Irish abroad: The seven stages of moving to a new country

On a typically overcast, damp day in August 2020 a notion struck me: “I’d like to live somewhere else.”
Three years, one pandemic, a wedding and a lengthy visa application later, that notion became a reality. My husband and I waved goodbye to a still-rainy Dublin and made the transatlantic trip to Vancouver.
We are far from the first Irish people to make this trip, expatriation seems to be somewhat ingrained in our DNA. One short walk down Kits beach, as Kitsilano Beach is known in Vancouver, wading through a sea of GAA jerseys will tell you that much. Here, it seems, the Irish accent is an integral part of the community, interweaving with the lapping waves to provide the soundscape.
Approaching the one-year mark has me wistful with nostalgia and incessant reflection, much to my husband’s dismay.
Not a day goes by where I don’t remind him that “this time seven months ago we were . . . (enter whatever mundane experience has since become incredibly sentimental to me). This reminiscing has allowed our journey to become somewhat of a mirror of life.
According to Shakespeare, there are seven stages of man.
According to me, there are seven stages of moving to Vancouver.
Picture the country girl getting to the big city, suitcase in hand, stars in her eyes, heart brimming with big dreams, unwavering positivity and radiant naivety.
This is how we arrived into a 30-degree Vancouver, jet-lagged, bloated and absolutely clueless. We dashed from one shady spot to the next, our sun-deprived skin sizzling in the heat as we made our way down to the beach. It felt surreal, as if we’d just stepped into an American movie, surrounded by tanned, toned volleyball players, Lululemon uniforms and passersby discussing sweater deals in Target.
Invigorating stuff.
Stage one is reminiscent of infancy. Pure excited bewilderment, and absolute anonymity. We existed in a constant state of awe, the same thought running through our minds each time we took in the jaw-dropping scenery, “I can’t believe I live here”.
[ ‘Though I come from Ireland’s sunniest county . . . who could say no to Caribbean living?’Opens in new window ]
One month in, we had our jobs and apartment largely sorted.
The rose-tinted glasses were still firmly planted on our face – loneliness, however, began creeping in. This was about the time we realised we had not exchanged more than fleeting pleasantries with anyone but each other since arriving. According to our calculations, we spent more than 300 waking hours together.
Yes, we did actually calculate it!
These were the teenage years, an in-between stage.
We felt far from settled, but the holiday feeling had long since dissipated. Work had begun, the apartment was semi-furnished, the savings fully dwindled and the glow of summer had been replaced by the reality of Vancouver’s rainforest climate.
During this stage, our Irishness became not only incredibly prevalent, but a lifeline. Something to cling on to in moments of confusion.
By now, we knew the city, had our routine, and had begun to build a community of friends. It all felt familiar. Gone were the days of obsessively checking Google Maps every five seconds.
At this stage, you begin your transformation into “Vancouverites”. This may entail half-marathon training or picking up whatever outdoor hobby strikes your fancy. You find yourself making sweeping statements, such as “we need a paddle-board” or “yes, camping in November sounds lovely”.
The assimilation is well and truly under way.
Nothing can be all positive and a wobble is inevitable.
Akin to a mid-crisis, stage five brings doubts, panic about life choices and pangs of homesickness. The constant conveyor belt of new faces and effortful conversations became exhausting and we missed the ease with which humour flowed back home. While Vancouver wins on views and lifestyle, the craic is severely lacking.
It hit me when I least expected it. On a bus driving over Lionsgate Bridge, which boasts the most breathtaking views.
Standing tall up ahead are the mountains encircling North Vancouver, which were peppered with dustings of snow. To the right, the cities of Vancouver and Burnaby. Providing the backdrop is the majestic Mount Baker of Seattle. To the left is the sprawling ocean with outlines of Vancouver Island silhouetting the horizon where the sun goes to rest each evening.
The city was bathed in a golden glow whilst pinkish yellow hues danced through the skies. Around me, tourists fawned about the bus, clambering over each other for photos and damn near weeping at the beauty of it all.
I was preoccupied with work and barely looked up to admire my surroundings. That’s when it struck me. I feel at home here now.
[ An Irish man in Colombia: ‘I miss Dunnes, but shopping here is a welcome step back in time’Opens in new window ]
This is the final stage.
I feel settled and content. Eager for the experiences that await us and comforted by the knowledge that we are now lucky enough to call two places home.