The gorgeous Garda

One of the most unexpected pleasures of visiting Ireland was the simple joy of all our dealings with the Garda, Ireland's National Police Force. I know, it sounds strange, but I have to say that ever member of the Garda I encountered was not only pleasant and professional, but actively helpful. If you're ever in Ireland, be sure to say hello to as many of them as you can. They're good people.

It started on our first day. It was raining, we were jetlagged, we were lost and we had just discovered that the Irish have not yet discovered the benefits of street signs. Dad leaned out the window at some traffic lights to ask the motorcycle cop beside us for directions to the M3. The officer explained that we needed to turn right at this intersection, where we were currently in the left lane. No problem, he said, and promptly stopped the traffic in the turn lane so that we could cut across.

At first we thought this was one of those freak occurrences and we talked loudly and cheerfully about what a delightful fellow that cop had been. It turned out that all Garda officers must take compulsory niceness lessons during their training. Either that or they're all secretly on the payroll of the Tourism Department.



I asked this officer if it was okay to take a photograph of the headquarters of the Garda in Phoenix Park in Dublin. "Sure," he said. And would he mind being in the photograph? "Oh sure," he said, and snapped to attention.

Actually the Garda have a lot of very nice real estate around the country. Check out this Garda station right next to Dublin Castle. Maybe they're such nice folks because they're grateful for the nice accommodation. We should try putting other police forces in good buildings and see if they suddenly become overwhelmingly helpful to visitors.

As an example of just how helpful the Garda are, let me offer the following story. We were looking for a castle in the town where we had just stopped and, in the absence of street signs, were finding it quite difficult to make much sense of our already dodgy map. I asked a member of Ireland's finest for directions to "the castle," which was actually just in the next block. He said "Desmond Castle?" The curious thing about this moment is that he didn't appear to be merely clarifying my request, and there are not any other castles in that town. He was cheerfully willing to give me directions to any castle ... anywhere.

Of course, if you do manage to fall foul of the Garda, which I suspect must be pretty hard to do, the consequences appear to be quite dire. Check out the barbed wire substitute at this Dublin prison. I've lost clothing fabric, and even shed a little blood on barbed wire in my time. I have never before seen barbs I thought I might lose a limb on.

This photograph was taken at a prison where you're not supposed to take photographs, which is why it's cropped so closely that it couldn't possibly be any use to anyone. The charming Garda officer who asked me not to take photographs was a perfect example of his type. He explained that it was an IRA prison so photographs were forbidden. I apologised immediately and started to delete the photos from my camera, explaining that I'm a harmless Australian agnostic and certainly not any kind of threat to national security. "Oh no," he said, "You don't have to delete them. It's okay."

A big thank you hug goes out to all the officers of the gorgeous Garda without whose generous assistance we would still be wandering around Dublin looking for our hotel.