The Irish heading on transatlantic trips for a seasonal splurge shed no tears over the billion-euro loss to the domestic economy, writes Kathy Sheridanin New York.
'Go to New York, have a look at the Irish on shopping speed, do a bit of shopping yourself, Kathy. Have fun." For once, a nice assignment. No tragedy, no one trying to run the media out of town. You might think. In Dublin, I start the fun with a group of women and one authoritative-looking male. "Hi, I'm from The Irish Times and I'm off to New York to find out what's so attractive about the shopping . . . " The women stare fixedly ahead.
The man's expression implies I've demanded their bank details. He asks to see ID. Eh? "How're we to know where you're from?" he argues.
In Ireland, I've been asked for ID about twice in 10 years. I produce it and he gives the nod. What's wrong with you all, I ask, isn't this meant to be fun? "You might be working undercover for the Customs," suggests the man, to vigorous nods of female approval. Good grief. Has the Irish Small and Medium Enterprise Association (Isme) and its demand for mass round-ups of exhausted, middle-aged women with large shopping bags really reduced us to this? The week-long trip was booked in April and they've saved hard, he concedes. "But we've no great intentions about the shopping," he adds with studied indifference. Really? Well, he is taking his camera with him - one he bought last year in the US - to see if it can be fixed. If not, he might, just might, buy another one and, eh, that'll be it. Wouldn't he be better off buying one at home, where he could just take it back to the shop if it broke? Shrug.
And what about the women? They mutter vaguely about shopping outlets like Woodbury Common and Jersey Gardens, Macy's department store, discount cards and vouchers, all fresh and valuable information for this NY shopping neophyte. But the grassy knoll theorist's antennae are up again: "I'd have thought a woman from The Irish Times would know all that," he frowns. The women might consider shoes, boots, bags and jewellery, they say . . . but honestly, the shopping isn't such a big thing, it's as much about the holiday. So can I phone to see how it's going? Not one has a working phone, apparently.
On a flight top-heavy with determined-looking groups of women, most acted as if they were smuggling a ton of heroin in their underwear.
At JFK, a limo driver with three doughty Dublin women already ensconced in the back startles them by inviting me to share the ride. "We know who you are," they chorus warily, having heard the exchange back in Dublin.
After some discussion, however, the three, Sheila King and Lily Campbell from Coolock, and Lily's 37-year-old daughter, Michelle Mooney, decide not to be sheepish.
Next day, we meet at Woodbury Common, a 220-shop New Jersey discount outlet, an hour's bus-ride from the city, according to the marketing spiel. That's if you travel at dawn and stay till closing. Sheila, Lily and Michelle were on the 7am bus (ticket about $40 - that's €27). By 12.30pm, the three of them, glowing with achievement, arrived in the food court, hauling giant wheelie cases already crammed with Tommy Hilfiger sweaters, Nike runners, a giant wall clock for Lily, nine Seiko watches between them and novelty items such as an iPod speaker in the shape of a large frog.
Little of the booty was for themselves. Each has a vast extended family, so Christmas and birthday presents (six in February alone for Lily) for 2008 were factored in. Planning had been meticulous. They reserved their accommodation above an Irish pub when last here a year ago; $280 (€190) each for four nights. The flights, booked in January, were a €360 bargain. Lists were drawn up and Michelle combed the internet.
In her bag are several pairs of Nike trainers, reduced from $90 (€60) to $40 (€27). "At home, they'd be €140," she says. She carries paper cut-outs of her children's and husband's feet, brought along to ensure perfect fit. The nine watches, reduced to $39.99 apiece from $135 (€90), would have been €195 in their local jewellery shop, says Sheila. Also in Michelle's bag are 14 Tommy Hilfiger items - including seven high-quality adult sweaters. The Hilfiger haul in total cost $230 (€155). "You'd get two Tommy jumpers for that at home," she says.
A grandson of Lily's wants Timberland boots so that's on the list, as well as Guess, Gap and Old Navy. Would they be visiting the high-end corner? Dior? Chanel? Cavalli? "Oh God no. Not only would they have to be closing down, they'd have to be closing down tomorrow," says Sheila. "The majority of people like ourselves are buying Tommy Hilfiger and Nike, but only the ones at special offers. We want designer labels at Penneys prices."
LAST YEAR, THEY laughed their way through Chinatown and the haggling over fake handbags; it's on their list again this year.
Lily and Sheila compare this trek to the bus pilgrimages north in the 1960s. "I'd have four coats for the children strapped to my body with belts I bought to keep them tied around my waist," says Sheila. "Woodbury Common and Jersey Gardens are the new Northern Ireland for the Irish." "And Times Square is the new Blackpool Illuminations," adds Lily with a laugh.
Sheila glances around the neat, immaculately clean, colonial-style buildings. We could be anywhere, I say. "But," she says seriously, "this place is important. Last night, we walked up Fifth Avenue and we just knew by looking at them that those shops were beyond your means. So the like of these places are not only essential to the American economy but are very important to the Irish who come to them, because of the value we won't get back home. I was never totally impoverished, but I can tell you I felt very, very down-at-heel walking up there last night. I never felt so poor in my whole life. I won't say we were intimidated - you'd never be intimidated in America - but I know we haven't the money to browse in places like that. That's why we feel we're home here, we're here till 9pm tonight and Kathy, we're home," she says with a contented sigh.
