In the Beginning...

After receiving a warm welcome by friends in London, England, and making a day trip up to Oxford area to meet some cool cousins, I finally arrived in Ireland at Dublin airport. The taxi driver, as he helped load my bags into the trunk of his car, asked what I was doing there. When I told him I was moving to Ireland, he said, "Are you MAD!?" That pretty much set the tone of my first day. I found my lodgings, and as I looked around my cold little bedroom (I couldn't figure out how to turn on the heating), I realized how alone I was, away from everything comfortable and familiar. I cried my eyes out. "What have I done?", I wailed. Talk about a pity party. I chalked it up to being tired and went to bed early. Things always look better after a night's sleep.

Things did seem better, and it was time to explore Dublin City. It's so much smaller than Vancouver, I thought Dublin was cute. (Compared to most of the other cities, towns, and villages in Ireland, Dublin is a metropolis. Scary.)

Something as simple as crossing the road was a challenge, because the cars drive on the other side. It was also disorienting at first to try to figure out which way the bus was going to be running and on which side of the street I needed to be to catch it. Once I figured out where city centre was in relation to my accommodation, then it got easier. I lived with a map in my hands.

The bus payment system was similiar to Vancouver, exact change or a ticket that you validated in a meter. Had to learn how to navigate up and down the stairs to the upper deck - almost went flying a few times and wrenched my arm more than once if I was on the stairs when the bus stopped, but the view from the upper deck was worth it. And forget the bus schedule. It tells you what time the bus leaves its point of origin, but you get guess-timates of how long it will take to get your stop. Crazy! Made it tricky if I had to be somewhere at a specific time. How to allow a large fudge factor.

Since my savings were dwindling at an alarming rate (the exchange between Canadian dollars and Euros was killer), I signed up with some temporary employment agencies while I waited to hear about my job applications and ended up with a bit of work for a couple of weeks in May. Kept going back to the same little law firm in Ballsbridge. Hadn't done dicta typing in a LONG time, but the folks were really nice and they shared their chocolate.

Opening a bank account proved to be a frustrating experience, even with advanced warning of what to expect. You need certain documentation and I seemed to be one item short, so I was getting pay cheques from the agency but couldn't cash them! I finally got the right forms but then I got the job in Galway, so I had to move again, and there wasn't any point in opening a bank account in Dublin and trying to transfer it to Galway, 'cause that's almost as bad as opening it in the first place!

Not that it was all frustration and misery! Oh no. Far from it. I spent time toodling around Dublin's city centre, got to meet a couple of friends of friends who were living in Dublin, went to an art show opening at the law courts, and revisited places I'd seen with my brother in 2000. I enjoyed a long weekend in Milano for my 41st birthday with my brother and sister-in-law, my friends Karen, Hella, and Davis, and some of Karen's friends. We ate at a fab restaurant and had so much fun! They sang happy birthday to me in 5 different languages, and there was a yummy chocolate cake to eat for dessert.

I was determined to make the move while I was still 40, and by the skin of my teeth (who came up with that expression anyway?), I did it with about 3 weeks to spare!

I had a job interview in Galway not long after the big birthday weekend and got a job offer at a large multi-national software company starting in mid June. So I packed my bags again and hopped on the train from Heuston Station in Dublin to Galway.

As a born and bred city slicker, I was not prepared for the smallness that is Galway City. Population is around 100,000 people, but because of the layout of the city and the tiny city centre, it feels more like a small town to me. But that's another story.

Leaving Vancouver

A lot of people have asked me why I moved to Ireland. It may have seemed out of the blue to some folks, but I'd actually been talking about doing it for many years. There were a lot of reasons why I finally upped and went in 2005. One of the biggest was that my birth mother, Helen, had died in 2003, at the shockingly young age of 58. That really hit me, and made me think about the fact that I was heading towards 40 and didn't feel like I'd really accomplished anything significant in my life. I'd spent two and half years at night school to get a Technical Communications cert but couldn't get a job as a technical writer in Vancouver. Bad timing, I guess

Then, in 2004, Miss Lemon, my most treasured and loved 14-year old cat, was diagnosed with colon cancer, and after a couple of months of giving her palliative care at home, I made the difficult decision of having her "put to sleep". I used to hate that euphamism, but it really was like that. I'd begun thinking about the move to Ireland after my mom died, but this kind of clinched it for me. I was now free to go if I wanted.

I still had another cat, Agatha C, but I knew that she was very social and could be adopted. That ended up being a more difficult task as she was already about 10 years old and her thyroid decided to go postal around Christmas. So, I had to get that treated, but I was very lucky because a wonderful woman named Margaret adopted Agatha. (Latest reports are that Agatha is a happy little camper in her home in New Westminster.)

So, in autumn 2004, I talked to the folks at work about leaving, applied for my Irish passport (I have dual citizenship through my Irish grandpa), and in April 2005 waved goodbye to my life in Vancouver. I had many goodbye lunches and dinners and parties. Really made me appreciate just how many wonderful friends I have. My parents came out from Manitoba to help me pack. I don't think they realized just how much packing they would end up doing! I never could have got it done without their help. My cousin Victoria flew up from LA to meet me before I left the West Coast.

The photo shows me (30 pounds heavier) holding a delicious home-made cherry pie. Check out the airplane, shamrock, and maple leaf on the crust! Daphne, a co-worker at Mercer, is a consummate pie maker and prepared this delicacy for me. What a way to go!

Getting Started

I've only recently discovered the self-indulgent world of blogs! Why didn't somebody tell me about these sooner? A chance to blather on endlessly about whatever I like, and anybody with a computer and a finger on a mouse can choose to read my ramblings (or not).

So, have a gander, but if you don't like it, too bad. Go read something else!