it can be difficult to focus on the many other positives. The grey cloud darkens all.

That notwithstanding, another, not-insignificant aspect that isn't exactly a roaring success is in the dating game (yes, here we go yet again).

The Colombia, nay Bogotá, I feel compatible with, at home in, is the tienda, what you might call more campesino/country style of life. Now, this isn't just from a price perspective, as has been explained before.

Unfortunately, in terms of most of the Colombianas I've been attracted to and tried to have something with, going out in such places is anathema to them. The ridiculously overpriced, fancier but fake locations are anathema to me. Plus, as someone who likes to try to be honest from the get-go, it tends to work against you here.

Yes, I've wasted time and money with too many interesadas, but it's generally the nature of the fauna in these parts.

Unlike the work situation, the above is more a problem of place, an incompatibility of sorts (but not in all cases, it's just 'compatibility' has been harder to find of late; you could say I've become more stubborn, not less!).

Looking at it all together, it's not that things aren't working or the joie de vivre is gone, it's just that it's not going exactly how I'd like. Of course, many people live their whole lives that way, a reluctant acceptance of their lot.

As long as you're still breathing, though, there's always time to change and explore other options. For a singleton without children to care for, this is even more so the case.
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Punching back

Amid all the justified euphoria of the Irish, at home and abroad, celebrating Katie Taylor punching her way to gold-medal success at London 2012, a few less celebratory side-stories were played out in the media. 

The first came when our boxing champ was — in error we’re told, although some people think differently —  called British by a journalist in The Telegraph. 

Now, she may be from the historic Pale area of Ireland and have a Liverpool-born father but that does not make her British by definition — despite what some Irish from other parts of the island might have you believe. 

'Is that a Union Jack I see on the Aussie flag?'

Sure if she had been brought up British at 26 years of age she’d probably have at least two children by now and be living in some rough council estate at the state’s mercy. (What's that you say? This happens nowadays in good old Catholic Ireland? No way!) 

Nevertheless, colonial tendencies die hard (hence, so many Colombians love pilfering) so we’ll let our neighbour across the Irish Sea off on this one.

It’s a little bit harder, though, to be as lenient towards the Australian sports pundit Russell Barwick. Not because we’re offended — we tend not to let a few misinformed utterances upset us — but more because of the pure ignorance of a man in his position. 

For a prisoner – sorry, I mean an Aussie – to say Ireland ‘is a joke’ for not joining Team Great Britain at the Olympics is a bit rich to state the least. 

Without going into our own cultural, geographical or political situation, the very fact that Barwick comes from Australia is more than likely because of the British. His country’s flag proudly displays the Union Jack, its currency has the head of the British Queen while, lest we forget, he also happens to be one of her subjects. 

Surely, then, his dependency has a much stronger argument to join up with the British for sporting and other events than the Irish. Just let the Aborigines go it alone.   

A world of drinkers with the Irishman leading them — the 'Wrong Way'.

Then we had a couple of episodes bringing us back to the old drunken-Irish stereotype. The harshest if you will (again, not that we get too offended) of these came from, once more, an Australian. One, coincidentally enough, with a very Irish sounding surname, Hanlon (Peter). 

What he penned was deemed so offensive in this politically correct world (Survival of the Dumbest http://bit.ly/NNg2E8 has more on that subject) that the Irish Ambassador to Australia was moved to write a letter of complaint to Fairfax Media, the group which ran with the story. 

Come on, one of the better Irish traits is usually our ability not to take ourselves too seriously. 

Plus, what he wrote was semi-amusing and semi-accurate in some regards, such as: “For centuries, Guinness and whiskey have sent the Irish off their heads. Now all it takes is a petite 26-year-old from Wicklow.” 

In fairness, we probably still need at least a smidgen of Guinness or whiskey to really get us going.

The Yanks, too, got in on the ‘have a go at the "alco" Irish’ jibe, with USA Today chief sports columnist Jon Saraceno writing, “Back home on the emerald-green isle, pints of Guinness flowed freely, perhaps enough to replenish the Irish Sea.” 

Fair enough really, it’s just we’re not too sure if the Irish Sea needs replenishing.

'Get it into you, son.' They like beer in Latin America, too.

One of the biggest problems with this entire drunken-Irish stereotype is that we’re really not the world masters at drinking we — secretly or otherwise — like to think we are. 

We’ve encountered plenty of non-Irish across the globe who can drink copious amounts of booze yet they fail to get lauded for it. 

Sticking with the Aussies, sure our friends ‘Down Unda’ habitually have a stubby or whatever they call it for breakfast, followed by another few for lunch before ‘warming up’ with some more in the evening prior to a night on the lash. 

The Colombians, too, know how to drink, they usually just sweat it off much quicker than us with all that needless salsa dancing (for more on that see ‘Lord of the Dance’ http://bit.ly/S7A8eS). 

Heck, we’ve also witnessed a healthy drinking culture in South-East Asia – it’s just the poor buggers’ bodies there physically won’t allow them consume as much as us. If they could hold out longer, we’ve no doubt they would.

In truth, we’re happy to keep our world-renowned drinking reputation in tact. For one, it helps keep the global Irish pub business thriving – the same cannot be said for the national market.*

Plus, in order to overcome a perceived problem you must first realise you have one. 

So while we know we like to drink, other nationalities are still deluding themselves that they don’t. 

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*Check out our previous ‘An Irish lament’ http://bit.ly/MmS5bm for a detailed look at that.