An American in Ireland

Drogheda sits on the  Boyne River

If you thought that moving to Ireland was going to be all shamrocks and scones, you were kidding yourself. I thought no such thing; some days even an open mind and a world of patience don’t mute the growing pains that come from adjusting to a new country and culture.

Case in point: the Laser card issue. Pretty much everyone here uses a Laser card, which is the Irish equivalent to the ATM/Debit card. It is by PIN code only, as a safety precaution, whereas in the U.S. you can either sign the credit/debit slip or use your PIN. Thanks to the joy that is Irish time, I still haven’t received my laser card from the bank, so I’ve been using my ATM/Debit/Credit card – with lots of issues. Many places will not accept anything but cash or a Laser card, and many a clerk has stared quizzically at my credit card as if it was a fallen piece of a spaceship from another planet (I’m sure it’s a different story in Dublin, but I’m in a small town). Though VISA is supposed to be an internationally-recognized brand, my experience here has made me wonder.

Dryers, as in the kind that you use after the washing machine, are still a new concept here. Some people have them, and I have a dual washer/dryer in one (not the kind that’s on top of the other; this is one machine that washes and dries!), but hardly anyone uses them. With electricity costs at an all-time high, people would rather hang their clothes out to dry…even in Irish weather (read: cold, wet, and freezing). Since I just moved into my new apartment and have no idea how much my first electricity bill will be, I’m afraid to use the dryer. I’ve also been running the heat quite a bit (did I tell you it’s COLD here?), and I’m having a hard time figuring that out. I have storage heaters, which store heat during the night to save energy. There are so many knobs with a zillion numbers that I cannot figure out how to use anything besides the manual position, which no doubt is the most expensive option. The best part? Neither the management company of my building nor the handyman has a clue on how to use them. “You should Google it,” said the building manager. Gee, thanks.

Comfort foods like beans & eggs & toast help in times of trouble!

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 Irish bacon, spuds and cabbage

One of the biggest changes in the last few weeks since I moved from Los Angeles to Ireland has been my diet. Actually, let me rephrase for maximum effect: Everything, from what I eat to when and how I eat has been completely flipped on its head.

Back in Los Angeles, I had somewhat of a routine when it came to what I ate on any given day. During the week, I cooked my own breakfast, lunch and dinner – with the exception of a weekday happy hour outing that also included a few drinks and shared appetizers. On weekends, I often hosted dinner parties at my house or went out to nice restaurants with friends. Generally we’d eat and drink a bit too much but it was the weekend, after all. Still, come Sunday morning, the guilt and the promises of a clean start for Monday would kick in.

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Downtown Drogheda

You can live in a big city like Los Angeles your whole life and never run into someone you know on the street. Occasionally it happens; you’ll see a friend or co-worker and there’s always this sense of surprise, like “Funny seeing you here!” You might even tell someone else, “I ran into [fill in the blank] today at the store!” It’s unusual enough to make it newsworthy.

I’m finding that life in a small town like Drogheda means that you pretty much can’t go anywhere without seeing someone you know. You’re probably wondering how many people I could possibly know here, and the answer is that I am friends with about seven people and am acquainted with about eight more, so 15 all together. On my first day here, as my friend and I drove through Drogheda, I spotted four people I know walking around town. Four!

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It’s been less than a week since I arrived in Ireland, but I’m starting to get the hang of life around here. Certain things have made the transition much easier, like the uncharacteristically sunny weather we’ve been having since my arrival (apparently I brought the LA sunshine with me!). And of course my wonderful friends – both old and new – have been taking good care of me and showing me the ropes.

I’ve learned that trends, as in fashion, food and entertainment, can be more apparent in a small town like Drogheda. All the girls wear dresses when going out on a Saturday night, and by “all the girls” I mean all of them. Last night at Bru, a popular bar in downtown, I couldn’t find a single woman – besides the bartenders – wearing pants. It’s a *thing* here right now. To me, it’s a mix of old-school and new. The idea of women getting dolled up in dresses to go out on the town is a throw-back but at the same time it’s a sign of feminine power and confidence. In any case, I embrace it. I happily bought a dress in town yesterday.

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Nothing beats a hot bowl of stew on a cold Irish night!

After months of planning, today I finally landed on Irish soil. If the rest of my year (or two)-long stay is anything like the first day, I’d say things will be all right.

My friends Trevor and Sinead – who no doubt will become recurring characters in this blog – picked me up at Dublin airport this cold but sunny morning. After a quick stop at the post office, we arrived at Sinead’s house in Collon where I took a power nap before a long, hot shower. On a side note, I didn’t get an ounce of sleep on the flight over on Aer Lingus, even though I had FOUR seats all to myself. Why? Because the arm rests do not go up!!?? Talk about the world’s cruelest joke! But I digress.

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A very Californian meal: Brown Rice & Veggie Wrap

Yesterday the movers came and wrapped up all of my furniture, along with a good number of boxes, and took them away to a storage facility. Standing there in my empty apartment, it hit me: I’m really doing this.

It amazes me that just four months ago, the idea of moving to Ireland was a tiny lightbulb flickering weakly in the back of my mind. I let the idea sit for about a week before nonchalantly browsing a few websites on how Americans can legally live in Ireland. Yesterday, my dad and I took nine boxes – all filled with my clothes, shoes, kitchen utensils and various personal effects – to the post office. Those boxes will arrive just a few days after I do, in Ireland.

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Emma, Sinead, me and Tracy, 1997

“Why Ireland?” It’s a question I’ve been asked a lot lately. As a freelance writer, I suppose I could work from just about anywhere, and with many countries offering artist/writer visas (though they are quite difficult to obtain), there are other options. So why did I pick the cold, rainy Emerald Isle?

Let’s flash back to 13 years ago.

It’s moving day for me in San Francisco, and my best friend Cat and I have pulled up to my new digs on 25^th Avenue in the Richmond district. The week before, I had met with the leaseholder about a room for rent at the 5-bedroom flat, and was accepted on the spot. I knew there would be other new tenants moving in that day, but had no idea who they were. As we sat in Cat’s car in front of the flat, a ruddy-faced young man approached the driver’s side.

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Time is just blowing by like a Kenyan in a foot race and with every day that passes I go into a little more shock about my big move. Most people don’t do this kind of thing unless they are a) in a college exchange program; b) sponsored by a company that is offering a fantastic job; or c) madly in love with a foreigner and getting married.

Not me.

I’m going to Ireland because I want to put myself in a new environment, somewhere fascinating and unfamiliar, a place that I’ll grow into. Mind you, I’m doing it legally (I have an incredible paper trail to prove it) but without the reassurance of a sponsorship or husband or anything of the sort. While I do have a wonderful group of Irish friends who I will be depending on quite heavily for the first few weeks, I am determined to carve out a new life for myself there, on my own.

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