The Floods

We have been "lucky" enough to witness the worst flooding in Ireland in living memory. Large portions of the city were impassable today, adding a little bit of difficulty to our job searching. To add to the mess, about half of the city is out of drinking water. But by the grace of another one of those little miracles, our apartment still has tasty water coming out of the tap.

In the above picture you will see many important things: a massive Beamish can (the Guinness of the south) part of the Beamish brewery, St. Finbarre Cathedral (one of the prettiest I've seen, but then again, I've never been to France or Italy), and a very rough River Lee. The river was about as fast and full as you can see it. Makes sense, since some of it was in the streets as well.















Another view of flooded street to the right, and (I couldn't help it), a nice beer I tried this evening. It's a cream ale, something you hardly ever see in the States. I was disheartened to learn it is owned by Guinness (do they own every Irish brewery?), but I couldn't help but enjoy it.

But I have been doing more than stare at floodwater and drink ale. Today was our first real push at finding work, a sobering experience. The first––and easiest––strategy was to go for the temp agencies. We have distributed our information to most of them in City Centre by now, but no hits. Quite the opposite: almost immediately after handing over your CV and cover letters, you tend to get an email saying they have nothing that suits your skill set at the moment. Not all of them have disappointed us yet, but it is not looking good.

We have also started what will likely be our only chance of success: working the pavement. Katherine and I each ducked into a few retail locations this afternoon, with not much luck. The handful (and when I say handful I mean two) positions we have seen are for the Christmas season only, not a good sign for the January job market. Of course, before it is all said and done, we will have to conduct a nearly door-to-door search of the city. My fingers are crossed that something comes up before that.

Building on a comment posted to one of my earlier entries about the bureaucratic illness that seems to infect much of Europe, I call attention to a piece of mail we received today. From the government, it is a notice that they do not have a television license on file for our apartment. So, it says, we should be prepared for an inspection so authorities can make sure we are not keeping an unlicensed boob tube. Apparently, in order to lawfully have a television, you need to pay 160 euros for a "television license." Go figure.