I celebrated my Irish anniversary this week. I have been living here for five years now. I arrived in 2018 a young woman with two suitcases, a pocketful of dreams and the delusional assumption that the taxi at Dublin Airport would accept card payment.
Or that I could tap my bank card to get on a bus. Or that it wouldn’t take me months to open a bank account. Or that there would be continuous hot water and I could shower any time I wanted. But that’s the thing about expectations, they only lead to disappointment.
I thought there should be some basic things in life you should be able to count on – having a hot shower whenever you want – but I was applying foreign “shoulds” to a country that plays by its own rules. Arriving at the start of winter and into a house on the Liffey with unenthusiastic insulation didn’t help. On the subject of heaters, the appropriate time to put them on became the focus of tense WhatsApp housemate group discussions. At one point, rolling out the front door into the brown mud below seemed like a preferable activity than reading another nice-nasty-toned text.
While I raged against what I thought things should be, I was using up precious energy getting annoyed that this country didn’t work like the entirely other country I was used to. Weird how that happens. I started settling, finding the rhythm of how things worked. Eventually I was assigned a desk, my lost bag arrived and I learned how to use storage heaters. (That’s a lie, I didn’t. No one does. I moved into a house with radiators and a housemate with a similar attitude to using the technology the Lord and Saviour gave us so that we do not suffer.)
Things got better, but I had to learn some lessons the hard way first. Here are the two pieces of advice I would now give to my earlier self when I came to Ireland:
1. The Irish ask
You will have to use a lot more words than you would usually need when asking or answering a question.
For example in the workplace, if you are asking for something – an update, some information, a task to be completed or even a meeting room, you have to ask for it like you are embarrassed to be even asking. Even though it is your job and their job to ask and answer such things. You can’t be too direct. Lashing into a request feels cheap without at least feigning interest in their lives and wellbeing. You hope this email finds Sandra so well that you were kept up at night at the thought of the alternative.
An email that once looked like this: “Hi Phil, do you reckon you can find that record and send it to me please? We need it before the production deadline in a couple of hours. Give me a shout if that’s not possible and we’ll work something out, cheers.”
Now reads: “Hi Phil, Hope this email finds you well and you’re enjoying this sunny weather. Is it possible for you to send on that record we were talking about earlier if it’s not too much trouble? It’s just that we need it for the show coming up at 5pm so I would really appreciate it if we could get it by then. But no worries if not!”
Having trouble getting into a specialist? Sure, I’ll ask my cousin who works in the clinic. Can’t figure out how to apply for a Government scheme? Just ask someone how they did it
Even though there actually are worries. In fact, it is all worries. Emails never find me well, but it’s nice to know someone out there is hoping anyway.
2. Irish solutions to Irish problems
There are problems in the system and there are ways around them. My bus stop used to be the first on the route, across the road from the depot. Like the innocent fool I was, I believed this meant they would come when they said they would, without the delay of traffic. But apparently sticking to the timetable was not the artistic vision the bus company had for that service.
They would leave 15 minutes early or late or not at all. Even my contingency plan of getting there super early failed when two came ahead of schedule at once. I sprinted after them in an embarrassing, needy way, so bystanders saw how desperate I was to catch that bus. There was no saving my dignity when I didn’t, and was left with an hour-long wait on the side of the road. I started swearing and drafting an email cc’ing the bus company manager, the transport minister and the ghost of Michael Collins, eviscerating the state of our bus network. Then a car pulled over and a blonde head leaned out of the window.
“I felt so bad watching you miss your bus after you tried so hard. I’m going into town. Do you want a lift?” the woman, nay angel, asked, as I forgot all stranger danger warnings and hopped in.
That never happens in Sydney. It was a symbolic reminder of how people go out of their way for each other when systems let us down. Having trouble getting into a specialist? Sure, I’ll ask my cousin who works in the clinic. Can’t figure out how to apply for a Government scheme? Just ask someone how they did it. Does this unfairly privilege those with wealth and social connections? Yes. It’s not perfect, but I am always surprised at how generous people are with their time and advice. Helping out and being sound is a circular economy.
I think I have been here too long when I can moan about the country but get defensive when visitors have a go. Ireland is a bit like my mother now, I can slag it all I want, but God help anyone else having a bad word to say.