As I was on my way to meet a friend after work one afternoon I was forced to duck underneath an awning when an unexpected storm rolled swiftly off the bay and into the center of town.  As the rain grew heavier I stepped further back under the awning of The Bridge Mills restaurant on the western bank of the Corrib River where a small sign next to the door read,

"Civilization as we know it is based in the Cafe de Flore in Paris, the Blackbird in Moscow, and the Bridge Mills in Galway". 

The declaration was as bold as the storm roaring above me. Civilization as we know it? Paris I understand, Moscow maybe, but how civilized can Galway really be? According to those who view civilization as contentment in the simple ways of life that manage to bring a few quid for food and drink, continuous piece of mind and bit of the Craic-the Irish word for good times-the self proclaimed “fastest growing city in Western Europe” is the epitome of civilized living.  An increasing number of Europeans and internationals have made their way to Galway because of the permeating sense that this is precisely the way life should be lived; simple, comfortable and slow.

For, it is indeed the speed of Galway that separates it from the outside world.  This city isn’t Dublin, and it doesn’t want to be because it retains the bohemian timelessness of an arts town nestled on the edge of the ocean. The food, drink, art and music scenes are as varied as they are accessible, and there is a convivial, well educated populace with which to share it all. However, while the pace of life is unique to Galway the feelings of progressiveness are representative in the changing attitudes of the entire Emerald Isle. Success defined as a measure of fiscal gain is not central to this way of life; rather it’s the ability to exploit the facets of happiness and freedom provided by opportunity that carry the weight of accomplishment.

Ireland is a very old country, but a very young nation.  The country is comparatively small with a population of nearly 4 million people, but it has a major impact on the world; over 60 million people world wide claim to be Irish descendants. A strong economy and a young, confident, well-educated workforce are contained in its arsenal of emerging strengths.  For the first time in the history of the republic the number of people returning to these shores outnumbers the ones leaving.  Ireland’s young population has developed a headstrong opinion of their place in the world; proclaiming their arrival as a player on the international scene with the cacophonous roar of the Celtic Tiger. Their ferocity however, doesn’t inspire trepidation, rather the infectious enthusiasm of a vivacious host..

“Where would we go?  One young woman who holds a job at the Bank of Ireland asked me “pubs aren’t at all like bars in America, they’re public houses where we come together to talk about the day, to have a bite to eat, a pint and maybe a smoke before we return to our houses through the feckin dampness of that bitch the Atlantic. These are our homes and our families.” 

There is an entire culture of such attitudes in Galway ascending to the surface differently amidst the myriad of incongruous lifestyles and contrasting occupations.  One local worked sparingly, juggled in the street for change, and frequented the vast expanse of pubs.  He planned to attend a performing art school outside of Ireland but Ecstasy kept him too removed from reality to realize that the days were quickly becoming years.  Another young man stopped through Galway on his way from Spain back to South America.  He planned on being in Galway for less than a week; one last stop before returning home to the country of his birth. When I spoke with him he’d been working odd jobs in the city by the bay for two years and had met an Irish girl who planned to travel to South America with him when he left.  Both of them were jovial, effervescent people and both of them were always in the pub; barely keeping their heads above the water line of both drunkenness and self imposed poverty.  Attempting to save cash in the graveyard of ambition of Galway kept them unproductively in the pub scene and consistently unable to keep hold of that elusive extra pound. 

There isn’t the same sense of urgency imbedded in Irish University students as their peers in the U.S.  They realize that they’re in school to learn as much about life as they do about academics and such feelings combined with the Irish government’s offer of a free university level education for academically qualified students leaves them ample opportunity to do so.

The storm eventually passed over and as the sun returned, I continued my journey through the steamy streets.  A rush of people who seemed particularly settled into the speed of the Galway lifestyle crowded the road around me; pouring out of pubs, headed to work or to class - all looking intent on arriving somewhere. So perhaps the critics were wrong, perhaps those who appear to be treading water in places like Galway, whether they are students or not, may be confident in their ability to have an impact on the world without feeling the need to rush out into the storm before they’re ready. After all, the easy going nature of the Irish is what brought me to the county, and then to Galway, in the first place. I was only passing through and before I knew it, the town embraced me and an accidental tourist became an intended if not temporary resident.

When I finally arrived at Biquets, a French wine bar near the center of town, my friend was waiting, and she was much drier than I. We sat down at the bar to a nice glass of Bordeaux (an increasingly more common availability as Ireland has become Europe’s largest new consumer of wine) and raised our glasses for a toast. 

”Here is to the good life” she said, “for those who have the sense to know how and where to live it.” 

I paused at the thought of what she’d said, “For those who have the sense to know how and where to live it.” 

An older woman behind us raised her glass and looked into the distance over our table - perhaps caught in some distant memory when she first uttered those words. 

“Thank god for dreamers” she whispered, her voice muted by a rough smoky cough.