Signposts

About a decade ago the local blobby roll published a letter from some sincerely bewildered Aussies. They explained how they had been travelling in Ireland and had lost their way, thanks to a sign-post having been deliberately turned the wrong way. They found themselves in the paradise of Cavan. It was beautiful they said, and they could not believe that such a jewel was being kept hidden by those responsible for tourism promotion. They ended their letter with a call for money to be spent on promoting Cavan as a tourism destination. They were obviously naive souls, unaware that money was already being spent on promoting Cavan's tourism assets. But they were genuinely unaware of this.

In my in-bred spirit of bloody-mindedness I penned a little letter of my own to the paper, titled Tinker Tailor Soldier Tourist. It was obvious that the most effective means of promoting Cavan was to use underhand and unorthodox means, taken perhaps from the pages of John le Carre. Perhaps there should be a new breed of tourism touts who would form a veriable fifth column. They would stand at strategic cross-roads in neighbouring districts, adopting the disguise of farmers looking at cattle in fields, but really keeping a look-out for the tell-tale signs of tourists who had lost their way. To their entreaties for directions they would give false information, directing them instead to County Cavan.

The local paper published my letter. Back then it still had some aspirations towards decency, since pulverised by the perverted desires of some members of staff to feed the narcissistic proclivities of their friends for cheap publicity. But leaving that to one side, let's go back to the Australian's letter. Since then much money has been spent on tourism in Cavan. The present government is to be lauded for increasing the amount. But what difference has it made?

Let us go back to the specific topic of sign-posting. Prime Minister Bertie Ahern is coming to Cavan this week, but heaven forbid he might look for the spanking new, "state-of-the-fart" tourism office. He won't find it, especially if he follows the signs. Now call me an arrogant sot but what sort of people put up wrong signposts? I can understand not putting up any at all. "Ah fuck it, I can't bother me arse putting up fuckin' signs. Sure can't the hoors ax [sic] som'in if they get lost like?" But to go to the trouble of commissioning signs and erecting them apparently at random implies imbecillity. "Ah sure what odds? If tha get lost tha get lost. Sure it can't be helped."

Recently a friend told me of a new campaign to promote Cavan and Monaghan involving TV advertising. This involved shots of people fishing, or at least holding a rod, and teeing off in a game of golf. These took place somewhere in County Cavan but where wasn't alluded to. It could have been anywhere. So, come to (or in) Cavan, fish and play golf. That's it is it? But I should hardly be surprised at the apparent reticence of the TV campaign to identify the sights shown. Those who commissioned and oversaw the campaign are familiares. They don't know the identities of the locations themselves. Some of them don't know where Cavan is. "Is it in Northern Ireland?" And don't forget that the camera team didn't know the places from the proverbial Adam. They are usually strangers, getting their overnight accommodation expenses in addition to their fees.

I have no time for this marketing crap. Tourism in Cavan is not just a product, to be promoted like a tin of baked beans or a brand of de-oderant. It is a far more complex phenomenon. For my part I liked to promote Cavan light-heatedly in My Only Planet Guide to Cavan. This mixed fact and fantasy, filling in the gray gaps with elements from my at times thwarted imagination, a la Myles na Gopaleen. Those who want to savour this can do so on my Tips for tourists page of my website. It may not be great literature but I certainly enjoyed writing it far more than reading the annodyne shite emanating from Tourism Ireland. Of course I was taken to task by a blow-in who, though hailing from San Francisco, retired to Ireland where he was inducted into the family. I was told in a most condescending manner that though I might be aiming to emulate Monty Python, I had missed the mark by a wide margin. i was also told that I could do far better. My response is that I think that I can, when the muse visits me, write stuff far superior to the often repetitive and silly dribble of Monty Python; Why should I produce stuff acceptable to "the family"? So that they can purloin it (attributing it to one of their shady members)? People might think that I want to participate in the shameful charivari which is Irish tourism promotion and rub shoulders with the Brute-wreaking wife-beaters in their oily suites. No bloody way Jose. As I said to the disapproving commentator: Fuck Off!