Monday, November 30, 2009

The Heat, Revisited

Funny thing about the heater––it seems to work after all. There were a couple of problems: a type of heating and wiring set-up I have never seen before and would never have figured out on my own, and a lack of instruction.

It turns out that our main heater is something called a 'storage' heater. There are actually two electric meters for the apartment: one for the heater and one for the rest of the flat. At night, the electric––and meter––for the heater activate. The heater then "stores" the electricity for the coming day. When you wake up, and you're cold, you turn on the storage heater and heat will come out of it. The problem was when I flipped the switch the indicator light would not come on, giving the appearance that there is no power (which, technically, there wasn't). It is a very strange system. I hope it's more efficient this way. Because if it is not then all it accomplishes is being wildly over-complicated.

Today was one of the few clear, sunny days we have had (there have been three so far), perfect weather for some exploration. On the menu for this afternoon was the city's north side. The north side is less vibrant, less economically successful than the south, but also, I think, more authentic. There aren't chic all-glass building housing GAPs, Top Shops, H&Ms, and the like. Cork's ethnic population is also concentrated on the north side: most of the areas Poles (as well as Africans and Turks, judging from the ethnic food stores) live here. But it's mostly Irish, modest, realistic.

Possibly the best part about the north side is the view:
What I could see from St. Patrick's hill had me reflecting on urban centers of the US. What we're used to seeing in an America city––at least on the East Coast––is a large urban center ringed by miles of suburbia, followed by miles of exurbs. Escape all of that and you might, eventually, reach some countryside (which will inevitably be pock-marked by a few more odd subdivisions). In the second photograph you can just make out the green hills of the country, only a couple of miles from the foreground's City Centre. There are indeed suburbs where Cork's wealthier residents seek refuge, but they're tiny compared to what we have come to expect.

I'm not trying to make a value judgment about Irish or European urbanization vs. American. It's just an interesting land-use observation. Ireland has not experienced anything like the boom-and-bust cycle of the States; the island's only bull market economy was 1990–2007. Before that there was only poverty and emigration. In short, the Irish haven't had the money to alter their land in quite the same way we have.

Compared to my visit eighteen months ago, and to the semester Katherine spent at University College Cork in 2006, the city is absolutely covered in graffiti (especially the north side (Photo credit to Katherine!)). There are definitely more young people with a lot of time on their hands these days. Minor vandalism such as this is the artwork of the times. The growing number of boarded up businesses decorate the stage and the rapidly multiplying number panhandlers serve as the actors. Katherine has even noticed the difference in what you see on the sidewalk: three years ago, the ground was seemingly littered with one- and two-cent coins. Not any more!

I don't mean to be so dreary. It is still a vibrant place, especially around 10 p.m. on a Saturday. Not too many spirits have been defeated, except for the ones in glass bottles.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

The Crucial Week Ahead

Among the many things I have learned in Ireland (other than that zucchinis are called courgettes) is that it is possible to get a satisfying caffeine fix from tea. If you drink seven cups of black tea in a short time, it does the trick. This will be shocking for some, but I haven't had a cup of coffee since I've been here. In most of the cafés a small coffee will run around €2, or over three bucks, and I'm not willing to buy a coffee maker. On the other hand, tea is so cheap it must be subsidized by the government.

Dilemmas

Our third week in Cork will be one of our most momentous, a little earlier than I expected for big decisions to be made. I'm talking about what to do in the face of no employment and no heat. As for the latter: our apartment––despite all of its cuteness––is quite cold. The main reason is that the biggest room doesn't have a heat source. There is an electric radiator mounted to the wall, but the power switch only works about 5 percent of the time. Even when it does turn on it only produces enough energy to warm a tiny closet.

According to Irish tenant law, landlords are required to provide a reliable heat source. We have reported the repairs that are needed (including some leaky windows) to the agency/landlord, but have been stonewalled by the Irish "mañana" tendency. One day a handyman did show up and had a look at the windows––he decided he knew what needed to be done, and promised he would return. Problem is, he never did. When I complained to the agency a second time they said they would have someone stop by "to look at the windows and heater." A whole lot of looking, and no fixing, has been the landlord's remedy. And tonight we were promised a repair of the heat, but it looks like we are to be stood up again.

