My Expat Experience

On Christmas day, my girlfriend and I went to Dun Laoghaire, to witness what is apparently a very popular Irish tradition (perhaps a Dubliner’s tradition is more accurate). It was a gorgeous sunny day, around 6 degrees Celsius - which for Ireland its almost as cold as it gets! Irish men and women of all ages were steeling their health by jumping in the chilly Irish sea, at the place called 40 foot, just a bit south of the Dun Laoghaire Harbour.

Even Santa seemed happy to take part in the event! (or was it just a guy hired by a newspaper? )

Anyway, everybody seemed to enjoy the day, bystanders and participants alike. We did not have our bathing suits or towels with us, nor did we feel like dipping in one of the most radioactive seas in the world - we nevertheless admired those who did! I must say the name 40 foot is a bit misleading, I was actually expecting a 40 feet high rock (about 12 meters), when in fact the jump was more like 2, maximum 3 meters. Still, an unusual Christmas activity, which I’m glad I took the time to experience look at

If you set foot in Ireland as anything more than a tourist, you will sooner or later (rather sooner) find out about one of the central elements in Irish life: the Post Office!

Everything happens because of the Post Office: from applying for the PPS and tax certificate, to applying for the University, receiving your bills, paying your bills (if you want to do it this way), receiving coupons from the grocery store, receiving spam from the super-market - the Post is omnipresent. These may all seem like normal things to people used to the Post being a common part of their lives. To me however, it sounded a bit strange in my early Dublin days that the words “It’ll come in the post” or “you can send it by post” came so casually in people’s everyday conversations. And then of course is the apparently unbreakable catch 22 of relocating to Ireland for the first time:

• To rent an apartment, you need a bank account.
• To get a bank account, you need proof of address.
• To get proof of address you need a utility bill.
• To get a utility bill, you need an apartment (and a bank account!) .

Of course, there are ways to get out of this circular logic - I won’t dive into them here, they’re part of the whole relocating “fun”. The main point is that what links all of these together, the underlying platform that provides the subtle cohesiveness is… you guessed it: the Post Office!

All communication with Government bodies, or institutions of any kind is done through the post. You can’t escape it. There is a slim chance that the Internet will help a bit, but guess how you’ll find out about your Internet bill…
Anyway, I would have no problem with the post if it were not for a minor detail: time! You might know already that time is perceived differently in different cultures of the world. For the Irish, time is there o’plenty: No rush. It will come in the post. Give it 3 or 4 days for delivery. And so on.

I gave it. Sometimes 3 days, sometimes 3 weeks. It happens. This actually reminds me of an anecdote I read somewhere about the time in Ireland, which goes like this:

A Spanish backpacker winds up in a pub in Connemara (on the west coast of Ireland). Somehow the conversation leads to the gaelic language and yer man¹ asks one of the locals “How do you say mañana in Gaelic?”

“Oh, we don’t have a word for something describing such a rush around here…” came the answer

All jokes aside though, I think the Post office does a pretty good job overall (think of the HUGE volume of information these guys are shifting everyday - after all, they handle everything). And when you think that the General Post Office is the most central building in Dublin (ground zero right next to the more modern and recent landmark the Spire), one can begin to understand how it came to pass that the post is so omnipresent in Irish life.

¹ - “yer man” Irish slang for “that guy”