Any guilt about the one billion euro that Isme claims is lost to the economy because Customs are turning a blind eye to those packed wheelie bags returning from the US? Sheila, once an ardent supporter of Charlie Haughey until certain revelations put an abrupt end to that, struggles to contain herself. "I love my little country, I really do. I cry for the way it has been treated. It needs proper leadership and when we have a leader who does what he is appointed to do, then I will be ever so ready to stop shopping in New York and pay all my taxes to the Irish government."
The Taoiseach's latest pay rise has played very badly to these women. "The most people would be bringing with them on this trip is about €2,000 (€1,350) to €2,500 (€1,700) and they'd have to pay the hotel bill and all their expenses out of that," she says. "It's what they'd be borrowing from the credit union or saving to spend in Ireland anyway, except they'd be getting an awful lot less for it."
"I'm not being condescending," says Sheila, "but for people from places like Railway Street, St Mary's Mansions, Sheriff Street, the inner city . . . for them, it's just a wonderful experience to be in New York." The cacophony of Dublin voices, tracksuits and wheelie cases bears witness to that.
MEMORIES OF NEW York will not be confined to Woodbury Common or the exchange rate going our way for once. These visitors will be storing images of Salvation Army bell-ringers, the scent of roasting pretzels, the sudden close-up of the iconic Empire State Building, the giant Christmas tree on Fifth Avenue, the families gazing in old-fashioned awe at the fabulous child-centred Christmas windows in Macy's, the gorgeous Victorian-themed windows in Lord and Taylor, Cartier's fairy-lit canopy fashioned out of scaffolding.
The memories will also encompass the even more unexpected: the friendly professionalism of the shop assistants. "They fall over backwards to help," says Michelle. "They carry your shopping, take it to the tills, and actually try to find more ways of discounting it for you."
It may be that Isme has more than suitcases of good value to worry about; the same shoppers are also bringing back new notions about service and staff training.
But it's the "rip-off republic" theme that emerges, time after time. In Macy's, the Irish rank at number three in the world league of tourist shoppers. Macy's knows this because no savvy foreigner bypasses the busy visitors' desk, where an urbane three-man team hands over special "visitor" discount cards.
Nine twentysomething Galway women - a teacher, an accounts worker, a secretary among them - are claiming their discount cards before seeking out designer jeans, jackets, shoes, baby clothes, Timberland boots, Guess handbags, Tommy Hilfiger stuff and Nike runners. They paid €358 for flights last February; a central apartment for four nights is costing them $250 (€170) apiece. (Note: the canny ones always booked 11 months ago.) That leaves them with about €1,500 each to splash.
"I've saved hard for the last year for this and I'm not one bit guilty about it," says Ruth Broderick defiantly. "If they brought down the prices at home, we wouldn't be travelling," says her sister, Deirdre. Further in, a smart, thirtysomething couple from south Dublin - the husband works in the financial services sector - were reluctant to speak but finally cut loose about prices.
"Look, we got a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans for $40; they're selling for €110 at home," he says with an exasperated sigh. "Rock & Republic jeans," she says, "€440 at home, $220 (€150) in Bloomingdale's . . . Yes, of course I believe we're being totally ripped off." He interjects crossly: "And it's not just the American labels that are cheaper, it's the bloody European labels too. Italian shoes at $50. I got a Timberland fleece here last year for $40; I see the same one in Dundrum for €120. You're not getting things for half the price here; often, it's a quarter of the price."
It's not all fun and games, of course. Outstanding memories include the visible suffering of Irish mammies and daddies in the booming, blacked-out den on Fifth Avenue called Abercrombie & Fitch. For anyone over 25, it is designed to make you feel like a blind, deaf, ugly alien. But guess who has to stump up the high-end prices?
COMING BACK INTO Dublin airport yesterday, one nervous woman said she had heard an acronym for this situation, MITC - Made It Through Customs - to be squealed in Arrivals.
Most made it through, emerging beaming if not squealing. One group stood desolate; their friend had been "hauled in". But within minutes, she emerged, shaken but smiling. "It was the bags of M&Ms that done it," she reckoned. "They knew I was in America. They asked if I bought anything and I said a handbag and they said was it real or fake and I said fake. And they let me go."
For the record, since October, Customs agents have stopped more than 4,000 passengers, of whom around 2,500 were Irish, and nearly €8,000 worth of VAT and customs was recovered, Shay Doyle, manager of customs enforcement at Dublin airport, told the New York-based Irish Voice. "In the same period we've been hearing about so-called shopping trips to New York, we've caught €950,000 worth of drugs and 5.7 million illegal cigarettes. A question might be, do you want us to stop the drugs coming in that are killing our kids? We can have officers spending all their time taking €20 or €30 in VAT on a few Nike T-shirts from New York, or we can focus our attention elsewhere. You have to get some perspective into it, you know."