We have a three-month lease but I believe we have grounds to break it. Absent a swift resolution to the heating problem I will have to resort to that. This isn't too big of a tragedy since we can't find work. Katherine's potential gig at the chocolate shop has died since they never called her back after the interview. She also had an interview at a golf equipment store, but for very limited hours. And no ring from them either.

Thus, we have decided that this week is an important one because if we don't hear from somebody, an important milestone will be reached: we will start to get bored. After you've applied to every open position that you're qualified for––and many more that you're barely qualified for––you run out of things to do. And our consensus is that if we start to get bored, then the whole experiment has gone defective. We can sit around and live dull existences in the States; it is a waste to do that here.

Sans employment, we will turn to the ultimate level of financial irresponsibility and travel. Willy-nilly, all over the Continent. Seriously, I'm making up an itinerary in my head right now. More on this to come...

Volunteer? What's the Rush?

Katherine's answer to long stretches of inactivity was to volunteer around the city. This is a good idea for a few reasons: we would get out and meet people, we would gain the satisfaction of "helping," and our networking could turn into employment opportunities. In the States, if you want to volunteer it takes about 37 seconds of waiting before you're sent to work in a soup kitchen or paint over graffiti. There is a fantastic infrastructure designed to get volunteers to the "front line" in a very short amount of time.

With so many people out of work it is logical to think that Irish non-profits would be desperate to mobilize volunteers. What we have encountered is more of a blasé attitude. The lady at the first volunteer agency we went to, associated with the Church, took our information and told us that they are so busy that they might not be able to contact us for a while. Ironic, no? We then stopped in Cork City's main volunteer network, where we were told, "Oh, take time to think it over. We have a volunteer fair here in a week's time, come by then and you might find something." What the hell? Is quickly and efficiently taking advantage of people's kindness only an American specialty?

On the Lighter Side

We watched the Ireland v. South Africa rugby match today in a pub, an exciting experience. Problem is, it might have ruined the NFL for me. For those who don't know (and that's pretty much everyone in the US), a rugby match is eighty (that's 80) minutes of playing time. How long from start to finish? Under two hours total, no commercial breaks. How long for sixty minutes of NFL action? Three hours, with 257 commercial breaks (which is, of course, why the games are three hours long).

Ireland won in a nail-biter, 15–10, to finish the season undefeated. (Photo credit to Katherine!)

As a final note in this long entry, I am impressed by the Christmas decorations the city has put up. There's no attempt at political correctness here! It's all 'bout Christmas, baby. The following photo is just a tiny sample of the lights around City Centre.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Online Article

Hello all! Check out Katherine's article in the online newspaper Chestertown Spy. A great piece of writing. Similar to what you've been reading here regarding lack of work, but then again that's what most twenty-somethings are obsessed with these days. Anyway, the article is on the home page and can also be found in the "Curiosities" section.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Jaunting to Cill Airne

After over a week of constant canvassing for work, Katherine and I took a break and headed to Killarney (known in Irish as Cill Airne). The downside to Killarney is that it is a tourist trap: all of the tours for the famous "Ring of Kerry" as well as trips to the Dingle peninsula start in Killarney. The upside is that the town is situated on a beautiful lake, surrounded by mountains, and that we went during the offseason.

So after buying bus tickets that were more expensive than RyanAir flights to London (I'm not joking), we arrived for a day of hill walking.Katherine is our great white hope for finding work: she has been contacted for another interview, this one in retail sales. The two months of experience she has from a sandwich shop in Williamsburg, Va., is really coming in handy. On the other hand––with my lack of retail/restaurant employment history––I have not heard from anyone. These complaints aside, we are determinedly celebrating Thanksgiving today. We have made: turkey with stuffing, creamy onions, green bean casserole, mashed sweet potatoes, regular mashed potatoes, apple pie, and zucchini bread (note: zucs are called "courgettes" here).

