What to expect when you’re expatting

There’s a part of me that loves the feeling of charging through the city crowds at rush hour, feeling part of the mayhem. I find myself huffing at the tourists for taking up the footpath as I march towards the office, morning coffee in hand.  A mere 3 weeks ago I was one of these tourists – dancing barefoot in a basement club in Lagos before being led through paddocks by an unintelligible Australian to what was only described as “the party on the hill”. The transition from backpacker to rushed office worker was so quick that the mud on my jandals has barely dried.

Portugal represented what was the end of my travelling for a while. This travel was suppose to end 2 weeks prior – but I just couldn’t resist. I met my friend Harnah in Lisbon where we spent 5 awesome days of exploring, partying, recovering, and of course eating, before heading to Lagos for some more of the same. Admittedly, despite the utter fun of the trip, I couldn’t quite shake the internal dread and nervousness of my upcoming collision with my old acquaintance – reality. Harnah was in the same position as me – she came to Europe on a one way ticket and a young, wild, and free attitude. Both suddenly faced with the realization that we can’t exist as backpackers indefinitely, our conversations consisted of comforting each other and philosophizing about our uncertain futures.

I nervously returned to Dublin on a Friday, braced for the tough transition. Granted, this transition has been tough – but not in the way I expected. I haven’t so much as brushed shoulders with the dreaded travellers depression that comes with settling again; there hasn’t been time. Between the 6 unsuccessful visits and 10 unanswered calls to the bank, 60+ flat applications, navigation of tax certificate forms, and a demanding new 9-5 job, I’ve barely had a chance to breathe – let alone process how far I am from home.

I was lulled into a false sense of security when I was offered a room in a flat on my first Saturday back, and a work assignment on the Monday.  This security was blown out of the water when I turned down the room on Sunday, started work Tuesday without a bank account into which I can be paid, and forgot to file a tax certificate; a mistake that cost me emergency tax. I’ve looked at 9 flats, had another 3 cancel viewings last minute, and another 2 I didn’t make it to because I was just too damn tired. Three out of these 9 viewings were in the same evening – I walked for three and a half hours after work to get between them. My phone died, I got lost in the dark, asked several people for directions, knocked on wrong doors, and not a single place was worth viewing. I’m relieved to say that the bank finally accepted that I do in fact live in Ireland, JUST in time for my first pay, and I have finally been offered a room in a flat. The blocks are finally falling into place…or rather being stubbornly shoved in.

But despite all this mayhem,  I truly am reveling in the electric atmosphere of Dublin. The people, the authentic cafes and pubs, the events, the “everyone’s your friend” attitude. Most nights it seems that the whole city is lit up and alive. Waiting for the bus this morning, an elderly man in a tweed jacket opened a conversation with me about his family back in County Mayo. Another lady joined in and the conversation quickly turned to Irish politics (to which I couldn’t really contribute). Once on the bus, rugby fans dressed in green bantered back and forth like old friends, and echoes of yelling sports supporters resonated from pubs in the central city. This is Dublin, and I feel completely justified in my decision to live here.

I think that moving to a new city can be scarier than travelling itself because you’re no longer in a dreamland. You’re living life again, but thousands of miles away from friends and family, and sometimes it’s hard to remember why. But there’s just as many lessons to be learnt from settling anew as there is from travel itself. Granted, these lessons are ones in patience and resilience – slightly less romantic than those that come from seeing a seventh wonder of the world or cruising across Loch Ness (spoiler alert – Nessie doesn’t exist). But meeting new people and reinventing yourself in a new city make it truly worthwhile.

And if I can take reassurance in nothing else – it’s that half of my friends back home have promised they’ll visit, and I will nag every last one of them until they follow through. But they should be warned – expatriatism has a magnetism; I can’t guarantee they’ll want to go home.