ON a sweltering morning in New York City it is easy to hate summer. At Park Avenue and 51st Street, the rush hour passengers emerging from the subway station race for their air conditioned offices, inhaling as little fetid air as possible. It is only 8 o'clock and already the temperature is 85 degrees with 90 per cent humidity.
Knots of early morning smokers form outside each entrance to the enormous 345 Park Avenue building. Staring blankly with coffees in one hand and cigarettes in the other, they are the only still points in the chaos, the closest the city gets to transcendence.
On the 17th floor of 345 Park Avenue another kind of release is being promoted. Bord Failte is helping Americans to escape.
"You're in Texas. I see. And you want to rent a castle in Ireland. Right. Well, there are quite a few. I'll send you our literature on those and some general information. Are they real castles? Yes, they're all real. Yes, some of them have moats.
Throughout the day six women answering telephones in the action centre will tackle similar questions, from the esoteric to the absurd, without breaking their stride. They will patiently spell Cahersiveen 10 times, describe the train journey from Dublin to Limerick in Joycean detail and explain why you cannot drive just drive from England to Ireland.
"A lot of Americans that I talk to have never travelled abroad," Margaret Cunningham explains in a break between calls. This is their first big holiday. And because they can find the same restaurants and hotels all across the USA, they cannot imagine things not being the same everywhere else." She is interrupted by a call that perfectly demonstrates her theory.
"What time is it in Ireland? It's five o'clock. No, in the evening. Yes, they would be wide awake by now. There's a five hour difference. Why? Well . . ." Using the time difference between New York and California as her basis, Elizabeth enlightens the confused resident of South Bend, Indiana.
The New York office receives approximately 1,200 telephone inquiries daily from people looking for organised tours and those who prefer to create their own itinerary.
"There is a huge increase in young Americans travelling to Ireland," says Orla Carey, public relations manager. "The activity or adventure market is growing rapidly and the remarkable number of films shot in Ireland has definitely attracted a more sophisticated traveller."
At lunch time some sophisticated and some mysterious individuals wander into the small public office. A large man in a lightweight check suit, wearing sunglasses and chewing a toothpick, methodically helps himself to every brochure on display.
"I'm sending them to the guys," he tells Una Galligan in a husky Brooklyn accent as he leaves. Perhaps the FBI Witness Protection Programme has its eye on Ireland.
A handsome young surgeon who dropped in twice last week for advice wants to run through the details of his family's 10 day trip. He spreads an enormous map across Una's desk and asks if it would be too tiring for his wife to drive to Newport House from Shannon.
"She's a good driver, but do you think she would be okay?" he asks. Because she is a good person and not a surly reporter, Una does not reply. "You're the doctor". Instead she reorganises his itinerary for minimum stress, numbering each destination.
"I think 1, 6, 1, 4, 3 would be the best route," she concludes after some discussion and he departs, reassured to be doing Ireland by numbers.
"It's not necessarily the way we would do it," Una observes, "but you have to remember that most Americans even the well off, professional types cannot take very long holidays. And when it is a matter of just a week or two weeks, they want to make every moment count. They feel they cannot afford to wander around and take chances."
For those with Irish family connections there are other challenges. "My relatives are in Donegal and Longford and if we go to them first we're doomed," a 43 year old businessman explains. "It must be something about the tea. Maybe all that tannin paralyses your nervous system, because once that pot starts going round we don't leave the table for hours, days even." This summer he is leaving the family visitation until last.
You know what most Americans are looking for?" he ventures. "They're looking for the Ireland they hope is still there the real thing not The Quiet Man or Finian's Rainbow."
BACK in the action centre, however, some are looking for Far and Away. "One woman rang in because she wanted to get married in Ireland, in front of some building that she saw in Far and Away," Mary Morrissey recalls. "She couldn't remember the exact scene but wanted to send us a video with a description for us to name the location. In the end they weren't able to spend the requisite 21 days in Ireland before the ceremony, so we were off the hook."
Not for long, however. In today's stack of mail there is an inquiry from a lieutenant with the 205th US military intelligence brigade in Bosnia who needs a break and a four page letter from an Alaskan whose sons "are interested in the Irish struggle for independence from England".
"We even get letters from jails," Mary says. "Things like. They put me in here and took away all my Irish books and pictures. Please send replacements. We try to be polite.
On the 17th floor, above New York's summer madness, they succeed.