The Irish are in good spirits despite the doom and gloom and flooding. Perhaps it's in their genetic makeup at this point, to shrug off bad times. The other night a fellow told us that "this is the worst time since the famine" to be on the island, but even so it's still a good place to be. At a restaurant where I was dropping off a CV, the hostess told me that everyone eventually finds work, even these days. And that she would recommend me to her manager. I haven't heard from him.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Strike

Underscoring the economic problems facing Ireland, many "public sector workers" staged walkouts today to protest a €1.3 billion wage cut.

Katherine and I learned––through hearsay, admittedly––that there would be picketers outside of Cork's City Hall, so we trudged over in the cold wind and spraying rain to take a look. If there were picketers they must have been discouraged by the crumby weather.In the photo you can see city hall, the Irish flag flailing in the wind, and, in the background, Ireland's tallest building (no joke). The "skyscraper" is new and houses luxury apartments and office space; nearly the entire building is vacant. The best flats go for around €2 million. We've heard that the owner is trying to buy out the four people who have taken up residence so he can just shut off the power to the entire complex.

On the job front, glimmers of hope. Katherine found some nannying positions online that she's very well qualified for, and actually has an interview this afternoon for a temporary Christmas position at a chocolate shop. I have come across a couple of restaurant/bar tending opportunities that could bear some fruit. A pub in town called Costigan's had a Bingo night yesterday with a jackpot of €575: we attended without luck.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

A Slow Sunday

I know this article's connection with Ireland is tenuous at first glance, but chalk it up to mere geography: Going Home During the Recession.

It's one of the Post's main article from the Sunday paper, so many of you may have already seen it. The experience of Melissa Meyer neatly summarizes the collapse of the job market––specifically, the job market for professionals. 'Tis a reality we are grappling with in Europe as well. To be honest, if I had two solid years retail experience, or two solid years of restaurant work, I would have landed a job on one of our first days here. But unfortunately I have not only a BA, but a Master's. I am hopelessly overqualified for "till" positions, and somehow I managed to go all this time without experience as a waiter.

It's frustrating because 99 percent of the time these are positions that I am more than capable of doing. Pardon my lack of humility, but come on, serving food? How much training time am I going to knot up? And in return a restaurant would get a reliable, professional, punctual person that won't show up to work drunk. Problem is you can't explain these things on a CV. Instead, I have had my CV handed back to me when I admit that I don't have restaurant experience. For a minimum-wage serving position. Ouch.

C'est la vie. It's a buyer's market if you're hiring. You can afford to be picky. The truth is these pubs and restaurants will not fail at finding people with experience. If I get desperate I will simply invent past experience, so I feel no need to panic yet.

Friday, November 20, 2009

a quick story

I forgot to mention in my previous entry that I found an honest-to-God outdoor store in Cork. It's the perfect place for me to work. They have all of the things I know about, inside and out: fishing equipment, knives, archery equipment, billiards, and––yes––guns. Judging from their inventory all that the Irish are allowed to own are rimfire rifles and double-barrel shotguns, but that would make my job all the easier, wouldn't it?

Alas, they weren't hiring. For a brief moment I thought the planets were aligning. Not so...

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.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Digs




We went to the Office of Social Welfare today to apply for a PPS number (the explanation for which is in my previous entry). It also happened to be "dole day," Thursday being the day welfare checks are given out. It was also raining heavily with wind gusts around 30 miles per hour.

It seemed funny to me that we were waiting in a dole line to get permission to work, one of the many things I pondered in an effort to distract myself from the fact that I was completely soaked and cold. Once we got into the building and found the PPS Number window, my dripping wet hair nearly ruined my application form. But in the end we were successful thanks to the minor miracle that we had all of the proper paperwork on hand. (Another not-too-surprising observation from the social welfare office: many of the signs are in the usual Irish and English, accompanied by Polish). Now all that we have to do is sit on our hands until the application is processed and our numbers are mailed to us. (The photo of Katherine on our way back hardly does justice to how soggy it was).

