The First Day

I can't comment much on the journey to Ireland, other than we left Sunday evening and arrived in Dublin Monday morning. The plane ride was the typical traveling time warp that I have not yet figured out: we were en route for only five or six hours, but we somehow gained twelve. Anyway, I hadn't slept in twenty-nine hours or so, and I drifted in and out of consciousness on the bus down to Cork City (a five-hour journey).

I know that I had a good first day in Cork because I got to see a rainbow and got to dodge heavy rain showers. Our hosts for our first few days in the city told us that in a typical day, it will be hot and cold, sunny and rainy, and this proved to be true. We also got our first taste of Irish government bureaucracy. Arriving at the Garda (police) station to register as foreign nationals living in the country––something that has to be done within the first month––we were told that we can't register without proof of residence, i.e. a lease agreement. We also can't get work without a "PPS" number, basically a social security number, and you can't get a PPS number without, yes, proof of residence. So signs pointed to getting an apartment. The realtor we worked with told us you usually can’t rent an apartment without a PPS number, but thankfully she was willing to overlook that requirement.

As the economy is sluggish and immigration greatly slowed, there are ample rental properties with rents that have been "consistently dropping for the past eighteen months," or so I heard on the radio. We found very nice places for reasonable prices in the north side of the city, but the man very openly smoking a joint on the front step of the building clued us in to the nature of the neighborhood. Instead we have settled on a flat in the "City Centre." The apartment comes with a washing machine big enough to wash three whole pairs of socks at one time.

I also had my first dilemma with our common language with the Irish. Having forgotten mine in New Jersey, I was in a TESCO looking for a comb. I asked an employee where to find one, but the problem was my long Maryland "o". She had no idea what I was talking about, looking as though I had asked where to find the Molotov Cocktails. After I said "cohwmb" a few more times, she eventually understood. Later I was instructed on how to say comb, but I haven't yet been able to master it.

After moving in, we will follow the PPS-number-then-job progression of things, or at least try to. Our hosts gave us other bits of wisdom last night. On the job front, “All you need to know about the Irish economy is: we're screwed. We are borrowing 2 billion euro a month to keep the government afloat, and this for a population the size of greater Manchester.” It’s not anything unfamiliar to Americans––the talk here is dominated by the double-digit unemployment rate and stagnant/falling wages. The government is borrowing billions to stay afloat, but, of course, public servants have scheduled a nationwide strike to protest wage cuts.

Like in the States, economic hardship has created some political turmoil, or at least dissatisfaction with the folks currently running the country. There is an Obama-esque challenger to the current Taoiseach (pronounced TEE-shuck; the Irish Prime Minister) who has harnessed the “Yes We Can” attitude. But, we’ve been told, the more Irish way to state it is, “Well, Maybe, You Never Know.”

So it stands at the moment. I will continue to update the magazine and work on my Cork accent.