We returned to cute little apartment, which deserves a few words. I like how efficient everything is: in particular, how the water heater stays off until one needs to shower or clean some dishes is very nice. I've had surprises in the past with boilers using a LOT of energy (and, thus, racking up high bills) to keep the hot water hot all of the time. The convenience factor of our current set-up is lower, but I don't mind.

Included in the kitchen are a fridge and a washing machine, both endearingly tiny. As you can see in the picture I have taken, the hatch of the washing machine is nearly the same size as a 20 euro-cent coin. An Irish friend of ours expressed dismay when we told her how large American washing machines are. This one is also a dryer, in the same unit! This is incredibly novel, but I guess things don't have to be too exotic to seem novel to me.

Of course, the point of all of this––the apartment, the PPS number––is to find work. With these two pieces in place we can start on that. More on that to come...

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

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.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

The Prelude

All of the nice things we were lucky enough to get for our wedding.... It's strange to be packing them up for storage in my grandmother-in-law's basement. We're approaching departure, and I have been hunting for jobs and places to live in Cork. I have blanketed the temp agencies with my CV, and have come up with a few housing leads.

One situation is a nice house five minutes' walk from Cork City Centre. The fellow I have corresponded with sounds very jolly, and the monthly rent is reasonable. Another possibility is sharing an apartment with a Frenchman and a––and I'm quoting––"very serious German guy." If that doesn't sound terrifying enough, they have a "strictly enforced" cleaning schedule. I'm pulling for the jolly house mate to work out.

Thanks to all that have become followers of my, um, online magazine. A gentleman very intimate with the ways of the press, who might be associated with Washington College, and who might have something to do with the Chestertown Spy, has advised me that "blog" is a word I should avoid. Everyone has a blog these days, but how many have online magazines? Did I call this a blog? My bad.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

A few more things...

We are leaving in just a few days, so packing, planning, and final visits with relatives and friends are going to take up much of my time until then. Please be patient, I'll start blogging away once in Cork City (our destination on the Emerald Isle). And if I can't find work, I'll have enough time to blog more than any of you would ever want me to. I'm planning on fully embracing 21st-century voyeurism.

The Skinny

This 'blog is an experiment to see if I can make my international excursion––a 12-month work holiday in Ireland––sound interesting. The idea to broadcast my experience in a public forum first came to me about a year ago, when the Western economy was burning to the ground. Ireland was hit particularly hard, the "Celtic Tiger" actually having depended on a faulty housing boom even more than the US of A. I'm a news hound, and I was amazed at the amount of ink the Irish crash was getting in America. I knew that Americans almost consider Ireland to be the 52nd state, but the intense interest in the economic troubles of a nation of four million was more than I expected.

Therefore, I thought that perhaps my tale of moving to Éire ("Ireland" in Irish) and trying to find work could garner at least a handful of readers. Which is more readers than I'm used to having. My Master's thesis was read by five people, including my wife, Katherine, and me.

Since this is my first post and I'm rather enjoying talking about myself, a little more explanation about the Ireland trip: it's my wife's doing. A year ago I was in the first semester of a six-year Ph.D. program at The College of William and Mary, but it wasn't for me. It was a typical grad student crisis...I couldn't find a topic for my thesis/dissertation that at all interested me, my social life was non-existent, and the Williamsburg area was sucking the life out of me. My then-fiancée, Katherine simply could not find work. As fate would have it, the USA and Ireland struck up a deal last October to offer a new, one-year work holiday visa for "recent" college students. We weren't interested in staying in Hampton Roads for much longer, so we went for the visa. I say "it's my wife's doing" because it has been her dream to try to live in Ireland ever since she studied abroad there as an undergraduate. It was a opportunity we couldn't pass up.

We were married this past October 23rd, and now we're packing up our lives into two suitcases and heading to Europe. We're happily exchanging the financial ruin that might accompany this decision for the opportunity to see a little more of the world. Even Ireland, a white, English-speaking, very "westernized" country will pack more cultural diversity than I'm used to. I'm from Earleville, Md., folks.

My intention is to regularly update about our travels, with a loose focus on the Irish economy and job market. As someone said to me recently, "You're going to try to find work in Ireland? You know, even the Poles have been leaving." Thanks. It should be interesting.